Page 15 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Faron

S he didn’t yell.

She didn’t humiliate me in front of her staff.

She grabbed a handful of my shirt and shoved me through the back halls until we landed in her cramped, overstuffed office.

Then she locked the door and leaned against it like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“You don’t understand what you did,” she whispered.

“I stopped him,” I snapped. “That’s what I do.”

Her palm smacked the door behind her head.

“No. You marked me. Now they know I have a weakness. You. And next time, they don’t come in yelling. They come in shooting.”

I stepped closer. “So I should’ve let them—what? Threaten you? Hurt you?”

“I’ve survived worse. I don’t need a damn savior!”

Her voice broke. That small crack in her armor nearly undid me.

“You’re not the reason I fight,” I said quietly. “You’re the reason I survive it.”

She looked like she wanted to hate me.

Instead, she kissed me — hard, like she was trying to shut me up and breathe me in at the same time. Teeth, tongue, ache.

When we broke apart, she whispered, “I can’t promise you a damn thing. Look at me. This is all I am.”

I kissed her knuckles. “I’ll show up anyway.”

Her smile was wrecked and gorgeous. “God help me. You probably will.”