He whineslowly.
“I know, boy,” I whisper, the words shaky and thin. “I’m worried abouthim,too.”
* * *
As it turns out,our worries are fornaught.
Less than a minute after leaving us, Luca climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. We race away from the curb and barrel down my street, the air thrumming with barely-leashedviolence.
“What happened to them?” I ask, almost scared to know theanswer.
“Gone,” he grits out. “Tookoff.”
Shit.
That means they’re still out there, somewhere. That they’ll very likely try again, in thefuture.
The thought shakes me tomycore.
“Where are we going?” I whisper when Luca takes anunfamiliarturn.
“To the fucking hospital,” he snaps. “You’rehurt.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.” I look at him, at his hands curled around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, at his clenched jaw and furious eyes, and realize he’s still consumed by rage from thefight. “Luca.”
He doesn’tanswer.
“Luca, I said I’mfine. I don’t want to go to thehospital.”
“Toofuckingbad.”
“Luca…” My voice gets soft. “Please. I think the bleeding’s alreadystoppedand—”
“You adoctor?”
“No.”
“Nurse?”
“No,but—”
“Then you don’t get to have anopinion.”
Anger sparks to life inside me. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful you just saved me from some seriously scary dudes, but that does not mean you get to order mearound.”
His eyes cut to mine in the darkness. Behind the rage, behind the unmistakable obstinance… I’m stunned to see fear in theirdepths.
Luca Buchanan, who frequently steps into octagons and takes on actual giants without blinking twice, who grew up in foster homes and never lets anyone rattle him, who I’m damn near certain is half superhero… isafraid.
Forme.
Becauseofme.
It’s an awful sight. I hate seeing it in his eyes. It haunts me, even after helooksaway.
Shaking slightly, I reach out and place my hand on his thigh. The muscle is corded withtension.
“Luca.”