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“Tell her who you are, Gunner. Tell her how no one will ever care for her damaged soul.”

But Gunner remained silent, his whole body taut with anger. But at what? Being caught in a lie? Mario snapped back around, moving once more toward where I lay in wait.

“You hear that Muñeca? You are damaged.” His nostrils flared, and spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled at me. He attempted to thrust the proverbial dagger that were his words into my heart. “No one will ever care for a killer like you. You’re destined to be my fucked-up marionette.” A cruel laugh left Mario’s lips. “You sure as fuck were never going to be loved by a federal agent,” he called out.

My heart stopped. Blood running cold. Gunner’s eyes found mine through the chaos, as if he could sense my panic. The look of pity was so evident that I didn’t need him to speak. My heart didn’t want to accept what was written on his face. But all the moments between us came rushing back—the hints he gave me from the start that I was too stupid to recognize.

“Ryan…” Gunner whispered, but his tone told me everything I needed to know.

When you’re broken, you think of yourself as having some fucked-up version of invincibility. But Gunner showed me that broken pieces could be shattered. In that second, Gunner finished inflicting the damage that Mario started. I was numb. I couldn’t hear or feel anything in the world anymore. I was ready to open up that door in the back of my mind, the one I shoved all of my emotional damage into, and crawl inside.

A humorless laugh fell from my lips.

“My savior was my next jailor,” I muttered.

I’d known it wouldn’t end well for Gunner and me, but I could never have prepared for this level of shredding of my soul. Dampness met the back of my hand as I swiped at my tears. I was angry at my inability to keep my emotions in check, could feel the bricks go back up around my damaged heart, entombing what little was left.

It had been less painful when I didn’t know if Gunner loved me or not. I could pretend that he did. Pretend that there was something redeemable about me, something worth loving about me.

I wanted Gunner.

I needed Gunner.

And Gunner was gone. Ironically, he was never even real.

That fantasy was destroyed, and the fucked-up part was that none of this changed how I felt about him. It didn’t do a damn thing to change that I loved him, and I was about to sacrifice myself to save him. For a moment, I thought I was wrong about my worth.

“See, Muñeca, I’m the only one who will give you affection,” Mario called out cockily.

He was right about one thing. I was a killer, and I didn’t want or need his affection. My destiny was to have my hands drenched in the blood of guilty men. And Mario would be the next man I sent to El Diablo.

“Don’t listen to him, Ryan. I can explain,” Gunner pleaded. But I’d already tuned him out. I had to. There was no way I could function if I let him slip through my shield again.

Tilting my head up, I attempted to stop the tears from streaming down my face. It took all my willpower not to let out audible sobs. Now I understood why Nikki never let anyone close; this pain was worse than any physical injury. I forced myself to pull it together. To focus on the task at hand.

I was sure a therapist would tell me this disassociation was not healthy, but this was how I got shit done. And right now would be no different. Shoving my feelings away, I allowed the calm to overtake me. Part of me recognized I would probably never leave this cocoon of numbness—if I even survived.

I looked down at my blood-caked hands, clutching a blade I killed with.

Hands that had run over Gunner’s body.

Did he cringe at the thought of the hands of a killer touching him? My eyes shut in shame at that thought. I worked harder at shutting everything out. I hoped he found love and that he would tell her she got to have him because of what I was about to do.

His voice cut through the noise in my mind, pulling my gaze back to him. I was powerless to resist seeking out the person whose comfort I craved, even if he was the one holding the knife that had carved out my heart.

“Babe, it wasn’t all a lie. The man who stood before you was me, raw and uncut. You unlocked my cage, Ryan.” Gunner’s voice cracked with emotion. “I was a chained man living for nothing, and you came and changed that. Your soul isn’t damaged, Ryan. You’re strong enough to face what others won’t, do things others aren’t willing to do to save the lost. I see your soul, Ryan. I love you, all of you. Every fucking part,” he yelled out.

His voice dripped in anguish, and the look in his eyes gave me pause. I thought he’d given me a look of pity, but maybe that wasn’t the emotion his eyes had been showing. Or maybe I was latching on to any sign of hope. As if sensing the crossroads I was facing, Gunner continued on, a sense of urgency in his tone.

“I told you, babe, remember? I told you that I was keeping you. When all the shit hit the fan, when you fought me and questioned everything, I would fight for you. Remember? I told you how you own every piece of me, Ryan…”

It was as if the whole room was waiting on bated breath for my reaction.

“Babe, if we’re doing some Cleopatra and Marc Antony shit, let me know, but you’re not going anywhere without me.” His voice grew louder—desperate. “I know you hear me, Ryan. I know you’re trying to pack yourself up and shove that beautiful soul away, but don’t shut me out, baby—”

Mario decided he’d had enough of Gunner’s pleas and thrust the blade he was holding into Gunner’s thigh, causing Gunner to double over in pain while I cried out in shock.

Mario’s crazed eyes searched for me.