The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 362

The second he finished talking, Petty felt her arm tense up.

Franco looked up at her, eyes dark and intense, too focused—like he saw straight through her. Then he smiled, sudden and just a little dangerous.

“Scared to try?”

Petty wasn’t ready for that. She caught his smile, but it was nothing like anything she’d seen from him before. There was warmth there, something shockingly gentle, and a mess of emotions she couldn’t quite untangle. For a second, it almost made her believe he cared more than he would ever say.

Maybe she’d gotten glimpses of this before, but they always vanished so quickly, she convinced herself she’d imagined them. But right now, he made no effort to hide it. There was an edge to him that felt unbalanced, like he was teetering on the verge of letting go completely.

She also saw something wild in his eyes, something that both scared her and drew her in.

Her mind flickered back to that day at The Glades, when he pointed a gun at her. She yanked her hand away and blurted out, “You only get one chance. If you miss, that’s it. I’m not like you. I can’t just shoot a weapon out of someone’s hand, even in an emergency.”

Her words had bite, every line twisted with sarcasm. Her stare was cold, daring him to respond, but underneath it all, she was hurting.

Franco’s eyes went hard as he grabbed her hand again, fingers cool as he checked her wrist guard. “Were you mad my aim isn’t good enough to kill you?”

He remembered. Too well.

Petty turned her head, staring out at the target set twenty-five meters away. Something clenched in her chest, cold and heavy. She finally asked, “If you’d gotten there any later, and I’d shot Laura… would you have killed me?”

Franco picked up a gun from the table, pressed it into her palm, and answered, calm and flat, “No.”

She frowned, not sure whether to believe him.

He guided her hand, helping her aim at the distant target. His voice was quiet, just above a whisper, brushing against her ear.

Franco watched her, picking up on every shift in her mood. His face was hard to read. He swallowed and finally said, “Within reason.”

She nodded, letting it go.

It wasn’t like she had a real shot. Franco was a born marksman. She was just someone Malcom had taught the basics to, and she’d never figured out if Malcom or Franco was the better shot.

By any regular logic, she couldn’t win against Franco. But he was right—why not try? Even if she couldn’t leave the island, at least there was this.

She needed to fight for whatever she could get.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Franco was already moving. He picked up a second gun, loaded it, aimed, and fired. Satisfied it worked, he laid it down and pulled a tie out of his pants pocket.

Petty’s eyes flicked to it. Instinctively, she reached back to touch her ponytail, still neatly tied with one of Franco’s old ties.