Page 3 of Stay Little Fighter

I shouldn’t. Not after everything that’s happened between us, but I do, and the longer we spend together outside the walls of the Lombardi compound, the more I need him.

“Duchess,” he rumbles. “Why would you do that?”

His voice cracks under the gravity of the words, and I stare up at him, recognizing the emotions flickering across his face.

Fear. Anguish. Guilt.

They’re so clear I try to blink away the hallucination, but it’s not one.

It’s real.

“To save you,” I whisper.

“Don’t you get it? Everything I’ve done has been to save you! Everything. Loving you. Hating you. Betraying you. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. And you go and do this?”

His panic grows by the second, his eyes darting around at the impending threat, but he barely pauses on the men that approach us.

The same ones that are trying to take us.

It takes longer than I care to admit for his words to sink in.

Did Damon just admit to loving me?

“Chloe!” He shakes my shoulders, forcing my attention back to him as stars dance in my vision.

“It hurts,” I whisper.

“I know, Duchess.” His voice is pained, as if my pain is as excruciating for him as it is me.

“Get her up!” one of our assailants demands.

“She needs a doctor,” Damon grinds out. “Just take me. Take me and leave her here where she can get help.”

I never thought I’d see the day Damon Lombardi begged anyone for anything. He’s the most resolute person I’ve ever met. Strong and unyielding in the face of danger.

But apparently not when it comes to me.

The thought makes my heart ache, his words from before playing in the back of my mind on a loop. Trusting anything that comes out of his mouth feels risky after everything he’s put me through. But how am I supposed to deny it when he sounds so broken?

“There’s a first aid kit in the van,” he grunts, grasping Damon’s shoulder to drag him to his feet.

A half laugh, half sob bubbles in my throat, because what the hell is a first aid kit going to do for my bullet wound? I might as well ask them to kill me now if that’s the level of care I can expect.

Damon’s attention drops back to me, and I watch as the mask he wears for the world slides back into place. He bends over and scoops me into his arms, unbothered by my blood.

Our attackers step toward the van, and I assume they’re searching for the first aid kit they’ve assured me they have, but I’m surprised when they leave us unattended.

Maybe it’s because Damon’s shown his hand, shown how much I mean to him, and they know he won’t risk me being hurt again, or perhaps they’re just idiots, but Damon lifts me slightly, bringing his lips to the shell of my ear.

“Reach into my pocket and grab my ring,” he murmurs.

I blink a few times, trying to think of what ring he could be talking about but when I come up empty, I do as I’m told, even as pain radiates through my abdomen.

The fact my condition doesn’t appear to be worsening gives me hope that I’m not on death’s doorstep, but there’s a chance adrenaline is the only thing keeping me conscious.

I fumble a couple of times, biting down on the inside of my cheek to stop the yelp of pain from escaping as I twist awkwardly.

When my fingers finally wrap around metal, I tug it free.