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Because that’s who I am—who I officially am. I’m the devil. The fallen one.
Mom always said to be with a man who gave you security, not butterflies. To which I’d responded, “Why can’t he give me both? Why not be with someone who makes me feel like I can fly, but then know he’ll be there to catch me if the wind abandons my sails?”
“Why do I feel like you’re Bruce Willis giving us a list of his motley crew, and I have to
go round them up like we’re in some Armageddon movie?”
“Something told me you worked with him back during his fuck-around-and-find-out days,”
That alone should’ve let her know I wasn’t the good man she thought I was. Because I’d let the world burn for just one more minute with her.
“Yeah, well, just because I need the old you back for this mission, doesn’t mean your persona as an intimidating motherfucker everyone fears has to change. And no one, and I mean no one, would touch that man’s girl.”
“You can’t corrupt me, angel.” He leaned in and brought his mouth over mine. “Save me, though, maybe.”
“I didn’t know,” he said, his hoarse voice catching on a shuttered sob. “I didn’t know it could be like this.”
“Give it to me.” His voice broke as he thumbed the tears away at my cheeks. “All of your pain,” he begged, “please, let me take it from you. Let me hold on to it so you don’t have to carry it.” Another harsh cry escaped from deep within my chest as I whispered, “Only if you let me take yours, too.”
