The Wild One

"You keep calling me tesoro," I said quietly. "Like I belong to you."

He didn't look at me this time. "Right now," he replied, "you're the reason I'm still breathing."

"That's not the same thing."

A slow smile touched his mouth. Not kind. Not soft. "Doesn't have to be."

The road blurred past the windows. My pulse refused to settle.

"You ever feel bad about this?" I asked. "About taking someone who didn't ask to be dragged into your mess?"

He finally glanced at me, eyes sharp, assessing. "Every day."

I waited. "And?"

"And I do it anyway."

Silence pressed down on us.

"You scare me," I admitted.

His gaze dipped, just briefly, to my throat. My mouth. "Good," he said. "Means you're paying attention."

My breath hitched. "Is this part of the job?"

"No." His voice dropped. "That's the problem."

I swallowed. "Then stop looking at me like that."

He leaned closer, close enough that I could smell smoke and metal on him. Close enough that my instincts screamed.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you're deciding something."

He held my stare, unbothered.

"I already chose," he said. "I'm just letting you catch up."