Have a snippet. Yeah, no, I'm not setting it up.
"We were talking, the night I got taken. About a client with a cheating husband. Kidding around, like you do. And she said 'You know I'd kill you, right?'" Stopped. Swallowed. "And I told her I'd hand her the gun and bare my chest against the muzzle." The conversation, the last one he'd had with Janni, was seared into his memory.
"Oh, puppy."
"So, in the dream, I give her my Glock and strip my shirt off and stand there. Waiting. And she just...looks at me. And then she drops the gun, turns, and walks off without a word. Like it's not even worth her time or energy to kill me."
"Shh." Ange stroked his hair. "She wouldn't do that."
His arm tightened around her waist. "Are you kidding? I shouldn't even be doing this, let alone--"
"If we didn't do this, you'd have shattered like a porcelain teacup long before now. You have anyway, a few times."
"Yeah. But there used to be this bright line, you know? The one that never got crossed under any circumstances. I've not only crossed it, I've obliterated it. The difference between right and wrong, sane and crazy? I don't know what that is anymore." Shaking. "And I'm just not sure that letting you put me back together is the right thing to do."
"Leave you shattered? Send you back to the lab? I'm physically incapable of doing that."
"I know. I also know that if--fuck, when, dammit, when--" Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a second to get ahold of himself. "When she finds me again, she's going to hate me. With good reason."
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