Chapter 13
Evelyn
Hot water rains down on my bare skin, washing the dried blood from my side.
Massimo’s blood.
I pump out an excessive amount of body wash from the fixture on the wall and work it into a lather. The soap slicks over my ribs and the curve of my waist, white bubbles turning to pink foam.
My stomach lurches, and I brace my hands against the tiled wall to steady myself. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes to focus on quelling my nausea.
I feel weak and wrung-out from my panic attack. Exhaustion drags at my limbs, but my fear-soaked senses remain on high alert.
A criminal waits in the next room, separated from me only by a flimsy lock on the bathroom door. I’m not foolish enough to think that can keep him out. I noted his intimidating physique when he took off his shirt for the doctor to clean his wound.
He could easily break down the door to get to me.
Despite the heat of the shower, a shiver races over my skin.
No matter what he said about keeping me safe, I know the truth with crystal clarity: I’m Massimo’s captive.
On the night I was kidnapped by the cartel, they’d planned to use me as bait to get to George. Is that Massimo’s intention too?
I want my money. George’s angry words ring through my mind. If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
His desire to be a federal agent is one of the things I’ve always admired most about him. Ever since I met him in our freshman year of college, that’s been his aspiration. He’s supposed to be one of the good guys.
But even if George is corrupt, Massimo has to know that targeting a DEA agent is dangerous. From a criminal’s perspective, there’s nothing riskier than going after American law enforcement.
Maybe I can convince my captor that it’s not worth the risk. He won’t dare hold me hostage if it isn’t advantageous for him. Not if it means the DEA will come after him in full force.
Massimo promised me that no one can get past Duarte’s defenses. And George warned me about the manpower and weapons commanded by the cartels. People will die if agents try to storm this building to get to me.
I struggle to slow my whirring thoughts. If I’m going to escape without risking others’ lives, I’ll have to reason with Massimo.
I might be able to talk my way out of this, and no one will have to get hurt.
Hardening my resolve, I open my eyes and note that all the blood has washed from my skin. No signs of violence mark my body.
I’m not sure how long I’ve lingered in the shower, sorting through my tangled thoughts.
Trepidation nips at me. Is Massimo a patient man? If he decides I’ve been in here too long, he might decide to break that lock and come in while I’m still naked.
My fingers shake slightly as I quickly turn off the shower and step out into the opulent ensuite. A plush bathmat cushions my feet, the heat from the tiles beneath ensuring that a chill doesn’t touch my toes. I grab a fluffy white towel and wrap it around me, covering myself.
Still, I feel far too exposed and vulnerable. I look at the pile of discarded clothes that I stripped off before I took a shower. Dirt from where I fell on the pavement smudges my silky pink pajama shorts, and putting on the blood-stained camisole is out of the question.
That leaves me with one option: Massimo’s huge shirt. It’s big enough to cover me almost down to my knees, and the loose garment conceals the shape of my body.
I do my best to ignore the scent of leather and amber as I tug the soft cotton over my head. Something seems to have been rewired in my brain when he held me through my panic attack, and a tempting sense of comfort teases at my senses.
Before I sort through the confusing emotions, a gentle knock on the bathroom door jolts through my body like a thunderclap. I pull the shirt tightly around me, as though it’s enough to shield me from impending danger.
“Are you decent?” Massimo’s deep voice is easily discernible through the closed door.
My reply sticks in my constricted throat, which is too tight from the fresh surge of fear.
“Answer me, Evelyn.”
Does anger sharpen his tone? Or concern?
“Yes.” I force out an answer before he chooses to break down the door.
I’ve witnessed too much violence tonight, and I can’t handle another outburst.
“Unlock the door.” A firm order. “Now,” he adds when I hesitate.
I unstick my feet from the warm tiled floor, moving to obey him. He’ll come in here, one way or another. I might as well take the smallest bit of control over my situation and unlock the door with my own hands.
As soon as the lock turns, he steps directly into my personal space, joining me in the bathroom. He’s still shirtless, and his muscular torso fills my vision. My eyes catch on the small white bandage at his right side.
Massimo isn’t seriously hurt. Some tension I’ve been holding since he saved me releases from my chest, and I huff out a relieved breath. The sight of his blood and the knowledge that he’d bled for me had caused me more anxiety than I’d realized.
