Page 109 of Double Standards
The question hangs there, heavy.
Yes. God, yes. I want her close, where I can see her, protect her, convince myself this isn’t all a dream I’m going to wake up from. But wanting her and keeping her safe aren’t always the same thing.
I hesitate, jaw tight. “Just have someone keep an eye on her. Whoever comes after me will know about her and I can’t risk anything happening to her.”
It’s the best I can offer. For her sake.
“Got it.” Trigger starts typing.
“Have Ryder watch Cassie.”
“He’s too flakey at the moment,” Trigger counters.
“He’s got his own shit,” Hunter chimes in. “I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, brother.”
He stands, brushing off his suit.
“Where you going?”
“To get examined by the Doc,” he smirks, then vanishes.
I settle back, finally getting comfortable. My body still feels like a dump truck ran over me, but I’m alive.
I’m already thinking of ways to make the fucker who shot me pay. Though I don’t know who’s behind this, now, I know it’s only a matter of time before Max gets his hands on them.
“You really like her, huh?” Trigger’s voice is low, steady—but his eyes cut straight through me. Sharp. Knowing.
He always sees too much. Reads between the lines I don’t say. And I hate it, because he’s right.
I look away, jaw flexing. Pretending I didn’t hear him would be easier, but what’s the point? The truth’s already there, bleeding into the silence between us.
I’m falling for Cassie. Hard.
And it scares the hell out of me.
She doesn’t belong in this world—my world. She’s light where I’m shadow, soft where I’m all edges. She deserves peace, safety, someone who doesn’t have blood on their hands or ghosts in their closets.
She deserves better.
But I’ve never been good at letting go of things I want. I’m selfish. Always have been. When I want something, I take it.
And I want her.
I want every part of her—her voice, her fire, the way she looks at me like I’m not already damned. Like I could be more.
But wanting her doesn’t make her safe. Not with me. Not with the life I lead.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ifeel numb. Not the kind of numb that dulls pain, but the kind that buries you in it, slow and suffocating. My tears stream down without pause, hot trails of grief spilling like an open faucet I can’t shut off. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this empty. This helpless. Not since my parents passed away.
My heart isn’t just breaking. It’s disintegrating, crumbling into dust while I lay here, powerless to stop it.
Nine days. I sat at his bedside for nine long, excruciating days. I counted every breath the machine forced into his lungs, every rise and fall of his chest. I whispered prayers to gods I didn’t believe in. I begged the universe to bring him back to me. And still, he didn’t wake up.
Trigger finally sent me home, told me I needed rest. He was right. But leaving felt like betrayal. And now, lying in this bed with my arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, I feel like I’ve abandoned him.
