Kill for You (Warrior for Her #2)

Chapter Eleven

Octavio

N ikolai Tarasova’s territory is no less depressing in the light of day than it is in the dark of night. Ilya's bar is still closed; crime scene tape stretched across the boarded-up entrance. I'm surprised to see that. Ilya Lukanin was told days ago that the bar could reopen for business despite not having all the I's dotted and T's crossed on his liquor license. I make a mental note to check in and find out what's going on with him since I promised Faith that nothing would happen to him.

I haven't had time to do much of anything for the last week. Between the Kincaid situation and my caseload, I barely even have time to see Faith. I walk her next door to Roman's every morning…and then pick her up from there well after dark every night. We spend a few minutes talking before she retreats to the living room, and I head to my office to finish up everything I didn't get done during the day.

She's been distant since she asked for her notebook. She's constantly writing in it, but I haven't asked to see it and she hasn't offered to show it to me. I hate the haunted, faraway look on her face when she's working on it. She's locked in her mind, remembering things no one should ever have to remember, fighting demons that continue to torment her. Being patient is driving me mad. I want her to confide in me. I want her to trust me enough to tell me her secrets.

I want her , goddammit.

Halfway down the block, where the more commercial district gives way to a rundown residential area, I find my target leaning up against the side of a crumbling brick wall with two of his buddies, a joint stuck between his lips.

Mikhail Marozava is in his late twenties, with a criminal record longer than my arm. He's dressed in jeans and a grey T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low over his face. With tattoos up and down his arms and a scar from a knife fight across his neck, he looks exactly like the dangerous man he is. He's a world-class prick. And thanks to the information Faith gave Finn a few days ago, we now have enough on him to haul him in for questioning in the murders of Alejandro Gomez and Juan Arias.

"That's him," I mutter to Troy Coulter, my partner on this. He's another detective stationed in my precinct office and a friend of sorts. We don't work together often, but coming to Tarasova’s territory alone is asking for trouble…especially since we came to bring one of his people in for questioning. Dwayne Livingston, a patrol officer, follows behind us in his squad car.

"He looks like a prick," Troy says.

"He is a prick. He's also dangerous."

Mikhail and his buddies notice us pulling to a stop. His cold gaze sweeps over us as we cut the engine and climb out of the Tahoe. Livingston pulls his squad car to a stop beside the SUV, partially blocking the roadway. When Mikhail and his buddies notice him climbing from his car, they straighten up.

Mikhail says something to one of the men with him, who pulls out a cell phone. He's undoubtedly calling for reinforcements, but they'll get here too late. We chose today for a reason.

Most of the Bratva are at the funeral for Abram Dronov, whose body has been sitting in the morgue for the last few weeks, unclaimed. An aunt finally stepped up—likely at the urging of Nikolai Tarasova—a couple of days ago. Mikhail, however, wasn't on the invite list for the funeral. According to our intel, he and Dronov couldn't stand each other.

" Otvali . This is Tarasova land," Mikhail says like this is Russia and he's claiming sovereignty over the land, taking a hit from his joint as we walk toward him. Contempt roils through his gaze. "LAPD isn't welcome here."

"Mikhail Marozava?" I ask, even though I know who he is. He's the cabrón who called Faith a fucking bitch the night of the shooting. The one who runs around with Ivan Sedov. Sedov is at the top of my list of Tarasova’s people to personally destroy…and bringing in Mikhail Marozava is only my first move.

"Are you deaf, zjelob ? I told you to leave." He tosses his joint to the ground and takes a step in my direction. His buddies eye us warily but don't step up to back him, clearly reluctant to take on three cops.

"You're under arrest for the murders of Alejandro Gomez and Juan Arias." I jerk my head at Livingston, who steps forward with a pair of handcuffs.

Mikhail curses and takes a threatening step forward before his gaze falls on Troy, who has his gun out and aimed at him. He quickly rethinks his strategy and sends a baleful glare in my direction, holding his hands up. Livingston cuffs him and then starts patting him down.

Mikhail barks orders at his buddies, demanding that they call Sedov and Tarasova and tell them what's going on. One of them holds up his phone to show that he's already on top of it.

I read Mikhail his rights, watching as Livingston pulls a switchblade, a box cutter, and a baggie of white powder out of his pockets, along with a big wad of cash and two condoms. Mikhail fires off curses the entire time. I let them roll off my back. I've been called every name under the sun, and Mikhail is far from original.

"Otyebis ot menya!" he growls, glaring daggers at me. He acts out the entire way to Livingston's car, even trying to spit on Troy.

