Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Bella
Declan's fury scared the absolute crap out of me, and he set me down so abruptly I nearly stumbled. My heart hammered against my ribs as I shot my gaze from him to the twisted metal cage.
“What’s wrong?” My voice cracked.
He didn't answer, didn't even look at me. He just stood there, frozen, staring at the buckled cage like it was a rattlesnake ready to strike. He strode toward a cable curled on the rock floor that was as thick as his forearm. The color drained from his face.
Is he going to throw up?
All through this goddamn nightmare, he'd been calm, steady, and brave—the unshakeable rock I'd clung to when my own terror had threatened to crush me.
Now, he looked ready to tear something apart with his bare hands.
No. Worse than that.
Declan was terrified. And if he was terrified, we were in serious trouble.
“Declan.” I reached for his arm, and my fingers barely brushed the fabric of his sleeve when he flinched.
I jerked back. “What happened?” My voice climbed higher, edging into hysteria. “Declan, tell me. Please.”
His jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumped beneath the dirt and stubble coating his cheek. “The main cable's been cut.” He kicked a bolt on the ground, and it shot toward the cage, pinging off the buckled metal. “Some bastard sabotaged the lift.”
“Sabotaged?” I stepped closer to the warped metal framework, trying to make sense of his reply. “Are you sure it didn't just break or corrode? It's been years since—”
“Cables don't break like this.” He bent down and grabbed the severed end, holding it up like evidence in a murder trial. The cut end gleamed in the light. “They fray or splinter. They don't get sliced clean through. Someone used a cutting torch to do this.”
He threw the cable down with enough force that it thudded against the rock. Then he stepped back and glared up into the large shaft above us.
My mind scrambled for something helpful to say that would make sense of this, but I had no ideas.
Bone-deep exhaustion crashed over me like a wave, mingling with frustration so intense that my vision swam. Dizziness hit me hard, and I grabbed for the side of the cage to keep myself upright.
Pain exploded across my palms, and I cried out, gasping as I yanked my hands back and stared at them. Oh God. My hands were a bloody mess.
Some of my blisters had burst when I'd crawled along that tunnel, and now, blood and dirt formed dark streaks across my raw flesh.
“Jesus, Bella.” Declan strode to me. His large hands cupped mine with devastating gentleness. All the fury had drained from his face, replaced by an expression so tender a knot wedged in my throat. “Your hands.”
“They're okay.” I tried to turn them over to hide how badly they were shaking.
“Bullshit.” The word came out rough. “They're not okay. You're bleeding.”
His gaze swept across the chamber around us, then snapped back to me with such fierce determination blazing in those pale blue eyes that it stole every bit of breath from my lungs.
He scooped me into his arms, cradling me against his chest like I was a small child.
“I can walk,” I said through the knot in my throat.
“I know.” His jaw clenched as he turned and marched away from the mangled cage.
I surrendered to my exhaustion and leaned into the solid warmth of him, resting my cheek against his shoulder.
He moved like a man on a mission, his body coiled tightly with focus as he scanned the chamber ahead. Despite my aching hands and the fear of this new level of hell still clawing at my chest, my heart pounded for an entirely different reason.
Declan.
No man had ever looked at me the way he did. Like he'd fight his way through hell to keep me safe. He was keeping me safe. It wasn't a miracle that we were alive. Declan was the reason we had survived everything down here.
He stopped at a workbench along the far wall. The timber surface was buried under a field of rusty tools and dusty equipment. He set me down gently. “Give me a sec.” He shoved equipment aside, sending up clouds of dust, then wiped the surface with his hands.
Turning back to me, he settled his hands on my hips and lifted me onto the table.
“Let me take a look at these.” He sucked air through his teeth as he cradled my hands in his, turning the palms up to rest on my thighs. When his eyes lifted to mine, the grief swimming in those pale blue depths made my chest ache.
“Stay here,” he said softly.
“Where are you—”
He pressed his lips to mine, cutting off my question. I closed my eyes and melted into him, letting my aches and fears fall away for just a second.
When he pulled back, the intensity in his gaze reached right into my heart. “I'll be back in a sec.”
He strode toward the far wall, his wet shirt clinging to his back, outlining every muscle as he moved.
At a white metal cabinet attached to the wall, he yanked the door open, shoved a couple of things into his pockets, then pulled out a large box.
As he turned back, the harsh lights caught the white cross emblazoned across the red container in his arms.
A first aid kit.
He set the kit beside me and popped it open. Inside were bandages, antiseptic wipes, medical tape, and even pain meds. Everything was sealed in plastic and surprisingly well-preserved despite the years of abandonment.
He tore open an antiseptic wipe. “This is going to sting.”
“Okay.” My stomach turned at how bad my hands looked in this light. Where blisters had burst, blood mixed with dirt and raw flesh. No wonder they hurt so much.
He cleaned my wounds with such careful gentleness that I wondered if he'd treated many injuries before. His jaw stayed clenched, and his expression was dark, possibly with anger.
“Declan,” I said softly.
“Sorry. Is that hurting?” He met my gaze, and his anguish wrapped around my heart like a fist.
“Please don't blame yourself. I can see guilt written all over your face.” I tried for a smile. “I'm tougher than I look.”
“I know you are.” His voice went rough. “Doesn't mean I have to like seeing you hurt.”
Oh.
Words completely escaped me.
As he squeezed antiseptic ointment onto a cotton pad, dabbing carefully across my blisters and raw wounds, cleaning away dirt and blood, he looked both horrified by the damage and fiercely grateful to be able to help me.
Once the wounds were clean, he wrapped gauze around my hands.
