Page 56 of Fractured Allegiance

---

“No,” I answer, without hesitation.

Her brow lifts.

“I don’t think you need protecting,” I add. “I think you’re just waiting for someone who doesn’t look at your scars like they want to own them.”

That knocks the air out of the room.

Her expression doesn’t falter, but her arms uncross. She steps toward me once, with purpose.

“You think you’re that person?”

I don’t answer. Because I’m not sure if I am.

But I want to be.

She watches my face for something—doubt, guilt, weakness—and doesn’t find it.

Then, quietly: “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Drazen will notice.”

“I know.”

The pause that follows doesn’t settle. It pulses between us—measured, hot, unwelcome.

She walks past me.

Not toward the door.

Toward the kitchen.

She picks up a glass and pours herself a drink.

“Dom said you were watching me,” she says. “He seemed amused.”

“He’s always amused. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

She sips. Sets the glass down. Then adds, “He said you looked like you wanted something.”

“And you said?”

“That you weren’t my type.”

I wait. She turns.

Her eyes meet mine, calm as a loaded gun.

“You still aren’t,” she says.

I step toward her. “That’s a lie.”

“Maybe. You’re dangerous,” she says.

“You appear like someone who fancies danger.”

“I hate predictable.”

---