"Try that shit again and I'll put a spit mask on you," Troy snaps at him, yanking open the door to Livingston's squad car. "Get the fuck in and shut the fuck up."

" Yob tvoyu mat ." Mikhail lifts his middle finger from behind his back as he climbs into the car.

Livingston slams the door, cutting Mikhail off as he rants and raves like a child having a temper tantrum. It's no surprise that he's stuck up Sedov's ass. They're both violent pricks with conflated senses of self-worth. Bullies, exactly like Faith named them. Too bad for both of them…but they're in my city now. And I have absolutely zero tolerance for bullies who hurt women. Especially when one of those women was Faith.

Two hours later, Mikhail has said exactly a handful of sentences. They all involve my mother…and none are complimentary. He spends the rest of the time glaring at me from across the table. If he weren't pissing me off, I'd admire his tenacity, but I'm running out of patience.

"Since you don't want to answer questions about the two men you killed, the two thousand dollars we found in your pocket, or the drugs, let's talk about Faith Donovan." I slide a picture of her across the table to him, though the last thing I want is for him to look at her. "Do you know her?"

"Never seen her before," he lies, not even glancing at the photo.

"That's funny." I lean back in my chair. "You certainly seemed to know her when you called her a fucking bitch after she helped ensure that your friends and family—many of whom helped hold her against her will for five years—were identified so they could receive appropriate medical care after the shooting at Ilya's."

He tries hard to keep his expression blank but fails miserably. Hatred glitters in his eyes.

"You know who she is."

"Never seen her before."

"Right. Then let's talk about the fact that her mother and Alexei Palatov stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from Nikolai Tarasova and the Bratva. Does that ring any bells?"

"Do I look like I keep up with what the mothers of our whores are doing?" he asks, sneering at me. "I fuck them and leave them, yobanyi karas’ . I don't stick around to chat."

A warning growl rumbles in my chest, my temper quickly rising at his insinuation that Faith's a whore and he's slept with her. He's a goddamn liar. Whatever they did to her, they didn't prostitute her. I'm positive of that. I'm pretty goddamn sure she's a virgin, so they didn't rape her either.

Mikhail's eyes gleam with satisfaction when he notices my reaction. He throws his head back and laughs loudly. "You're the one who took her from Nikolai," he says through laughter. "He's going to find her, you know. You won't be able to hide her from us forever."

"So you do know her."

And the Bratva weren't the ones who shot at us in the movie theater parking lot. Or they didn't fill Marozava in on the finer details if they were. I'm guessing it's the former. Which means they don't know where she is yet. Thank God.

"Oh, I know her. But you don't." He laughs again. "What? Did no one ever tell you not to take what belongs to another man?"

"She isn't property to be claimed."

"No?" He shakes his head like I'm stupid. "She belongs to Nikolai. He's going to destroy you when he finds her. No one takes from Nikolai Tarasova. Not even the cops." He shakes his head again, grinning at me. "She always begs for us to spare their lives. I wonder if she'll beg for yours too?"

"You won't be seeing her again to find out," I growl, flipping the folder closed and climbing to my feet as satisfaction and rage roar through me in tandem. I don't know what he means about her begging for their lives, but I intend to find out. For now, he's given me what I needed, and I'm done with him. "In fact, you won't be seeing anyone again anytime soon. Not unless they join you on your trip out of the United States." I lean toward him, sneering as I turn the insult back on him. "You're up for deportation." It's not news I usually like to deliver, but this time I fucking smile when I say it.

His smile slips, his laughter dying as uncertainty filters through his expression. "I have a green card. You can't deport me."

"Wrong." Troy smirks at him. "You had a green card. We found you with drugs and drug money in your pocket. You're also a confessed member of the Tarasova Cartel, a known Russian organized crime syndicate."

"One currently under investigation for human trafficking and slavery," I add, planting my fists on the table and leaning toward him. "We don’t keep Bratva members involved in human trafficking in this country, Marozava. You might have made Faith Donovan's life hell for the last five years, but she sealed your fate. You never should have admitted to knowing her when she's a known victim of human trafficking. She's been held against her will by Nikolai Tarasova for five years. You won't see the outside of a jail cell until you're on a plane back to Mother Russia."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" I ask, giving him a savage smile.

Panic ripples across his face, wiping away his smug amusement.

"You're done, Marozava. You were beaten the minute I got my hands on her."

"I want a lawyer!" he shouts, his voice rising an octave.

