The Paper Swan(102)

“You asked if I would marry you. The answer is yes.”

“That was when you had a choice. Try getting away from me now.”

“How am I supposed to do that when your dick is still inside of me?”

“Get used to it. I’m moving in. Next time, I might even stop long enough to remove your top.”

I laughed, but it faded quickly. “What is it?”

He knew every single detail of my face, but he was looking at me as if it was all new. His hand brushed my hair to the side, exposing my neck. “Just making sure this is real.” He dropped a soft kiss before withdrawing and tucking me in the crook of his arm. “You think there’s such a thing as too much happiness?” he asked. “Because right now, I feel like I can’t contain it and the universe is going to step in to restore the balance.”

“The universe is stepping in. To right all the wrongs, Damian. Not the other way round.”

His chest rose and fell with a long exhale. When the world has always taken from you, when it’s constantly tilted and shifted under your feet, it’s hard to attach permanence to the things it gives.

He held on to me like I was the most precious thing in the world. I felt like every cell was saturated with joy, full and swollen. I felt like ice cream and seashells and towering red-soled heels.

I might have fixed the gap between my teeth, MaMaLu, but my true love didn’t need a space to slip his heart in. I’d had it all along.

I hugged him close and smiled, the happiest I’d ever been.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Damian, when I swung my legs over the bed a few minutes later.

“I want to check on Sierra.” I searched for my panties and put them back on.

“Hurry back. I miss you.”

I laughed and opened the door. The hallway was dark, but I knew the house like the back of my hand. A nightlight was on in Sierra’s room. She had kicked back the covers and her arm was hanging over the edge. I pulled the comforter over her and nudged her towards the center of the bed. She didn’t move. I tucked her arm back in and was about to leave when I spotted something on the bedside table. I picked it up and frowned.

A syringe.

I was pretty sure it hadn’t been there before. Whatever was inside had been used, but why would Damian leave a syringe lying around? Especially with Sierra—

“Don’t move.” A figure came out of the shadows.

I felt something cold pressing against my temple. A gun. I knew it was a gun because once upon a time, Damian had held one to the back of my head. I had the same sinking feeling now as I did then, except this time it was much, much deeper.

“Call him.” The intruder pulled me towards the door.

“Who?”

“Stop playing games, Skye. Call Esteban or Damian or whatever the f*ck he’s calling himself these days.”

I knew that voice.

“Victor!” I swung around to face him, but he hit me with the gun. A stinging whack across cheek.

“Do as I say or she dies.” He pointed to Sierra.

“Damian,” I called, but my voice quivered.

Oh God. The syringe. What had he done to Sierra?

“Louder.” Victor prodded.

“Damian.”

He stepped out from the bedroom, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “Skye?” His voice was so warm and relaxed, I bit my lip to control the anguish. He had no idea what he was walking into.

You think there’s such a thing as too much happiness?

Victor swung me away from the door. We were standing in the center of the room, his gun aimed at me, when Damian walked in. For a split second, he froze, and then something kicked in—maybe it was his training at Caboras or maybe it was his take-charge personality. Either way, Damian assessed the situation and did the opposite of panic; he went lethally calm.

“Whatever you want, Victor. Let them go and it’s yours.”

“I want my arm back, motherf*cker. You think you can give me that? Because if you can reattach every nerve you severed, you go right ahead. Do you know what it’s like to walk around with a paralyzed arm in my business? I lost everything. I—”

“Cut the drama, Victor. I get it. It was your dominant arm. You can’t shoot. Or use a can opener. Or stroke your dick right. You took a hit on the job, a job of your choosing, and now you’re holding me accountable for it. What do you want?”

It took Victor a moment to regroup. He had been expecting fear, submission, compliance.