On the Edge by Allison van Diepen

I opened my eyes, expecting to find a nurse checking my IV or getting ready to replace a bandage.
    But it was him.
    He was standing by my bed, as still as silence. He wore a black bandanna over his face and a black cap tucked low over his eyes. I wasn’t afraid. I knew that he was the one who’d cradled my head in his lap and stroked my hair.
    â€œI had to see you,” he said.
    My chest filled with every emotion. “Lobo.”
    â€œYou know who I am.” He didn’t sound happy.
    â€œThat name doesn’t tell me who you are.”
    â€œIt tells you enough. More than you need to know.”
    â€œI don’t know anything. I think you’re probably a dream. Are you?”
    He shook his head. “I’m blood and bone, like you, Madeleina. I want you to know that you’re safe now. The Reyes who attacked you won’t come after you again. And neither will the others.”
    My mind wrapped around that slowly. “How can you know that?”
    â€œYou just have to trust me.”
    â€œDid you kill the guys who attacked me?” I looked up at the black bandanna, wishing I could see through it. Wishing I could at least see the expression in his shaded eyes.
    â€œNo, I didn’t kill them. But they deserved to die for what they did to you. And for what they would have done.”
    His words sent a chill through me. We both knew what he meant.
    â€œI want to know who you are, Lobo.”
    He gave a shrug. “I’m the one who’s looking out for you. Nothing else matters.”
    I’m the one who’s looking out for you . Something was beginning to dawn on me. “You had people follow me, didn’t you? Is that why they were there when I got attacked?”
    â€œYes. My guys were following you.”
    So my instincts had been right. I was being followed. But I still didn’t understand why he’d have them look out for me.
    â€œI know you have questions,” he said. “But the answers won’t free you from all of this. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
    He was right. I wanted to be free of this whole nightmare. I wanted to move on with my life.
    Lobo took a step forward, his black jeans coming in contact with the bed rail. He traced a finger along the side of my face. His touch was gentle, and his energy buzzed through me. I could feel it course through my blood and hum in my ears.
    I lifted my arm, anchored by the IV, and took his hand. He was so close, I held my breath. It felt like everything in the room—everything in the world—stilled.
    Although his hand was much bigger than mine, our hands fit perfectly together. And if I had my way, he would never let go.
    The moment I had the thought, I felt his grip slip from mine. He moved away from the bed.
    â€œSleep now, Madeleina.”
    The click of the door told me he had left the room. I wanted to call him back, to keep him beside me. I felt safe with him next to me.
    Lobo had saved my life. He’d had his guys follow me, a girl he didn’t even know. I owed him. I owed him everything. But how could I repay him if I didn’t know who he was?
    And then it hit me that I’d forgotten to thank him.
    In the morning, I was discharged from the hospital. I spent the next few days horizontal. Sometimes I lay on a lounger in the backyard, soaking in the April sun while Dex dug holes in the lawn. I would close my eyes and pretend I was on vacation until an aching part of my body set me straight.
    I couldn’t resist the temptation to watch news stories about my attack and scour the online newspapers.
    WITNESS TO HOMELESS MURDER ASSAULTED.
    BRUTAL ATTACK ON KEY WITNESS.
    The headlines were splashy, but the journalism was shitty—even a high school newspaper editor like me could see that. And the timeline was usually way off. Some news sources placed the attack as early as seven p.m., others as late as midnight.
    I felt an odd detachment from it all. Since