Barker“Dead?” I finish Ainsley’s sentence as I crawl over to her. “I feel like it. I look like it, too… no thanks to our pal Henry over here.”
“Our friend?” she sobs. “What the hell do you mean? He was supposed to kill you and then give me to Vice!”
I’ve never known a woman who would willingly suffer like this for a man like me. And the craziest thing is, I’ve never seen her look prettier than this; a weather-beaten, vulnerable mess, with the bruises, cuts, and smeared mascara to prove it. Her tough, spoiled-girl wall has been broken down into bits, leaving her looking kind of like a waif, one with an inner strength she didn’t know she had.
I scoop her up into my arms, smelling her fresh hair and the perfume from days ago that’s still lingering on her like an imprint. In the tangles of
