Page 139 of Veil of Obsession

He pulls my hand up to his lips, presses a kiss to my knuckles. His eyes are unreadable when they meet mine again. “Good.”

I nestle closer, head resting against his chest. His heart thuds beneath my ear—not fast, but not calm either. Like even asleep, it’ll be ready for war.

And for the first time since we got here, since I stood in this room wondering if he’d ever show, I let myself believe maybe, just maybe, we’re not doomed yet.

Not tonight.

His fingers start to trace lazy circles on my back. I close my eyes.

We don’t talk after that. There’s nothing else to say—not in this fragile borrowed hour before the sun dares show its face. We lie there, tangled in tension and tenderness, the kind that tastes like grief and love and fear all braided into one.

Tomorrow, we might be hunted again. Tomorrow, Vegas might burn.

But tonight, we’re still together. Still holding on. Still choosing each other in the dark.

The sunlight slicesin through the blinds too sharp and too early.

I wake alone.

The bed’s cold beside me, rumpled like a ghost still lingers there. I blink at the ceiling for a few long seconds before sitting up. The room smells like cheap coffee, worn cotton sheets, and him.

My chest tightens.

“Lucio?” I say, just in case.

No answer.

I throw the blanket off and stumble across the sticky carpet, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. A breeze drifts in from the open bathroom window, fluttering a receipt stuck under a paper cup on the dresser.

I pull it free.

It’s not a receipt. It’s a note.

Back soon. Stay inside. Doors locked. No one gets in but me. —L

I stare at it for a long time, willing it to mean something more than it says. He’s not running again. He’s not leaving. Just out handling something—probably something bloody, something complicated.

Still, my gut twists.

I check the lock. It’s jammed tight. The motel’s deadbolt is older than my first cellphone, but it’ll have to do. I check the window next. The curtains shift. Outside, the parking lot is quiet: a few cracked pavement lines, an oil stain, the same shitty vending machine humming like it’s daring me to need something.

I don’t.

I head to the bathroom instead, splash cold water on my face. My eyes are bloodshot, mascara smudged into something raccoon-adjacent. I look like the end of the world. Fitting.

I brush my teeth with my finger, then stare at my reflection. I look…more me than I have in days. Still pissed. Still scared. Still alive.

A knock jolts me. Three slow taps.

I freeze. Look over to where Frankie is still sleeping.

The knock comes again.

I reach for the knife hidden between the mattress and box spring. Lucio always packs two extras. He left one behind.

“Who is it?” I bark.

No answer.