Hot Night. Shannon McKenna
really glad of that.”
“Oh, Abby.” He reached for her.
She lurched away. “No. I do not want to see fountains of blood, or watch a man I care about jump into a knife fight! Forget it! No more!”
“Abby, try to understand,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know—”
“Oh, I’m great at understanding,” she said bitterly. “That’s what’s ruined my life so far. I’m drawing the line now. A thick, black line.”
“But he was my brother!” Zan protested. “I did what I had to do!”
“Of course you did. I don’t fault you for it. You were very brave. Your brother is lucky you care so much. But I just cannot deal. So I’ve made my decision.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t fit the profile.”
His eyes narrowed. “Huh? What the fuck is the profile?”
She steeled herself. “I don’t want adventures like this in my life. Ever again. Therefore, I need to stay away from a certain type of man.”
“Type?” He looked bewildered. “What type am I?”
She shook her head. It was so hard to verbalize this kind of thing. “It’s…the black leather, the tattoos, the fighting, the whole lifestyle.”
“What lifestyle? What the hell do you know about my lifestyle?”
“I know what I need to know. You live in an abandoned factory—”
“Abandoned? Abby, my apartment is not a—”
“I want a normal life!” she yelled. “I want a normal man, a normal car, a normal house! Nice things! And I don’t want to have to feel guilty about wanting them! I’m entitled! It’s not too goddamn much to ask!”
“Yeah? Edgar? Or Reginald?” Zan flung back at her. “Is that who you want to see when you roll over in the morning and open your eyes?”
She winced. “No. But I don’t want the kind of thing that happened to me tonight. I know for sure that I don’t want that.”
His throat bobbed. “You surprise me. I wouldn’t have taken you for a judgmental, materialistic bitch. You look so warm and real.”
Ouch. She flinched back. “You’d better go,” she whispered.
“Oh yeah. I’m going. Sweet dreams, Abby. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Because it’s exactly what you deserve.” He turned and ran down the stairs.
“Zan!” she called, prompted by God knew what crazy impulse.
He looked back over his shoulder. The look in his eyes broke her heart. “I’m really sorry,” she faltered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“So don’t make it worse.” He disappeared into the dark.
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