Chapter 29 #2
For an awful moment, I see my mother’s face, her caramel eyes wide with horror as she takes in the bloody, broken bottle clenched in my fist. My act of violence was the last thing she saw, and it broke something inside her.
The black claws of fear rip at my lungs, scoring deep enough to cut into my heart.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I swear, my voice tight with pain.
Her petrified gaze sweeps over the mangled bodies. Her throat convulses, and she vomits—a visceral reaction of physical revulsion.
As she shakes and gasps for air, I gather her up in my arms. She thrashes, but I hold her firmly to my chest.
“I have to get you out of here.” The words are harsh, desperate.
She squeezes her eyes shut tight, as though she can’t bear to look at me. Her delicate fingers fist in her torn dress like the flimsy fabric will serve as a shield between us.
My heart shreds. I can’t draw full breaths.
I force in oxygen and focus on my surroundings. Protecting Evelyn is all that matters.
As I nudge open the door and assess the situation outside the building, I see an armored SUV pulling up. It skids to a stop, but before I decide whether or not to set Evelyn down so that I can grab my rifle, Adrián gets out the vehicle.
He clearly had the same idea to enlist the help of the authorities in searching for Evelyn. He would’ve arrived too fucking late.
I shoulder the door open and step out into the night, confident that no one will attack us while he’s present.
He takes one look at Evelyn cowering in my arms, clutching at her torn dress, and his face tightens into an almost feral mask.
“Who?” he demands.
Men on his payroll assaulted my woman. It’s his duty as my friend to make them pay.
“I handled it,” I growl.
His eyes rove over my bloody face, and he nods his approval. He opens the SUV door and gestures for me to get Evelyn inside the armored vehicle.
We ride to the safety of his mansion in awful silence. Evelyn doesn’t sob or scream. She’s utterly still in my arms, her eyes closed.
She won’t look at me, and I don’t command her to. I can’t bear to see the horror in her eyes again.
Fear of me.
We arrive at the mansion, and I carry her straight to the bedroom, passing the diamond necklace where she discarded on the floor.
My stomach knots. She must’ve taken it off.
She ran away as soon as I left her alone. I’ve trapped her in my dangerous world, and I dragged her to Colombia against her will.
This is all my fault.
But I can’t let her go. I can’t.
I pull her tighter to my chest, caging her in my arms. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix her.
I carry her into the bathroom and turn on the shower. A cascade of water sprays from multiple directions, and it warms almost immediately.
Not bothering to strip off our clothes, I toe off my shoes and step into the massive shower stall with her in my arms. The water runs red, and I’m grateful that her eyes are closed.
I wait until the worst of the gore has washed from my skin. I won’t start to take off our clothes until she’s calmer; stripping her naked in the aftermath of what she suffered is the last thing she needs.
She still clings to her ruined dress, her fingers locked in the soaked black silk.
I sink to my knees and set her down so that she’s sitting with her back against the tiled wall. Her eyes remain closed as I quickly strip off my sodden shirt.
No amount of soapy water will get the bloodstains out of the white material. She doesn’t need to see that.
The blood splatter no longer mars her complexion. It isn’t her blood.
She begins to shiver despite the heat of the water, her body quaking violently as her teeth chatter.
I pull her tightly against me and press my palm over her racing heart, calming her before she goes into shock.
“Breathe, Evelyn.”
My sweet girl heaves in a shuddering breath, her chest convulsing with the effort.
“Good girl. Keep breathing.”
I breathe with her, forcing my own chest to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. After a few minutes, her breaths slow to match mine, and her heartbeat resumes a normal pace beneath my hand.
She draws in one more deep breath, then releases it on a harsh sob. A keening sound like a wounded animal echoes off the tiles, the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard. My shredded heart twists violently, as though the ruined organ will tear asunder.
I’m capable of enduring physical pain, but her distress is agony. An awful sense of helplessness robs all the strength from my muscles. I’ve never felt so weak and useless, not even as a scrawny, sheltered boy.
I rock her gently, a stream of comforting words dropping from my lips in my native tongue. I don’t know what I’m saying, but the cadence seems to slowly soothe her.
She trembles in my arms, but her sobs quiet.
“You’re safe,” I murmur, stroking her wet hair back from her chilled cheek. “No one will hurt you.”
Finally, her eyes flutter open. They’re dark with pain and lingering fear.
I cup her nape, holding her close.
“Don’t be afraid.” It’s meant to be a reassurance, but the words come out as a rough plea.
“You…” Her chest convulses. She breathes and tries again. “I can’t…”
Tears spill down her cheeks, mingling with the water.
I shush her again, and she goes still and quiet.
But she isn’t soothed. Her eyes are dull, detached.
My stomach lurches, nausea rolling through me. This is all wrong. She’s supposed to look at me like I’m her salvation. Like I’m her everything.
But she just looks…broken.
“I need to make sure you’re not injured,” I say, keeping my cadence slow so that I don’t spook her.
I cover her tight fists with my hands and encourage her fingers to unfurl. She doesn’t resist as I carefully peel the ruined dress off her to check her over.
A shadow of my murderous rage tightens my jaw when I take in the bruises forming on her arms, but I force myself to remain calm. Any show of anger or aggression might terrify her. Her disassociation is terrible enough.
When I’m satisfied that her body is otherwise unharmed, I pick her up and turn off the shower. I wrap her in a plush white towel and carry her to the bed, my sodden pants leaving a wet trail on the floor.
I won’t strip them off just yet. She doesn’t need to see a naked man after what she just endured.
I lay her down on the bed and tuck her under the duvet. Her eyes are closed again, but I know she isn’t sleeping. She’s drifting somewhere blank and quiet, her mind refusing to process the night’s awful events.
Satisfied that she isn’t watching me, I quickly take off my pants, dry off, and put on a pair of black sweatpants. I get into bed with her.
She doesn’t struggle or tense when I pull her into my arms. She’s limp like a lifeless doll.
I want to roar out my frustration and fury, to release some of the volatile emotions that are tearing me up inside.
Instead, I caress her gently, soothing her with light strokes of my fingers over her soft skin. After a while, her breathing evens out, exhaustion pulling her down into sleep.
I lay awake until the sun comes up, tormented by my fear that she’ll never look at me as her savior ever again.