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“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she says. “I mean you did. You’ve done things that are...”

“Unforgivable.” I will regret them for the rest of my life.

“Yeah.” She touches her throat, probably remembering me putting my hands on her the way I did.

“I have no right to your forgiveness.” But I pray for it anyway.

“You ripped my heart out of my chest. You hurt me more than anyone ever has. But you wouldn’t hurt me like Marco did. I still believe that about you.”

I hate that I hurt her at all. “Did you see who was chasing you?”

She blinks heavily. “Is that your poster on the wall?”

One of the L.A. Riot posters is on the wall of the alley. My goddamn face is staring right at her. Is that why she’s telling me I was here? She saw the poster and, in her fearful, drunk state, didn’t realize that it was just a poster.

“I’m really tired, Riot.” She yawns.

I lift her palm up to inspect her damaged skin. “We’ll get some antiseptic on this when we get back.”

“Are you going to kiss it better?” She stares up at me. Even though

her eyes are glazed and unfocused there’s something of the way she used to look at me in them. I’m a greedy, selfish man, because I want her to look at me like that. I’m a desperate man who would do anything to keep that look on her face just for me.

I gently press a kiss to the least damaged part of her palm. If kissing would make everything better, my lips would be on every inch of her body for the rest of my life. But since it won’t, I settle for the tiny chink in her armor that allows me one second of reprieve from the pain of not being hers.

I’m going to bring Sonatina down, then my Little Vandal better be ready to be the center of my attention. “I need to call Rook. Let everyone know you’re safe.”

I make the call while I walk over to my motorcycle. “I have her. Yes, she’s fine. Can you let the others know?”

She messes around with the tiny purse strapped to her wrist. The outfit she is wearing is ridiculously short and tight. The thigh high boots remind me of what her legs feel like wrapped around me. Fuck I miss her style and her confidence.

I miss us. I’m knotted up inside. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. There’s a thickness in my throat every time I see her and am forced to deal with the fact that I can’t touch her. Can’t kiss her. Or hold her. And that Kodiak gets to.

“For now,” I tell myself while I pull up a rideshare app and order a ride. I’m not going anywhere. Not giving up on us.

She pulls a long, thick tube from her purse as I’m working on standing my bike up. It has a black end, which she puts to her mouth. When she brings it back to her side and wobbles toward the poster, I almost drop the bike as I bite back a laugh.

Making sure the kickstand is down once I have the bike upright, I take the keys from the ignition and pocket them on my way to join her.

I lean my shoulder against the bricks while she teeters on tiptoe to draw a huge fucking dick on my face.

“What are you doing, Little Vandal?” I can’t keep my lips from curling up. Last time I caught her, and I spanked her ass as punishment. I was angry that she was back, hurting because I thought she’d betrayed us when she left me. This time I know I deserve the destruction.

“You look so much better with a dick on your face.” Two lines appear between her eyes when she wrinkles her nose. Stretching up, she adds lines of spunk to her artwork.

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Because I was a huge fucking dick to her. But also... her obsession with ruining every poster of L.A. Riot she comes across tells me that she’s still thinking about us... still emotionally invested in us. It’s fucking hope.

“Here, let me.” I step behind her and put my hands on her waist to lift her up.

She finishes the spunk. Across the top she writes ASSHOLE. Which is less damning than what I thought she would write.

I lower her until her feet touch the ground. She puts the cap back on the marker as she turns around. Her balance isn’t the best and she sways into my chest. Her fingers curl in my shirt. She presses her lips to my cheek. “Thanks.”

“Asshole?” I ask.

“You get a reprieve. You did come to find me.” She pats my chest. “But that doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

I catch her hand and squeeze it. “I don’t want to let you go.”