Page 41 of Chicago Sin
Because I hate how much I like it, I say, “I still think you’re an asshole.”
He doesn’t answer, and I start feeling guilty, like I should worry about hurting his feelings.
Then he speaks. “Listen, I know you’re pissed, Hannah. But trust me, tying you up and leaving you here was the best option I had.”
I turn my head in his direction, staring angrily at the ceiling. “That is such bullshit.”
“Would you rather I left you tied in the van in the strip club parking lot? Or—fuck. I’m not even going to tell you the other possibilities.” Frustration laces his words.
A shiver runs up my spine because I suspect they involve getting rid of me—the only witness to his crime—permanently.
And I’m suddenly as weary as he looks. Maybe I’m just soaking in his state, but it’s a crushing weight. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, and one slides down my nose. “What about the option where you just trust me? I told you I won’t talk. When will you believe that?”
Armando is silent behind me, but his body is stiff and tense. His arm has tightened around me and so has his grip on my hands. Finally he exhales loudly into my hair. “I do trust you, Hannah. It’s just that the stakes are too high here to go on trust. If I make a mistake, it will cost me my life.”
Okay, those are high stakes.
“I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I really am. But shit went down that I didn’t plan, and now I’m just trying to manage the mess.”
“And I’m part of that mess.”
“You’re the only good part,” he says. I think I feel his lips brushing the back of my neck, and I try to stifle the shiver of pleasure that runs through me. Try to steel myself against his words, even though I believe him. I know they’re true.
“Don’t leave me tied up again.” Tears clog my voice.
He pulls my body back against his snugly. “I’m sorry, Flowers.”
Earlier I was sure sleeping with my wrists bound would be impossible, but I already find myself sinking into a deep relaxation, the heat and weight of Armando’s body like one of those weighted blankets that are supposed to be so soothing.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Hannah,” he rasps into the darkness.
He already has. But I think he knows that.
I’m an emotional sponge, and that makes me soak in all his feelings.
So I believe him. I have compassion for his situation. But it doesn’t mean we’re not speeding toward a brick wall. Or that it won’t hurt like hell when we crash.
Chapter Eighteen
Armando
I jerk awake several times during the night, my heart pounding, the instinct to kill sharp as a knife edge, but each time, when I find my body wrapped around Hannah’s soft, warm form, my pulse slows. Each time, I bury my face in her hair—her incredible curtain of tight curls—and breathe in her scent, and I’m home.
Being near Hannah is like opening a trap door and discovering a whole different world exists on the other side. She’s not wild, not crazy, but she functions in a way that’s so outside of the norm—so far from what I’ve known—that it’s slowly waking me up from the stupor I’ve been in.
All the emotions, all the passion and flexibility and kindness. Soft strength. Every minute with her changes me. I’m coming back to life.
Except it’s not my old life. Not a life I’ve known before.
It’s something so different and bizarre, I don’t even know how to think about it.
I untie our wrists and free her hands while she sleeps, tracing a fingertip over the vines tattooed on her shoulder and down her arm. She’s so fucking beautiful. So unlike any woman I’ve dated before. The polar opposite of Grace. Her beauty is so natural. The wild mane of hair that falls to her ass, her short, curvy but muscular body. The tiny gold nose ring. Her smooth brown skin. She’s unpretentious and down-to-Earth.
I sift her wild mane of hair, letting the golden-tipped curls wrap around my fingers.
I want to trust her. I do.
But I can’t be stupid and reckless. I can’t think with my dick.
