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“Razor.”

“Back up.”

“No.”

He presses the blade.

Sweet's face pinches.

I step back.

One step.

It feels like swallowing glass.

“That's right.” Razor's chest heaves behind her. “Now you know what she's worth.”

Sweet's eyes meet mine.

Fear. Anger. Hurt.

All of it deserved except the fear.

That belongs to him.

The question in her face is not whether I love her.

Not now.

It is simpler.

Can I trust you to get me out?

I do not deserve that question.

I answer anyway.

“Yes.”

Her brows pull together.

Razor laughs. “She didn't ask anything.”

“She did.”

Sweet knows what I mean.

I keep my eyes on hers.

“I’m getting you out.”

Not I've got you forever.

Not You're mine.

Not Trust me.

One promise.