He can have any lawyer he wants. It's too late for one to save him. He's already given me what I needed to take him out. He knows it as well as I do. He’s going back to Russia. And judging by his reaction, that’s the last fucking place he wants to be right now. Good. I hope whoever he’s running from over there and whatever they do to him when they find him hurts like hell.

"Take him to a cell to wait for ICE," I mutter to Troy, gathering his folder off the table and then hitting the button to stop recording the interview. I head out of the interview room to go collect Faith from Dr. Shapiro's office, Mikhail shouting curses at me the entire way.

They don't fade until I'm halfway down the hall.

"Hernandez!"

I glance up to find Officer Livingston headed my way at a quick clip.

"What's up?"

"Captain told me to find you. Finn Bethel has been trying to reach you."

Finn usually passes info to me through Roman, but Roman took the weekend off. Which is why Faith has been with Dr. Shapiro for the last three and a half hours. Roman has been working nonstop for weeks. The man needed a break, so Finn and Luke took his caseload for the weekend.

"Thanks. I'll call him," I tell Livingston, striding down the hall toward my office to drop off Mikhail's file and grab my cell phone. I pause, curiosity filling me when my gaze falls on Faith's notebook sitting on the corner of my desk.

What did Mikhail mean about her begging for their lives? Whose lives? Why?

She's already filled over half of the notebook. It wouldn't take anything more than flipping open the cover and reading to find out if the answers I seek are inside…but I don't do it. I desperately want to know what she's writing, what she's hiding, but I don't want to invade her privacy to find out. She'll come to me when she's ready.

Dios. I hope she comes to me.

I lock Mikhail's file up in a drawer, grab my phone and Faith's notebook, and head toward Dr. Shapiro's office.

"It's Hernandez," I mutter to Finn when he answers the phone. "I was told you're trying to reach me."

"Yeah, where are you?"

"My office. Why?"

"We're at Curtis Kaleo's. We found a gun hidden in his shed. It looks like it's been there for years." Finn pauses. "It matches the weapon used to kill the three gang members you're investigating Kincaid for killing."

" Mierda ." Curtis Kaleo is my other suspect in those murders. He's also our suspected tipster, and the reason I had to leave Faith with Finn a few days ago. Kincaid and Roman's team raided his property. Franklin heard about it and demanded I bring Kincaid in for questioning. If ballistics can tie that weapon to those murders, Curtis Kaleo is going to have a whole lot of questions to answer. Just as soon as I find him. I've had people looking all over the place for him, but he's missing in action. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"We'll wait."

I disconnect and shove my phone into my pocket, jogging down the hall toward Dr. Shapiro's office. The door is standing open. Faith is curled up on a leather couch, sleeping. Dr. Shapiro's seated behind her desk, her glasses perched on her nose as she types notes into a document.

"Hey," I mutter to her.

"Octavio." She glances up, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she sees me. Dr. Shapiro is in her fifties, with graying hair and a kind smile. She's tough enough to handle unruly police officers, but gentle enough to be good for someone like Faith. I like her.

I shift my gaze from her to Faith. She looks so peaceful with her hands tucked underneath her cheek. Her lips are slightly parted, little breaths puffing from between them. The desire to kiss her awake rises hot and fast. I take a step in her direction before I can stop myself.

Dr. Shapiro notices.

"She's a sweet girl," she murmurs, her sharp, hawkish expression cutting right through me.

"She is."

"She's been through quite a lot."

"I know." I grit my teeth, chafing at the simple chastisement. I imagine she'd have a hell of a lot to say if she knew the things I think about doing to Faith, and I doubt any of what she'd say would be good. I know the drill. Cop. Witness. Abuse of authority. I've been repeating the words like a mantra for weeks, but it hasn't done a damn bit of good.

"She likes you quite a lot. You've been good for her."

I blink, not sure I heard her correctly.

She smiles at me, her expression still sharp and searching, but not unkind. "Be patient with her, Octavio. She's never had a chance to find out who she is or what she wants in life. She's experiencing a lot of things for the very first time. It's overwhelming. For you too, I imagine."

I shrug, not entirely sure what she means by that…not entirely sure I want to know what she means by that. All I know is that I want to be in Faith's life while she figures it out. I want to be the one who gives her everything she needs.

Is that so wrong? The rules say yes…but my goddamn heart keeps screaming no.

" Dios ." I stare in awe at the angel sprawled naked across my bed. Her black hair is in waves on the pillows, her honey eyes dazed with pleasure. Her tawny skin seems to glow like smoky quartz, almost as if that innate goodness of hers shines like a beacon from inside. Every inch of her perfect body is on display for my greedy gaze.

