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She closed her eyes instead, drifting as she waited for him to return.
When he joined her in bed, he was no longer wearing the wet gloves. His fingers molded themselves around her wrist, feeling so familiar. She wished he’d wrap himself around her again instead, hold her tightly against him, but the familiarity was enough. It grounded her.
She doubted it would be enough to keep the nightmares away, but then, it never had been.
That was okay. She’d wake from the nightmares, and he would be there.
But when she opened her eyes next, sunlight had invaded the room again, and Luka was gone.
Chapter 23
No matter how fast Luka moved, every moment away from Alina caused his heart to skitter in his chest. He purchased the items she would need, the same ones that he’d watched her purchase what felt like forever ago. He knew the sizes, and he was in and out of the store in minutes.
The quickness of his shopping trip didn’t reduce his panic, and he sprinted back to the safe house.
Someone was already there. Acid ate at his stomach. He’d known Ivankov would send someone else. He shouldn’t have held her as long as he did. Shouldn’t have let her sleep again. Should have forced her to leave wearing only his shirt—pants and underwear be damned.
The door wasn’t open yet. He’d returned in time. Luka’s knife was out as he leaped the few steps to reach the porch. When he recognized the person, he managed to turn the knife in time, the blade nicking his arm instead of plunging into him.
Enzo almost shot him. His gun pressed to Luka’s side as the breath whooshed out of him.
“Damn, kid, I knew you were fast, but Jesus Christ,” the Di Salvo man muttered, sucking in a new breath. “Giovanni sent me.”
Luka tried to swallow. Tried to nod. All he managed was to put away the knife. The slice across the bottom of his forearm barely registered.
“First Coronella said you tried to kill him, then that mess you left in the diner in our neighborhood.” Enzo holstered his gun at the small of his back. His eyes slid to the plastic bag. “I knocked, but I guess you were too busy shopping.”
Luka glanced at the door. Enzo had knocked. Worry filled him for Alina. He forced his fingers to firm as he unlocked the door.
“You know this safe house is compromised, right?” Enzo asked, his regular smile back in place, the one that made him look a little unhinged, more so with his normally tanned skin a little pale.
Luka slipped inside, shutting the door in his face.
He kept his steps silent as he raced to the bedroom.
Alina stood in the center of it, the knife he’d left behind clutched to her chest. Luka was glad she had it. He wished her eyes met his instead of dropping to her feet.
“You were gone.” It should have sounded like an accusation, but Alina’s words were empty, almost too low to hear.
“Sorry.” His voice came out easily. Luka wished apologizing to her wasn’t easy.
“You were gone,” she said, the words stronger now, even if her eyes failed to focus. “And I realized I hadn’t expected it, that I wanted you with me, always. I’m so stupid. You work for the mafia. You have a life.” Her hand was shaking. “You’re not mine.”
Luka wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell her he was hers, but Ivankov was in his mind, laughing at him. His monster owned him. He would until one of them killed the other.
Luka held the plastic bag out toward her.
Alina’s eyes focused on it, then past the plastic to where the slice on his arm dripped toward his wrist. He’d given her his last spare shirt the night before, and nothing covered his arms.
Her eyes widened. “You’re hurt!” Her fingers clamped on his bare wrist, above his still-damp glove. The stab of pain from her touch was worse than the cut. “Come here,” she said, jerking him toward the bathroom.
“Stop,” Luka forced out as his jaw clenched and he dropped the bag.
Alina released him as if she’d been the one burned by the touch. “Sorry. I always do this.” She dropped to her haunches, her hands covering her face. “I know you don’t like to be touched, but then I do it anyway.”
Luka reached for her hands. He realized touching her was different from her touching him. There was pain in it, but it was a softer pulsing, not the breath-stealing stab. He pulled her to her feet, then released her, not sure what to say. He couldn’t tell her it was okay. That would lead to more of her touching, and it hurt too much.
He turned to the sink and rinsed the cut on his arm. When he patted it dry, there was barely any blood. It wasn’t too deep, much shallower than where she’d been stabbed in her side.
