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Liss tried to smooth her hair behind her ear again—a nervous habit she hadn’t shaken yet despite her haircut.
“What if I want to show my gratitude?”
I stifled a sigh. She sounded so innocent when she talked like that. She had a sharp tongue, and those marks on her body suggested she’d been through hell, but she was still young, naive, with a tender heart underneath it all.
“Then write me a note,” I said. “Send some flowers. Whatever. If you could read my mind…” I shook my head. “You would agree I’m no saint. But I can’t do this. It wouldn’t be right.”
Liss ducked her head. Her hand strayed to my cut, lightly tracing the worn and frayed stitching. It seemed more like a comfort-seeking gesture than anything else. The sting of rejection had to be a hard pill to swallow. I pulled her close and brushed a kiss to her temple.
“Get dressed,” I said softly. “I’ll take another stab at this grilled cheese.”
Liss nodded, silent, and padded back to her room. When she was gone, I blew out a shaky breath. If there was a God, he was a cruel man to test my patience like that.
I deposited the burnt sandwich in the garbage, and started over. While I worked, I kept one ear open, listening for signs of Liss. I wouldn’t be surprised if she packed up right now and walked away after I turned her down. An engine rumbled outside as a car passed. When I set the sandwich in the pan and the grease hissed, I glanced over my shoulder.
No sign of Liss.
Maybe I should go talk to her.
I couldn’t force her to stay, but I didn’t want her to think she had no friends in this world she could count on.
Then the pop-pop-pop of gunfire ripped through the air.
Glass shattered around me in a stinging shower of shards. Pain seared through my left shoulder. I dropped to the floor, pressing myself back against the cabinets as I fumbled for my gun.
One thought flared bright in my mind above everything else.
“Liss!” I bellowed.
Chapter Six
Liss
Just as I tugged my sweater over my head, a spray of bullets ripped into the wall inches away from my left ear. I hit the floor, huddling behind the bed. My heart hammered against my chest. It hurt to breathe.
My brother. He found me.
“Liss!”
Gideon’s voice—a commanding roar laced with concern. I was so scared that my teeth were chattering, but I somehow managed to start crawling toward the sound of his voice.
In the back of my mind, I chastised myself for being stupid. My brother was shooting at me, for Christ’s sake. I needed to leave before he hauled my ass back home.
But all I could think about was Gideon.
When I got to the hallway, he stumbled into view. Relief and horror mingled in my chest at the sight of him. Blood streamed from his left shoulder and down his forearm, staining his Henley a disturbingly dark red. In his other hand, he gripped his Glock.
Striding down the hallway, Gideon reached for me, touching my cheek, my shoulder, my hair.
“Are you hurt? Did you get hit?”
I shook my head, still reeling, trying to get my bearings.
“No, no, I’m fine. I’m okay, I think, but—Gideon, you’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing serious,” he replied.
Nothing serious. I pushed his vest aside to get a better look. His shirt was fucking soaked from the hole in his shoulder. I bit my tongue with a whimper.
