We couldn't lose men; we were in scarcity as it was. Everyone knew that.

"Nothing will happen to us," he had promised. His voice was coated in honey, the deadly kind that would get you stung by a thousand bees because you put your hand inside the beehive you extract it.

"Nothing will happen to you," I corrected and he raised a brow at me. I could see his brain working as he realized what I meant. His eyes flashed as he stared at me for a moment.

"I'd shoot any and all of those f.u.c.kers down if it came to it. No one will touch you."

"Because I'll kill them myself." He smirked.

"We'll kill them together, my kitten."

And we sat there for minutes in silence. I had never felt more equal to him than at that moment. We were partners in crime—the team that no one could penetrate without losing a limb. He would work around each other in perfect synchronization with blindfolds over our eyes and our listening hampered. We knew the exact amount of time the other took to take the next breath and how much reaction time it took to a.n.a.lyze a situation. We knew who would ask the questions and who would play the good cop. It came to us naturally, and he had known from the very beginning; the moment I had pulled my own gun out and pointed at his head to show him that he could never take me down: that I was just as bull-headed a b.i.t.c.h as he was.

"Shall we?" he chuckled, and I smirked at him. He had given me a wink and then we had driven off into the proverbial sunset.

I thought back on the conversation and felt lighter because I was oddly comforted that he would have my back the whole time. We decided to take a nap, with a few people keeping guard for the night. Michael and I found ourselves inside the car with the heater on. The back seat of the car had a few bags on them, so we reclined on the front seats and chatted until sleep took us. I was sure that I was going to be carrying out a raid with a sore neck the next morning.

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