Diego woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He’d had a series of nightmares, every single one involving Angela being murdered in front of him before he was killed himself. He rolled over to see her on her stomach, sound asleep. She looked so relaxed and peaceful, more than he’d seen her in weeks.
He wished he felt the same. Besides having the best sex of his life, everything was a sh*tshow. These stolen moments were as close to perfection as he’d ever get, but they were fleeting. As long as Germaine was alive, Diego would never have peace. He’d never get to love Angela the way he wanted to, and he definitely couldn’t protect her the way he needed to.
He slipped out of bed as carefully as he could and searched around for his clothes. When he finally found them, he carefully moved through the apartment to find his phone. Surprisingly, there was nothing from Germaine. He either didn’t know or didn’t care that he’d rushed Angela out of the bloodbath.