Page 80 of Only the Hunter

“I’m not deciding⁠—”

“Yes, you are,” she interrupts. “You’re deciding I’m more important than the case. You’re deciding I’m worth saving even if it means someone else doesn’t get justice. You’re deciding for me.”

“Because I don’t want to watch you die!”

Jesus. How fucking hard is it to understand.

She glares.

We’re standing too close now. Close enough that I can see the rise and fall of her chest, the flush in her skin.

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is asking me to stand by and do nothing.”

She exhales, shaky. “You think I don’t know the risks?”

“I think you don’t care what it costs as long as you win.”

“You’re wrong.” She shakes her head. Takes a step back. “It’s got nothing to do with winning. It’s about keeping my word. It’s about preventing this from happening to vulnerable people. It’s doing something when I can. It’s about justice.”

“I stand corrected.” This time, I glower. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

“I think you care too much,” she counters. “About me. About this. About whatever this is between us that you won’t admit you want.”

That stops me cold. “What does that mean?”

She searches my face. “You keep me at arm’s length, Gabe. You flew across the Atlantic to protect me, but you’ve never let me in. Why?”

“That’s not⁠—”

“You pulled me out of that café because you panicked,” she says, voice softer now, edge mostly gone. “Not because it was the best decision for the case. Because you couldn’t handle the idea of something happening to me—of losing me.”

I don’t answer.

Because she’s right.

And I don’t see a damn thing wrong with that.

“You want me around, but you keep me at a distance. What are you so afraid of?”

“It’s nothing to do with fear.”

“Bullshit. You’re frightened. Of wanting me. Of what happens if you let someone who matters in.”

Those big eyes are bright. Furious. Alive.

And I’ve never wanted anything more than to pick her up and shove her against a wall and let her know what it’s like when I hold nothing back.

“That’s not fair,” I say, voice gravel.

“No,” she agrees. “But it’s true.”

We stand there, inches apart, the air between us crackling.

I should step back.

I don’t.