Page 50 of Make Them Cry

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He brushes a gloved knuckle along my cheek. “The one trying to keep you alive.”

Then he disappears.

And I stand in the alleyway, lips swollen, heart racing, lungs full of the only name I wish I could say out loud.

Mask.

Whoever he is…

He’s mine.

And I want more.

SIXTEEN

GAGE

She kissed me.

God help me, she kissed me first. She tasted like Misfit Mint and sunshine.

Later in the evening, I’m sitting in my apartment, staring at the frozen feed on my third monitor like I’m trying to bring her image back with sheer willpower.

But the CCTV feed loops. Safety protocol. The street where we kissed. It’s gone.

She’s gone. And I can’t watch it again.

Can’t relive the way she looked at me—like I was someone worth trusting. Someone worthwanting.

My lips still tingle.

My hands are still clenched into fists because if I don’t hold myself back, I’ll be out that door and across the city just to catch one more second of her skin under my hands.

I never should’ve gone.

It was a reckless, selfish choice.

But when she said my name last night—Mask—in her sleep, all soft and breathy and sweet, like I was some kind ofdreaminstead of a walking security risk, I cracked. I shattered.

That one word rewired every line of code I’ve built to keep myself away from her.

I told myself I’d just watch. Make sure she was okay.

I told myself I wouldn’t touch her.

Liar.

I touched her like I was drowning. Kissed her like it was the only way I’d survive the night. And I’d do it again. God, I’d do it again.

I bury my face in my hands.

My phone buzzes.

RIVER:Are you okay?

I stare at it.

No.

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