Page 116 of Possession

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” she pushes.

I exhale and shake my head. “My mother had a heart attack last night. They had to do a bypass this morning. Leaving her to go undercover was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. She begged me not to do it. And now this has happened. I need to see her, but I couldn’t leave you. Swear, baby, I was going to tell you all this. I just didn’t plan for it to be now.”

She puts her hand to my wrist, and it’s a punch to the gut when she pulls away from my touch. “I don’t know what to think.”

I’m about to yank her into my arms and make her listen to reason. Force her to accept me—the real me—for who I am, what I’ve done, and the lies I’ve told.

But three strong raps interrupt us. Her gaze jumps to the door. “Who is that?”

I don’t move to answer it and keep my eyes on her. “My partner. The Marinos know we’re here, and I have actual meetings set up for tomorrow night as a legitimate reason to get to Manhattan. I can’t just waltz around New York without the risk of being followed or seen. They’re going to make sure we get to the hospital safely.”

Her eyes widen. “We?”

“Baby, I’m not sure what more I need to say to get this through your head, but you’re not leaving my sight after what happened to you last week. And now you know the truth. If you thought we were inseparable before, get used to a whole new level of me invading your personal space. Because until further notice, you’re stuck with me.”

I go to the door, because he’s not patient on a good day, but she calls for me. “Boz—I mean…”

I turn back to her and hike a brow.

Her tears are dry and she crosses her arms, a stance that shows she means business again. “After everything we’ve done, I think I deserve to know your real name.”

“That depends,” I say.

“On what?”

“Can I trust you, baby? With my life?”

She pulls in deep breath and drops her arms on an exhale. “I think I have a reason not to trust anyone. But I’m certainly not going to rat you out to the Marinos.”

I ignore the door when Micah bangs twice from the other side and calls for me. “You in there?”

“What about your father?” I push. “What’s your allegiance to him?”

She shakes her head and hurt is laced in her tone. “You know how I feel about my father. And my mother, for that matter. It’s not lost on me how alone I am. If you say you’re the same person you were, then tell me your name.”

I pause, because I haven’t uttered my own name in what feels like a lifetime. “Braxton Cruz, but everyone calls me Brax.”

“B,” she whispers. “Brax.”

Fuck.

I like the sound of my name on her lips. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard in two years.

But I have no time to relish in it or beg her to chant it to me while I bury myself inside her. I’m officially out of time. My burner phone—the one I use for Carson, Tim, and Micah—vibrates in my pocket.

I ignore the phone and turn for the door. When I swing it open, the man who’s been my closest friend since we went through the academy together, pushes through. “What the fuck took you so long? Were you taking a shi—”

But he stops in the middle of the room when he realizes we’re not alone.

He turns to glare at me.

Then back to Landyn.

Then back to me. “What the fuck?”

I shake my head and shrug because I have no explanation for my lack of self-discipline or rationale for bringing Dennis Alba’s daughter here and telling her my real identity and what I really do.

I have no excuse other than I’m pussy whipped.

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