Her whole body was trembling as she looked at him, her voice shaking.
"Brent, my parents are dead—they died overseas. I only came back because you promised you'd protect me…"
"And now you can't even do this one little thing for me? How am I supposed to trust you! I might as well just die…"
"Don't!"
Before Gloria could press the blade any harder,
Brent lunged forward and closed his bare hand around the blade.
Blood streamed down his wrist like a creek.
Three years ago, the day I'd gone alone into a den of armed men to rescue him, he'd thrown his forearm into the path of a machete for me.
He'd told me he would only ever bleed for me, for the rest of his life.
Funny how that promise only had three years in it.
"Brent, I don't want to put you in a hard spot…"
"You're not!"
Brent turned and walked straight toward me.
"Gloria wants this dress? I'll strip it off her myself!"
The words were barely out of his mouth
before he reached down and ripped away the jacket he'd just draped over me.
Then he grabbed the collar of the gown and tore downward.
"Brent!"
I summoned every ounce of strength I had left and locked both hands around his wrist.
My eyes were bloodshot, fixed on his face, my voice raw and shaking.