Page 158 of Vega

“That’s not on brand for you. He’s changing you already.” He gave me a joking judgmental smirk, then he eyed me sternly. “Was he good to you?”

“Yes,” I said, blushing. “He was.”

“Good.” Dior nodded once. “Because if he had you in here crying behind some trash sex after all this trauma, I was gonna have to fight him, and I do not have the body mass for that shit.”

I laughed again, but it didn’t last long. “Despite the circumstances, he’s been good to me. But I just still don’t know how to be okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I love him,” I admitted. “And I know that sounds insane. I know how it started. I know what he did. But I love him, Dior. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel wanted. He sees me in ways nobody ever did.”

Dior nodded slowly.

“But I’m tired,” I said. “I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of locked doors. I’m tired of people getting hurt because of me.”

Dior’s eyes got glossy. “Come here.”

I leaned into him, and he wrapped both arms around me. “You’re not wrong for wanting your life back. And you’re not wrong for loving him either. Two things can be true.”

I swallowed hard.

“But he gotta remember something,” Dior said. “Saving you don’t mean he gets to control every move you make. Protection can turn into a cage real quick, and you already survived too much to live in another one.”

“He’s trying.”

“I believe that,” Dior said. “That’s why I haven’t read him for filth yet.”

“You still might.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m just waiting on my spirit to release me.”

28

VEGARRO “VEGA” MORETTI

Sonnet and Dior talked, drank liquor, and laughed loud in that suite until almost two in the morning. I stayed in the bedroom and let them have their privacy. For the first time in weeks, I ate by myself, listening to Sonnet laugh through the wall. I had never heard her laugh sound so free and light.

Seeing that smile on my baby’s face made it even more urgent that I get rid of Roman. Sonnet deserved to live her life as freely as she had fought for it. She deserved her routine. But I feared that, once she was free, she might remember that blood, violence, and drugs weren’t her world. She might remember my presence came with death and violence. She might wake up one day with no reason to stay and run faster than she had ever run in her life.

By the time Dior was ready to go, Sonnet insisted on riding with us to take him home. But she was asleep before we hit the second stoplight.

Dior sat in the backseat with one leg crossed over the other, smoking a blunt with the window cracked.

“You smoke?” he asked as he handed it forward.

I glanced at it through the rearview mirror. “No offense, but you suck dick.”

Dior threw his head back laughing. “Fuck you, Vega.”

I smirked. “You wish.”

He took another pull and blew smoke toward the cracked window. His voice lost some of the humor when he asked, “Can I ask you something?”

I raised my brow at him through the rearview mirror. “Depends.”

He rolled his eyes but asked, “Why you don’t treat me funny?”

“Funny how?”