Page 98 of Pulse
I straddle him, gripping him again by his tattered shirt. My face is inches from his. “You won’t ever fuck with her again, will you?Will you?”
He’s unable to move his mouth.
I palm his forehead and move his head up and down.
“There you go,” I say, tossing him away like the garbage that he is. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Castelli!” Grey runs down the hill. “You okay?”
I spit the taste of the marsh out of my mouth. “I’m fine.” I look over my shoulder. “Need to check my girl. Make sure he stays put.”
Grey looks down and sighs. “The only way he’s going anywhere is on a stretcher or with a pair of wings, my friend.”
Sirens wail in the distance as I race back to the car.
Dahlia runs to me, leaping into my arms. Her head buries in the crook of my neck as she sobs.
“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to inspect her. She won’t let go enough for me to see. “Hey, are you okay? Where’s this blood coming from?”
She pulls back. Her eyes are fucking swollen and black. Tears mix with blood on her cheeks.
The taste of vomit coats my tongue. I hold her precious face in my hands and inspect the gash at her temple and the swelling and blood on the other side of her head.
“I think my arm is broken,” she says, her right arm dangling at her side.
“My God. Doll.I’m so sorry.”
The sirens grow louder as I hold her close to me, careful not to touch her injuries. I close my eyes, saying a prayer.
“You saved me, Troy,” she whispers in my ear. “I knew you would.”
I press a kiss on her head as the medics arrive. “I’d do anything for you.”
“I know.”
Her words settle into my psyche—her confidence in me. Her faith.Her love.
I may not be enough for Dahlia—she deserves the world—but no one will love her as much as me.
And that just might be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dahlia
“Are you feeling okay?” Troy asks from beside me.
“Yeah. I feel like I was kidnapped and was then in a car accident. You know, just another day.”
He’s not entertained by my antics. The sour look on his face makes me laugh.
“I have to laugh about this, Troy. If not, a deep, dark hole is waiting to crush me. Oh, speaking of crashes, if I weren’t the one being thrown into the door with a maniac with a gun sitting beside me and a pizza guy in the trunk, that would’ve been really hot.”
He groans, looking at the ceiling of Jason Brewer’s plane.
“I can’t imagine what your forearms looked like controlling the car like that,” I say, licking my bottom lip. “And the way your face gets all linear when you’re focused. Maybe when I’m better, we can figure out how to replicate that without the broken humerus and concussion and various lacerations.”
“You’re going to pay for this.”