I devour it willingly, my cock in my hand and my heart in my throat.

She's perfection, more beautiful than I can say.

"I need you, Octavio," she whimpers, holding a hand out toward me. "Please."

My entire body shakes, desire quaking through me as I kneel on the bed and hitch one smooth leg around my hip. Her desire glistens on her lower lips, sending desire spiking higher. Her strawberries and cream scent surrounds me until I'm dizzy with the smell of her, with the feel of her beneath me, with the intense wave of need coursing through my veins.

"You have me, little bunny," I murmur, sliding the head of my cock through her folds. Dios . She's soaked and so hot. I don't know if I can last. "You belong with me."

"Yes." She reaches for me again, resting her palm over my racing heart. "Make love to me, Octavio. I need you so bad. It hurts."

"I've got you, little angel," I croon, the head of my cock bumping her clit. "I'll take care of you." I press my cock to her entrance, holding her gaze. "Are you ready, conejita ?"

Her mouth opens but no sound comes out. For just a moment, her body blinks out of existence and then reappears beneath me. It happens so quickly that I think maybe I imagined it. But then her eyes widen, fear blotting out desire. She reaches for me, opening her mouth again.

A loud ringing sound comes from between her lips, and then she disappears entirely.

I jerk upright in my bed, my hand wrapped around my aching cock. Faith's name echoes around me in the darkness. I blink, trying to figure out what happened.

" Mierda ," I curse under my breath. I was dreaming about her again. I've dreamed of nothing but her lately. Every time I close my eyes, I see her.

I wake with my cock in my hand every damn day, left unsatisfied by another dream. More often than not, she's naked and willing beneath me. But then she disappears, leaving me aching with need for her. It's as if not even my sleeping mind is able to settle for anything less than the real thing. The first time I sink into her, I want it to be her beneath me, not some image conjured by my subconscious.

Dios. Every time she casts those honey eyes in my direction, my resolve weakens. I can feel it happening. Every time she smiles at me, another ounce of willpower evaporates. I can't do anything to stop it. I tell myself over and over that she doesn't trust me, that she's a witness, that she deserves a chance at a normal life and freedom…nothing helps.

She's embedded so deeply in my skin nothing will ever get her out again now.

Dr. Shapiro's comments have played through my mind on an endless loop all evening, making me crazy with the desire to know what Faith said to her about me. Mikhail Marozava's play there too…just plain making me crazy.

My phone rings, vibrating across the nightstand.

I scrub a hand down my face and reach for it. Captain Franklin's name flashes across the display. I glance at the time and curse. There's no way he'd be calling me at midnight for anything less than a catastrophe. No one would dare wake him up this late for anything less than that, especially after he worked all weekend.

"Hernandez," I murmur, flinging the covers back and sitting up on the side of the bed.

"We've got a problem, son," he says.

"What's wrong?"

"Curtis Kaleo is dead."

"You're kidding me." I climb to my feet and head toward the closet, knowing I won't be getting sleep any time soon. "What do we know?"

"Not a whole lot," Franklin says, his voice grim. "He broke into January James' house about an hour ago. Kincaid called Luke Santiago for help and then went in after him. When units arrived on scene, Kaleo was dead in a bedroom, and Ms. James was code blue."

"She's dead?" My blood runs cold, dread clawing its way through me. January James is Kincaid's girl. It's her family that was killed years ago. If she's dead, Kincaid is going to lose it.

"Not sure about that either, but she wasn't breathing when paramedics arrived. It looks like Kaleo shot her."

"? Hijo de puta! What hospital is she at?"

"Good Samaritan."

"I'm on my way." I yank the closet door open and grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, worry pulsing through me. If Kaleo shot January, Kincaid is probably raging right now.

"Keep me updated," Franklin orders before disconnecting.

I quickly get dressed before hurrying to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face. Halfway there, my phone rings again. Mila's name flashes across the display.

"Did Roman call you?" she asks as soon as I answer.

"No," I mutter, though I'm not surprised. Roman staunchly supports Kincaid where the investigation is concerned, and I don't hold that against him. Charging Kincaid with murder is the last thing I want to do, but I might not have a choice, especially not after this. Fuck. Why couldn't Kaleo stay missing until ballistics on that gun came back? "My captain called me."