For someone with such large, rough hands, he was impossibly gentle.
Each wrap of the gauze was careful, like he was handling something precious.
I wondered what those hands would feel like on the rest of me.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I sucked my lips into my mouth, fighting the lovely images. But it wasn't just his touch I wanted.
It was him.
An unexpected calmness settled over me, which was completely insane.
We were still trapped underground with a sabotaged lift and no way out.
However, as he took care of me, I realized how much I trusted him.
I hadn't trusted anyone in a long time. Not like this—and that terrified me almost as much as being trapped down here.
Mom's warning about the Branson family flashed through my mind. Her words had been slurred from the cocktail of drugs in her system, but her warning had been fierce. Stay away from those Bransons, Bella. They'll get you killed. Promise me.
Declan was a Branson. Surely, she was wrong about him.
“There.” He pressed his warm hand on my bare thigh. “That's the best I can do for now.”
“Thank you.”
He dug into his pockets and pulled out two silver packets, handing one to me. “Here. Found some food.”
The sealed foil packet read Emergency Food Supply in bold letters.
I gasped. “Oh, thank God. I'm starving.”
“Me, too. But the menu options down here are pretty limited.” He frowned at his packet, turning it over. “Damn. They're five years past their expiration date.”
“Do you think they're safe?”
“They're vacuum-sealed. So yeah. Probably. Maybe.” He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching and not exactly radiating confidence.
I couldn't help but grin.
“What?”
I gave him a sideways glance. “You go first.”
“Okay then.” He ripped the packet open with his teeth and sniffed the bar. “Today's special: six-year-old mystery protein with a potential side of food poisoning.”
I giggled.
He took a massive bite, scrunching his nose as he chewed. “Nearly as good as your cupcakes.”
I gasped and swatted his shoulder with my bandaged hand. “Don't be mean.”
“Actually, nothing is as good as your cupcakes.” The teasing left his voice, replaced by a genuine tone. “Where'd you learn to cook like that anyway?”
I tore open my packet and took a small bite. The dense energy bar tasted like cardboard, but my stomach growled in appreciation anyway. “Remember me telling you about living with Aunt Madonna?”
“Yeah, after you became an orphan.”
I nodded. “She owned a small trattoria in a cobbled backstreet in Palermo.
It was cute. I loved it there. Checkered tablecloths, wine bottles as candleholders, and regular customers who ordered the same thing every time.
That sort of thing. That's where I learned to cook. She taught me how to love cooking.” I took another reluctant bite.
“She'd be horrified if she saw me eating this.”
“Well, here's to Aunt Madonna.” He shoved the rest of the bar into his mouth and reached for another one.
I smiled, but the expression felt fragile.
My chest ached with a sharp longing for my only aunt.
I longed for the warmth of her kitchen and the sound of her humming old Italian songs while she cooked.
I'd never see her again, and she'd never know where I went or what happened to me. By now, the police would have swarmed her trattoria, asking questions about me and showing her photos of what I’d done. She had been the last person to see me alive, besides Vincenzo, as he’d bled out on our kitchen floor.
Aunt Madonna had survived so much grief when her husband Paolo had been murdered.
She'd buried the love of her life and had somehow kept going, pouring all that love into her cooking and caring for me.
I was the daughter she'd never had, and I'd vanished without a word. I hadn’t even left a note saying goodbye.
The guilt threatened to choke me.
“Hey.” Declan's warm hand settled on my thigh again, and his thumb moved in a gentle arc across my skin. “We'll be okay. I promise.”
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat, blinking back the burn behind my eyes. “I know.”
But I was never going to be okay again. I'm a murderer, and even if I escape this mine, it's only a matter of time before the police catch me.
“Listen.” Declan touched my shoulder. “You stay here and rest. I'm going—”
“No. I'm coming with you.”
“I'm just going to check around.”
“Declan. I said no. We're stuck together whether you like it or not.”
His expression shifted from surprise to a softness that hadn’t been there before. “Stuck together, huh?” A slow smile curved his lips. “Being stuck with you is the only good part of this whole goddamn disaster.”
My breath caught. “Declan—”
He stepped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze.
“If I had to get trapped in an abandoned mine with anyone,” his voice dropped lower, “I'd pick you. Every single time.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. He looked at me like I was irreplaceable. Worth protecting. Worth wanting. Heat pooled low in my belly. This wasn't just gratitude or adrenaline talking. This was real. He wanted me. And God help me, I wanted him, too.
But the warmth flooding through me turned to ice.
Because I wasn't just guilty of murder, I was here to poison his father—the man who'd caused my father's murder. Once I killed Frank, I'd hand myself in.
There was no future for me, and no possibility of anything with Declan.
Just a prison cell. Or a grave. I didn't care which one.
The grief hit me like a physical blow, crushing my chest. How could I be falling for someone now? For this man, a Branson, of all men? Especially after loving Vincenzo for nearly a decade and learning that love was nothing but lies and manipulation.
I could never have real love. Never have Declan. No matter how much I wanted to.
No matter how right it felt, how right he felt.
“Bella?” His smile faded, and concern creased his brow. “What's wrong?”
Everything. Everything was wrong.
“Hey. Tell me.” He nudged closer.
I was still seated on the table, and stupidly, my legs parted to let him closer. His pale blue eyes locked onto mine, and I couldn't look away.
“Nothing,” I lied.
He cupped my chin and used his thumb to guide my eyes to his. “Talk to me.”
I have to tell him. After everything we've been through, Declan deserves the truth about why I'm here. He's going to find out anyway. He should hear it from me. He deserves that much.
Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I swallowed hard.