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For a second, I wasn’t sure who she was referring to. Me? Derek? Brazzi? He seemed like the obvious choice, but Emilia was far from predictable with her fury.

“How could he think I’d ever want to see him again? I thought I made that pretty damn clear at his restaurant. What does he want with a sober vegan, anyway? Millie is the opposite of his type. Except, he doesn’t care about what she, or I, want or like. He just wants a pretty trophy, and I happen to fit the bill.”

She shoved the apartment door open and stomped into our room. Neither Javier nor Marco around, so I followed her to make sure she was safe. Or something.

“He is an ass,” I finally agreed. “He only cares about appearances, and he’s bitter because he lost to Dias.”

Facing me, she hopped on one foot and kicked off her sandals. “Exactly! It’s some stupid dick contest with them, and I just got caught in the middle.”

I braced her shoulders as she struggled to shake off the other shoe, and she slammed her heel on the ground until it popped off.

She marched into the bathroom, her cover-up billowing behind her. “Men suck.”

I leaned against the counter and handed her one of her makeup wipes. “Not all of them.”

“Most.” She took it and started by wiping off her lip gloss, which was, in fact, smeared.

“True.” I stood, mesmerized, as she took off her battle gear until the stunning woman I knew came back to me, slight raccoon eyes and all.

She put her hands on the edge of the counter and dropped her head with a sigh. The wind had blown her hair into a tangled mess, so I picked up her brush and moved behind her.

I started at the ends, being as gentle as possible, and worked my way up.

I didn’t look into the mirror until I was almost done. She stared at me with a hint of wonder and something else, maybe lust.

“Why is it I can kill someone without a second thought, but pretending to be soft is nearly breaking me?” Her words hovered barely above a whisper.

Was she talking about right now or with Dias and Brazzi?

Did it matter?

I sat the brush down and gathered her long hair in my hands, letting it fall between my fingers. “Because you’ve had to make yourself impenetrable to survive. Being soft means being vulnerable, and you haven’t been allowed to feel that way in a long time.”

“I never wanted to be in a position like this,” she admitted, more to herself than to me.

“You became a fighter to protect yourself.”

She leaned back, resting her head against my chest, and my hands fell to her hips. “Men aren’t reliable. Their desires come first.”

“We’re selfish. Impulsive,” I agreed.

“They take what they want, when they want.” Her hands reached back, tugging at the tie of her top, and grazing my stomach.

My eyes trailed her every move as she went to the knot at her neck and let the top fall.

I wanted to freeze this moment and lock it away forever, but she wasn’t done.

She slid the cover up off her shoulders before pushing the bikini bottoms down her lean legs, pressing her ass against me.

She moved to the shower and turned on the water. Her eyes remained on me while I fought not to look down.

With a smile, she stepped behind the glass and finally turned away.

I was an ass. I wanted to take. I wanted her now.

But I was more like her than the men she hated. I didn’t have a choice either. I had to become a fighter. A killer. Just like her. It was the only way to survive. I had to become invaluable or die.

That was the first lesson we learned in our forever home. We thought we’d been saved. Instead, hell just changed locations.