He’s a criminal, I remind myself. He’s holding me here against my will.
Even so, I would’ve been tormented by guilt if he’d truly suffered for saving my life. No matter what else he might be, Massimo is a brave man. He jumped straight into the line of fire to protect me.
“You need to hydrate,” he announces. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.”
He holds out the glass of water I hadn’t noticed in his hand—I’ve been too distracted by the sight of his powerful body and the bandaged wound at his side.
“I’m fine,” I say, placating him automatically. It’s an ingrained response to reassure others that I don’t need help; I don’t need to inconvenience anyone.
His jaw firms. “Someone pulled a gun on you less than an hour ago, and you just had a panic attack. Drink the water.”
I don’t care for his imperious tone, but my mouth is suddenly dry as a desert. I can’t deny that I’ve experienced trauma tonight, and I’m still feeling weak in the aftermath.
I have to keep up my strength and my wits if I’m going to get out of this.
My fingers tremble slightly, but I manage to take the glass from him. I drain the water in a few big gulps.
I guess I needed it more than I realized. It’s weird that Massimo is taking care of me like this. He anticipated my needs.
Before I can fully contemplate my captor’s odd behavior, he takes the empty glass from me and sets it down on the counter.
“It’s my turn to get cleaned up.” His eyes fix on mine, shining with suspicion. “If I let you out of my sight, you’re going to try to run.”
It’s not a question. My trepidation must be written all over my face—if I can’t fight him off, flight is my only other option.
I struggle to smooth my expression to something meek and bewildered. “I won’t.”
His lips pinch, as though he’s bitten into something sour. “Don’t lie to me, Evelyn.”
Another lie teases at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. There’s no hiding from his keen gaze.
“Let me leave,” I plead instead. “I won’t tell anyone about what happened tonight. You saved my life, and I owe you for that. I won’t betray you to the cops, I swear.”
He cocks his head at me. “You really mean that.”
Again, it’s not a question. Massimo is clearly astute at reading people. Or maybe I’m too raw from my trauma to hide my emotions.
I nod. “Let me go, and I won’t say a word to anyone. Don’t keep me as bait for George. Please, I—”
“Don’t say his name.” Massimo’s eyes turn stormy. “I’m not keeping you as bait. You’re here for your own protection.”
All of my muscles tense, my body instinctively going on high alert. But before I can even think about evading him, his arms close around me. Once again, I find myself cradled against his hard chest.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly.
Despite my worry over the unknown, true fear doesn’t grip my mind. His compelling scent suffuses my senses like a calming drug, and his hold on my body is achingly gentle, despite his strength.
He carries me into the bedroom and sets me down on the enormous four-poster bed. My heart flutters with unease. I’m naked beneath Massimo’s huge shirt, and we’re alone in his bedroom. His proprietary hands touch me as though he has every right.
“I’m going to make sure you don’t try anything foolish,” he tells me, tone firm. “I don’t want to have to deal with Duarte’s men if they catch you making an attempt to leave the building.”
“I won’t…” The protest dies in my throat when his eyes flash in warning.
I don’t dare lie and say I won’t try to escape the moment his back is turned. Staying here willingly isn’t an option, and I’ll do whatever I can to get away from the criminals in this building.
“Stay,” he commands, giving my waist a light squeeze to impress his order upon me.
Warmth pulses from his hands through my belly, gathering between my legs.
Before I can process my reaction, he steps away, quickly crossing to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room.
My stomach drops when I see the rope coiled around his fist. I scramble back, nearly falling off the mattress in my haste to put distance between myself and the predator prowling toward me.
He’s on me before I get to my feet, his sure hands clasping my ankles and dragging me back to the center of the bed.
“This won’t hurt,” he says, completely calm and unaffected by my struggles. “Don’t fight me.”
His long fingers ensnare my wrists, pulling my arms behind my back.
Rough hemp rope lashes around my forearms, binding them so that my wrists press together, my fingertips touching my opposite elbows.
The position isn’t uncomfortable; it doesn’t put any strain on my shoulders.
But being immobilized and made helpless causes me to thrash wildly.
He presses his warm palm against the center of my chest, just like when he calmed my panic attack. His chest braces my back, his big arms enfolding me in a perverse hug from behind.