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Summary
“Tell me, chiquita, how long have you been waiting for me to show up?” Lalo’s voice was smooth, mocking, a grin curling at the corners of his lips as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes locked on hers, a spark of amusement flickering.
[Y/N] didn’t flinch. She sat there, arms crossed, an expression of detachment on her face. “I wasn’t waiting for you, Salamanca. I was waiting for the truth. But I’m starting to think that’s a wasted effort with you.”
Lalo chuckled, leaning closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Always so serious, cariño. You’re no fun. You know, I’m starting to think you like this—this little game we play.”
The words hung in the air, thick with history. [Y/N] took a slow breath, meeting his challenge with a flicker of defiance. “I don’t hate you, Lalo. Hate would imply you’re worth my time.”
Lalo leaned in just a fraction more, his voice lowering to a soft purr. “But you’re here, aren’t you? I’d say that makes us more than just enemies, don’t you think?”
She shot him a look that could cut glass. “We’re not working together, Lalo. We’re tolerating each other because if we don’t, we’ll both end up dead.”
His grin widened.