Page 89 of Dustwalker
Setting Ronin’s rifle aside, Lara rose onto her knees and gazed out the attic window, searching the road for Ronin’s approaching figure.
Wishful thinking.
He’d only left last night, and said he’d be back in a few days. It wasn’t likely that he’d return early this time. He’d been serious about earning enough credits for them to leave Cheyenne without having to look back.
For Ronin to be gone so soon after returning from his last trip, so soon after they’d deepened their relationship…
Lara pressed a fist to her aching chest. She hated this feeling. Hated the hollowness in her heart, the loneliness. Just as Ronin had said, it felt like part of her was missing. And that part was him. In such a short time, he’d become a vital piece of her.
Isn’t it my fault he’s gone?
She’d been the one to suggest they leave home. She’d begged him to take her into the Dust, to bring her anywhere but?—
Wait. Home?
When had she started thinking of this place as home? It was a prison, a deathtrap, a cage within an enemy camp. And yet…she still saw it as home. Astheirhome. She couldn’t step out the front door without risking her life, but in here, with Ronin, things were good.
She sat down, leaning against a stack of bins, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes.
Ronin was the key. He treated her with considerable patience and kindness, regardless of how deserving of it she was at any given moment. And damn it, she missed him.
She…lovedhim.
There it was. The emotion given a name.
Lara groaned and lightly banged her head against the bins. “Fuuuuck.”
She didn’t know how it had happened, but she could admit it to herself now. In the short time she’d known Ronin, she’d fallen in love with him. A bot.
What would the other humans think?
She dwelled on the thought for a time, absently running her thumb along the smooth underside of her ring, before she settled on the true answer.
She didn’t give a shit about what they’d say. Ronin was alive, he was her husband, and Lara loved him.
Warm sunshine cast a reddish glow through her eyelids. She opened them to gaze at the setting sun, which spread muted pinks through the haze beyond the park.
One day down, two or three more to go. Once Ronin returned, they’d sell all the scrap and leave, and she’d never have to worry about Warlord again. She wasn’t so naïve as to think there’d be no danger out there, but she couldn’t imagine anything worse than him.
She picked up the rifle and left the attic.
By the time she’d eaten and showered, it was fully dark outside.
After pulling on one of Ronin’s shirts, Lara double-checked the downstairs locks and went up to Ronin’s room. She slipped beneath the blankets he only used when he lay with her, placed the rifle beside herself, and curled up on her side with her head on his pillow.
Lara inhaled deeply. It was faint, but his steel and gunpowder scent lingered here.
Nights were the worst while Ronin was gone. When he was here, she slept soundly, sinking deep into her dreams, especially if he lay with her. But despite the security of this house, despite the comfortable bed and the warm blankets, sleep eluded her.
Why was it so difficult now?
Her mind wouldn’t quiet, and every noise the house made, every subtle creak and groan, had her reaching for the rifle.
The answer was simple. Ronin made her feel safe, not this place. She trusted him enough to let her guard down. Even before they’d shared a bed, she’d been aware of his presence, and had known he’d come at the first sign of trouble. Just like her first night here, when she’d nearly broken her ass on the cold bathroom floor.
With a sigh, she flopped onto her back.
Come on, Lara. The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner tomorrow will come, and you’ll be that much closer to seeing Ronin again.
