Page 42 of Linger

“Pull over,” I repeated, practically begging him.

“We’re almost there.”

“I’m not going wherever you’d planned on taking me,” I snapped, though the words were a strained whisper. “Now—”

“Jesus Christ, they’re going to kill you,” he shouted over me, his voice that same contradicting mixture of bravery and fear as before. “Do you get that?”

“I know that,” I yelled back. “I’ve seen what they can do!”

“You don’t—” Diggs’ head slanted a second before he abruptly jerked the car to the side of the road and slammed the gear into park. Just as quickly, he turned to face me, leaving one arm draped over the steering wheel as he eyed me with intrigue. “Come again?”

My chest shook with the force of my next exhale as I relaxed against the seat. In an instant, all my fear and adrenaline fled from me, leaving me exhausted. “I don’t know who or what you are, Diggs, but whoever was in my apartment...they were there for me. Because of me.”

He looked like he was about to deny what I’d said but instead demanded, “Explain.”

“You first.”

He searched my face for long moments, contemplating, before carefully saying, “That wouldn’t be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I wanna know you.”

“You’re also trying to get away from me,” he said, the words coming out on a breath of laughter and filled with the confidence he so easily carried.

“To protect you,” I informed him, my head subtly shaking as flashes of nightmares assaulted me. “I told you, I’ve seen what they can do, and I won’t let them do that to you.”

At that, he laughed, loud and free, before leaning over my center console to pull me into a kiss that was soft and slow and had me melting into him.

All sinful passes of his lips and teasing brushes of his tongue until I’d forgotten everything but him. That moment. That kiss.

“Funniest fucking thing, hearing you say you’re protecting me,” he muttered against my lips before pressing another soft kiss there and leaning away only far enough to look at me when he added, “Tree, that’s my job.”

“Tell me who you are,” I pleaded as I gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. When he hesitated, I reminded him, “You said you were at my apartment to talk...to see if I could handle who you are.”

His head slanted in acknowledgment, contradicting his next somber words. “But I have a feeling the moment I tell you is the moment you’ll leave. I’m not ready for that. Besides, who I am doesn’t matter if you don’t plan on letting me take you where I need to. If you don’t plan on letting me protect you.”

I studied the lines of Diggs’ handsome face as every night with him burst through my mind in rapid flashes. The way I always felt comforted and safe, even when he was breaking into my apartment. The way I sensed that danger vibrating just beneath his skin and knew it wasn’t something to run from.

“I know you can...protect me, that is,” I admitted softly. “That’s weird to be so sure of when I hardly know you, isn’t it?”

“We wouldn’t be here if that were the case.”

An acknowledging hum rose in my throat, even as I pointedly said, “But there’s so much about you I don’t know.” When he just held my stare, warring over the same battle that had raged in his eyes the last couple of times I’d seen him, I released a breath that was weighed down with every one of my fears and confessed, “These people murdered my boyfriend a year ago. Actually, it was a year the night I met you.”

Diggs’ body tensed against my hand and his brows drew low over his eyes. “What people?”

I swallowed the knot of fear and emotion that so easily rose and unsteadily explained, “They’re a—I don’t know. Some street gang or something. They’re violent and ruthless and unpredictable. They killed my boyfriend just because we happened to be in the same place as them after a date.”

It wasn’t until Diggs drew my face into his hands that I realized I was crying, my body violently shaking as I rushed to go on.

“We didn’t know they were there—I didn’t know they existed at all. My boyfriend was going around to get into the driver’s side of the car when they just appeared. And he—th-they—” My head shook fiercely against Diggs’ hold as I remembered the savage way the men in the neon masks had murdered Mike.

The way they’d dropped his lifeless, mangled body in the street before turning to where I’d been screaming in the car.

I’d crawled across the console and been halfway into the driver’s seat, reaching for the handle as if I could’ve done something—stopped the nightmare unfolding in front of me. I hadn’t reacted until the door had given out from beneath my hands when one of them opened it as I stared at Mike in horror.

And then I’d fought like hell.

I’d caught one man in the throat as he pulled me from the car while my stilettoed feet connected with another’s groin just before I’d fallen to the ground, nearly knocking the air from my lungs. The man who dropped me had gasped over wheezed breaths and curses while I clawed and tore at his arm until his blood had covered my hands and wrists, and the machete he’d been holding clambered beside me. And then I’d grabbed it and swung.

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