"Oh." Mila flounders for a moment before pushing forward. "Um, bring Faith over here. Roman says Knox Cooper is on his way over to keep an eye on us until…well, until someone is able to come home."

Mierda. I didn't even think about the fact that there's no one to sit with them. Faith isn't going to like having someone new in her space. She's still leery of men she doesn't know.

"He made Knox promise to stay outside," Mila says as if reading my mind. "She'll be okay here with me, Octavio. I promise I won't let anything happen to her."

I hesitate for a split second and then curse. There isn't another choice here. Luke and Roman are both tied up—Finn likely is as well—and I have to go. This is my case. "We'll be there in ten."

"Okay. See you soon."

I quickly brush my teeth and then head toward Faith's room to wake her up. She's started sleeping in her bed again, but even then, she curls herself into a tiny ball as if, even in her sleep, she's trying to make herself as small a target as possible. The sight makes my heart ache. So do the sounds of her cries when she wakes from another nightmare. She isn't sleeping enough. That much was obvious long before I woke her in Dr. Shapiro's office today.

I hit the switch for her bedside lamp before I wake her. "Faith, angel," I call her name softly but don't touch her. She no longer flinches away from me, but I don't know what she's dreaming about. I don't want to frighten her. "Wake up, conejita ."

Her eyes pop open almost immediately. She blinks like a little owl, her face scrunching up. "Octavio?" She sits up, looking so adorably sleepy that I want to scoop her up in my arms and hold her close. "What time is it? What's wrong?"

"There's been a shooting. I have to go."

She blinks at me again and then understanding dawns, her sleepiness vanishing. "I'll get dressed."

"Roman and Luke are both tied up on this one too."

"Oh." Trepidation filters across her face as she pushes her hair back. "Is it bad?"

"Yes. The victim is Kincaid's girlfriend, January."

"Oh no," Faith whispers, her face falling.

I've told her enough about the case for her to understand how serious this is. She's the only one I feel like I can talk to about it. She's the only one who doesn't have an opinion on the issue. Roman and Luke, even Finn Bethel, all firmly support Kincaid. Half the guys in my precinct are pissed because I'm investigating a cop. The other half are mad that Franklin gave me the case instead of them. The last week has been a nightmare. The only bright spot was bringing in Mikhail Marozava.

I still haven't told Faith about that. I'm half afraid that if I do, I'll demand answers about what he said. And then she'll end up pissed at me all over again. Having her angry at me is intolerable. I don't like it when she isn't speaking to me.

Actually, I fucking hate it.

"Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know. I certainly hope so."

Faith reaches for my hand as if to comfort me…and steals another piece of my heart in the process. The urge to kiss her is almost overwhelming as she wraps her smaller hand in mine and lets it rest there for a moment. She's so damn selfless, so brave. I don't think even she realizes how incredible she is.

Dios. She really is an angel.

Far too soon, she pulls back, removing her hand from mine. I instantly want it back, but don't push her. Now isn't the time.

"Roman has a friend coming to sit with you and Mila," I explain to her as she climbs from the bed. "His name is Knox. He's been instructed to stay outside, conejita . I'll come back for you as soon as I can, but you're going to be safe, okay?"

"I believe you," she says. Her voice shakes slightly, but she takes a deep breath and nods. "I'll be fine."

By late afternoon, I'm exhausted. I haven't stopped moving since I dropped Faith off with Mila a few minutes after midnight. I went straight to the hospital, but Kincaid was in no condition to talk. He shoved me into a wall and then collapsed, falling apart at my feet. Letting that shit ride wasn't easy, but I get it. His girlfriend is hovering on the verge of death. He's out of his mind with fear for her.

Out of respect for him and the situation, I backed off. I can question him when she's a little more stable. He wasn't the one who shot Kaleo anyway.

Everyone is reeling over that piece of news, but the crime scene matches what little he told us. I've spent the day canvassing the neighborhood with Roman, questioning witnesses and trying to piece together what happened. From what we've learned, Kaleo slipped in through the front door and held January at gunpoint. Kincaid ran over from next door to help her. And then everything went to hell.

January is almost as tiny as Faith, with the courage of a lion. I hate that she was hurt. If she doesn't pull through, it will destroy Kincaid.

"So, by the time you arrived," I say to Luke, trying to ensure I have his statement correct. He was the first to arrive on scene last night. "Kincaid was carrying January out?"

