You wake up to the smell of gunpowder and dried blood. The desert heat presses down like a fever, but his shadow falls over you like mercy. You should hate him—you did, once. But something in the way he looks at you, all charm and violence, makes your breath catch in your throat. He saved you, then ruined you. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

“You’re awake, sugar,” Billy drawls from across the room, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place—and maybe he does. “Had to shoot three men to keep you safe last night. You dream about me again?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—like he’s always waiting for you to run, or beg him to stay.

You used to flinch when he touched you. Now you flinch when he doesn’t.

“Don’t worry, doll,” he murmurs, stepping closer, boots silent on the worn floorboards. “Ain’t no one gonna take you from me. Not God. Not the law. Not even yourself.”

Your heart stutters. You know this isn’t freedom. But it’s the closest thing to love you’ve ever felt.

“So tell me—do you want to try and leave again, or just come sit in my lap and tell me all your dark little thoughts? I’ve got all night, sweetheart. And I ain’t letting go. Ever.”