Page 107 of Brutal
“You think?” she snaps.
“You don’t know what it means.”
Her eyes narrow. “Someone grabbed me and told me that if I don’t stop, this will never end. You’re damned right I don’t know what it means. So explain it.”
I close the distance again. I have no intention of explaining anything to her. “Someone put their hands on you,” I say instead.
She lifts her chin. “Yes.”
“And they knew exactly how far to go.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” I hold her gaze. “It’s supposed to tell you this wasn’t about stopping you.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Then what was it about?” she asks.
I don’t reply. Not yet. Because the statement could mean any number of things. Though I’m pretty sure I know exactly what the derelict meant.
She huffs. “I’m not backing off.”
“I know.”
“So are you going to explain what he meant, or what?” she asks, whipping her wrist away from me and placing her hands on her hips.
Again, I don’t answer. I take her wrist again. She doesn’t pull away this time.
“You’re leaving,” I say, “with me.”
“I didn’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking.”
“I don’t need you to take me home.”
“This isn’t about what you need.”
Her eyes flash. “Stop deciding things for me.”
“Then stop putting yourself in reach.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Then she exhales, clearly frustrated, but she doesn’t pull away.
I don’t give her time to change her mind. I turn and move for the door, pulling her with me as I open it and step back into the corridor.
This time, I keep her close. Not behind me. Not ahead of me. Close enough that I can feel exactly where she is without looking.
We move through the club without stopping. The noise, the people, none of it matters now. My attention is on the edges, the exits, anything out of place.
Someone made a move.
Someone stepped in.
Someone thought they could put their hands on something in my world?—
No.