"Yeah," he says with a weary nod. Between watching the girls and helping Roman find Remi, he hasn't gotten much sleep lately, either. "He wouldn't let me close enough to check on her, but it didn't look like she was breathing."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He kept muttering that Kaleo was supposed to kill him, not her." Luke grimaces from across the table, his green eyes filled with sympathy for his fellow DEA agent. "He was begging her not to leave him alone. He also stated that she shot him."

"Did you see anything that would lead you to believe that he wasn't telling the truth?"

"He was in shock. I don't think he even realized he was saying anything at all. He was telling the truth about what went down." Luke gives me a hard look, making it clear he's running out of patience with this line of questioning. I don't blame him. Questioning Kincaid's integrity isn't appealing to me either, but no one ever said this job was easy.

"Any other questions?" Luke asks.

I skim over his statement again and then shake my head. It's solid. Before I can tell him that or thank him, my cell rings. Half a second later, his rings, too.

Ice forms around my heart. His eyes meet mine, and I know the grim expression on his face is an exact match of mine. There are only so many reasons someone would call us both at once. And none of them are good.

Faith.

We both reach for our phones at the same time.

"Hernandez," I mutter into the phone, quickly gathering up the paperwork strewn across my desk and shoving it into the top drawer.

"O, it's Roman. I need you to get to the house now." The fear in his voice sends my heart slamming against my ribcage. "Remi Pledger broke in. Mila's inside with him."

"Faith?" I ask. A wave of fear for her hits me, weakening my knees. I grasp the desk to keep myself from pitching forward.

"Jesus Christ," Luke says to whomever he's talking to, jumping to his feet.

"Faith got out safely," Roman says, allowing me to suck in a deep breath. And then he groans. "Christ, O, if anything happens to Mila…"

"It won't," I tell him, hoping like hell I don't live to regret those words. Losing Mila or their baby would kill Roman. His entire world revolves around them and his grown daughter, Tahani. I'll help him move heaven and hell to get Mila out of there safely if that's what it takes.

I grab my keys and hurry toward the door with Luke hot on my heels. "I'm on my way. So is Luke."

"Hurry." Roman's deep voice shakes with agonized emotion.

Luke and I race down the hall toward the back entrance. Luckily, no one stops us to ask fifty questions. Everyone is too busy working their own cases to worry about where we're off to in such a hurry.

"I'll drive," Luke says when we burst out into the parking lot. My Tahoe is still in the shop, so I'm in a pool car that's seen better days. He veers to the left, headed toward his SUV.

I change course in midstride, running after him. My heart pounds so hard I feel like it's trying to beat out of my chest. Roman said Faith was safe, but my fear for her is so thick I can taste it. She's necessary to me now, a vital part of my life. If something happens to her… Dios , if something happens to her, it's going to destroy me as surely as losing Mila would destroy Roman.

Luke roars out of the parking lot, hitting the control box to turn on his lights and sirens. "We have to beat Roman there," he mutters, his voice grim. "If we don't, he'll go in without us."

"I know." I'd do exactly the same thing. Pledger has already betrayed his badge and kidnapped and beat an innocent woman. God only knows how far he's willing to go.

I send up a prayer for Mila's safety.

The drive feels like it takes hours, even though Luke drives thirty over the speed limit the entire way. He narrowly avoids colliding with oncoming traffic three different times, not slowing long enough to give them time to get out of his way at red lights. Somehow, though, we make it without wrecking.

Roman's already there by the time we roar up. Finn, Michael Gunner, and two men I don't know are trying like hell to contain him, but he isn't making it easy. He's snarling like a beast, murder stamped across his face. My gaze bounces from him to the black truck in the driveway. Faith's seated inside.

I jump out of Luke's Durango before he even has it in park and hit the ground running.

"Octavio!" Faith cries when she sees me racing toward her. She struggles to get out of the truck. Before her feet touch the ground, she's in my arms. She flings hers around my neck, sobbing my name.

" Dios , Faith." I wrap one arm around her, securing her to me. The other goes into her hair, tilting her head back. My gaze runs over her, making sure she's unharmed, and then my lips are on hers.

I kiss her hard, unable to stop myself as relief rushes through me, shaking me to my soul. With her in my arms, I can't deny it any longer. I'm so fucking in love with this brave, terrified woman. I have been for weeks. And I don’t fucking care if it’s wrong.

Somehow, some way, I'll find a way to give her the freedom she craves while keeping her by my side. It's the only option because I can't lose her. I can't let her go. I fucking can't.

My tongue touches hers briefly before I force myself to back off. " Estás a salvo ahora, " I whisper. " Estoy aquí, conejita . Estoy aquí. "

She buries her face in my throat and sobs.