Don’t count on it, buddy.

I watch his shirtless figure walking out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he does, I jump out of the bed and yank open the drawer to his bedside table.

Perfect. Thank you, Nate. Lying there and waiting for me to embrace it is an old-school dagger. I slip into my underwear, pick up the weapon and slide it into my waistband. I pull my dress on to hide my new best friend. After I’m done, I press my ear to the door. I hear their muffled voices and my heart picks up speed.

Please don’t betray me like everyone else.

I hear furniture creaking and the sound of Irvin getting pissed off.

“You want me to take care of the bitch? That ain’t fair! I wasn’t even supposed to be here. Not my fault my f*cking mom came down with the flu.”

My pulse thickens against my throat. Take care of me? What?

“Do it,” Nate prompts.

“No.” I hear Irvin’s voice approaching Nate’s room, the thuds of two sets of feet on the carpet. Shit. They’re both going to come for me. I can maybe take one of them, though even that’s farfetched, but both? With just the dagger? That’d be damn near impossible.

I stumble back until my knees hit the edge of Nate’s bed.

“You better do it,” I hear Nate’s baritone. This is a nightmare. I let the guy into me—again—and now he’s going to have his roommate throw me into the basement?

I pull out the dagger and wait in a southpaw stance in front of the door. I hear their footfalls going back and forth, some more shuffling, and after a while—who knows how much time’s passed—the door swings open, and I run straight to the body in front of me and stab the dagger into his flesh.

Nate.

“Fuck!” he growls, stumbling away, his back hitting the wall. I rush out, about to stab him a few more times as he nurses his bleeding bicep by squeezing the wound. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I heard you.” I point the bloody dagger at his face, seething. “You sent Irvin to deal with me.”

“I sent him to the f*cking basement so I can lock him in there. What in the actual f*ck? You talk about trust, but you give me none.”

“Of course I don’t trust you,” I shriek, hysteria closing in on my throat. Which part of our encounter together so far would have made me trust him? The part where he took me in as a hostage, or the part where he f*cked me and then disappeared for a few days until showing back up to the gates of my own, personal hell? It’s been a long time since I trusted a man, and just because he said he switched teams, doesn’t mean that I fully believe him.

“Well, that’ll have to change.” He makes a tsking sound, looking down to his right bicep and slowly peeling his hand away to assess the damage. I managed to cut deep. Well, at least I have that going for me in case I find myself engaged in a knife fight.

Only now I feel bad about doing this to him. Not overly bad, he deserves some kind of punishment for my captivity. But it was probably not the best idea to injure the guy who is about to help me run away and take down three of the most dangerous men I’ve ever come across.

“Fine. I’m willing to admit that there may have been a bit of an overreaction on my end.” I fold my arms around my midsection.

“Ya’ think? Wow, it takes a big woman to admit that.” He bites every word, pushing his healthy hand through his hair.

“Hey, Pea, are you going to stand in the hallway with the knife pointing at me for much longer or are you ready to hit the f*cking road?” he nearly barks. “Go get the first aid kit. It’s in Irv’s room.” Nate nods his chin to the door right in front of his. “On his desk.”

I quickly grab the kit and sit my sexy partner-in-crime on the kitchen counter while I take care of his wound, bandaging it up tight. The orange of the iodine leaks around the white fabric and his arm looks like crap, but I think he’s stopped bleeding. I’m standing between his thighs as I tend to his wound, grateful for every second that I touch him but knowing that this is exactly why I should get rid of him as soon as possible.

“Are we all set? Should we run over our plan one more time?” I ask quietly as I roll another clean white cloth over his muscular arm. I can hear Irvin banging on the basement door, screaming and shouting and swearing like a madman.

“We pack our shit, get the money and fake IDs and disappear to different places and time zones.” He shrugs, his husky voice tickling my hairline. “Simple plan.”

“We need to kill them first.” I’m hoarse, yet determined. “They’ll follow us anywhere, down to the pits of hell.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, I want us to be something else. Something normal. A boy and a girl who live in neighboring cities and met somewhere neutral, somewhere safe, a club or a park or a flipping Starbucks. Our options are unlimited. I’m not broken by previous, awful men. He’s not broken by a previous, awful life. It’s just us, and the scent of opportunity, of first dates and picnics and rolling on lush summer grass, laughing into each other’s mouths.

For one brief moment, I imagine that he walked into my world without tearing it apart, bloodily and messily, and that I stormed into his without making him face the dilemma of his life.

I shake my head when I realize where I let my mind drift off to.

“It’s either us or them.” My pulse quickens with urgency.