Page 111 of Can't Stop Watching

Instead, I walk straight at him.

He peeks around the doorframe, eyes widening when he sees me coming like death itself. We fire simultaneously, his bullet tearing through my thigh as mine finds its mark in his neck, right above his vest.

The universe and I are finally even.

He drops his weapon, hands clutching at the wound. I watch the life drain from his eyes with a detachment that should probably concern me. Death always looks the same: surprised, then empty.

"Clear," I rasp, though there's no one to hear the call except Lila.

The room tilts sideways as I try to remain on my feet. Gravity insists, and I fall.

"Don't move!" Lila scrambles toward me, her hands immediately pressing against my side. "You're bleeding everywhere."

"That's... generally what happens when you get shot." I attempt a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

She's talking about pressure and ambulances, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands as she grabs her phone. Something about that steadiness in crisis, it's beautiful in its own fucked-up way.

"You know," I mumble as darkness starts creeping in from the edges of my vision, "first time I saw you, I thought you were just another pretty face with sad eyes."

"And now?" Her face hovers above mine, fierce and determined.

"Now I think..." The words get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth as the ceiling starts to spin. "Now I think I'm gonna pass out."

The last thing I see is Lila's face, streaked with my blood but unbroken. Strong. Then nothing but darkness.

36

LILA

Ihaven't left Dane's side since they wheeled him out of surgery, except when the nurses kicked me out to check on him. Seven hours in the OR and three blood transfusions later, he's still here. Barely.

The steady beep of his heart monitor is a reassuring sound I welcome.

I study his face, slack with medication, stripped of that intensity that both terrifies and thrills me. His stubble's grown in patchy where they shaved parts for the stitches along his jawline where a bullet grazed him. The bruising around his eyes makes him look like he's wearing smudged eyeshadow.

"You look like shit, Wolfe," I whisper, squeezing his hand. No response. The doctors say that's normal.

Normal. As if anything about this situation is normal.

I haven't slept more than twenty minutes at a stretch since it happened. Every time I close my eyes, I see Brian's body on that conference room floor, blood pooling around my feet. I feel the pen in my hand, the resistance as it pushed through skin and muscle.

The detective who took my statement—Martinez—said it sounded like self-defense, cut and dry. But I know she'll be back for more questions, especially when her ears and pockets get filled by Claire Langford.

I rub my eyes, trying to push away the paranoia. That's when Brian's words slither back into my mind: "Your precious Dane has been watching you."

Bullshit. Has to be. Just another manipulation from a psychopath, right? But what if it's not? I haven't even been back to my place. Maybe I'm avoiding it.

I look at Dane's hand in mine, his knuckles still scraped from the fight. This man took three bullets for me. Killed three men to keep me safe. Would he also invade my privacy? Watch me without my knowledge?

"What am I supposed to do with you?" I whisper, throat tight. "If you've been lying to me this whole time..."

The heart monitor beeps steadily, offering no answers.

I reach for my cold coffee cup, grimacing at the bitter taste. Thirty-six hours in this hospital chair, and I'm still no closer to knowing what's real. All I know is I'm not ready to walk away, not until I hear the truth from him.

"Wake up, Dane," I murmur. "I need you to be fine, and then tell me who you really are."

DANE