Page 47 of Break Me

He obeys, wincing. Purple bruises stain his side, ugly and spreading.

My breath hitches. “You need to go to the hospital. Something might be broken.”

“He didn’t break anything.” But the rasp in his voice tells me the truth. He isn’t sure.

I slide my hand along his ribs, feeling for heat, swelling, anything that might tell me how badly he’s hurt. His shoulders sag, and his head drops until his forehead rests against mine.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like I’m worth saving.”

My voice trembles. “You are.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ve ruined your life.”

“You are my life.”

His hands rise and cradle my face. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” I whisper, tears slipping free. “But you have me. I’m yours, Samuel Morgan. Forever and always.”

He kisses me like he’s memorizing me in case this is the last time he ever gets to touch me.

I slide my arms around him, careful of his ribs, and pull him closer. He groans softly against my mouth.

“You deserve so much better than what I can offer you,” he says. “But I’m a selfish bastard. I want to make you mine so nothing can take you away from me.”

“Then, let’s go,” I say. “We can run away and get married.”

For a moment, the world outside his room doesn’t exist.

Then, a heavy footstep echoes down the hall. Samuel stiffens instantly. Someone stops outside his door.

“Wolf,” Mouse says. “Church. Now.”

My blood runs cold. “Don’t go,” I whisper.

Samuel brushes a trembling hand through my hair. “I have to.”

“Sam, Knox will⁠—”

“Sweetheart, if I don’t face them now, this will only get worse.”

“What if they.” Terror slams into my ribs like a fist. “What if they vote you out? What if they⁠—”

He kisses me again, soft and firm, the kind of kiss that says remember me.

“I’ll come back to you,” he murmurs. “No matter what they decide.”

“Sam—”

“Go home. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

My throat burns. “What if you don’t come back?”

His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing a tear I didn’t feel fall. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

He stands, painfully, slowly, and pulls on his cut. Blood stains the collar. His ribs are a disaster. His jaw’s already swelling. But when he steps through the remains of his door, his shoulders square and his chin lifts.

Mouse meets his eyes. “You ready?”