Chapter 3
SAMUIL
“I’m taking you home,” I say.
“It’s fine. I can take the bus,” she argues.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you out here alone anymore. I will take you home,” I insist.
She nods even though she has no idea who I am. Trust, when given without logic, is rare in my world. It’s usually deadly. But she offers it anyway, and I find myself wanting to protect that innocence more fiercely than I should.
The sky opens up and rain falls heavy, dripping down the collar of my coat as I guide her back to my car.
I wrap an arm around her back to steady her, and she leans into me easily, like she trusts me implicitly.
I can feel the trembling of her muscles through her soaked clothes.
Her hair sticks to her cheeks. She looks up at me as if I’m the only thing standing between her and the darkness waiting to swallow her whole.
I’m parked at the curb, the black sedan blending into the night. I open the rear door with one arm and ease her inside. She slides across the leather seats, her clothes dripping onto the leather. I don’t care. I close the door, walk around to the other side, and get in behind the wheel.
She watches me with wide eyes, silent, waiting. Her cheek is already swelling where she was struck. My grip on the steering wheel is too tight as I start the engine. I force myself to breathe normally. She’s out of the cold and safe. I have no idea what to do with her now, though.
This is uncharted territory. I’ve never done anything like this before. I could have just taken care of those men and left it at that. I should have left it at that.
I drive without speaking. The roads glisten from the rain, reflecting the reds and greens of the traffic lights.
She keeps her gaze on me in the rearview, studying me like I’m a riddle she’s trying to solve.
I can feel the questions hanging in the air, but she doesn’t ask them.
She’s too shaken for words. I’m grateful for the silence.
My building appears through the rain, a tall structure of glass and steel that rises above the smaller buildings around it.
I pull into the garage and park in my private space.
She looks around, startled by the change in scenery.
Can I blame her? After being attacked by a man with a knife, I’ve basically kidnapped her and brought her to my apartment with no discussion. Fuck. What was I thinking?
“I thought you said you were taking me home?” she asks as if snapping out of a daze.
I open her door and lean in. “We’re at my apartment,” I tell her carefully. “I thought you could use a moment to dry off and warm up, but I realize now that might not be what you want.”
She looks at me for a moment before slightly nodding her head.
“It’s okay,” she says quietly, her voice shaking. “That would be nice. I don’t really want to be alone after…”
She trails off and I just nod. She starts to stand on her own, but her legs wobble.
I lift her before she can fall. She simply lets out a trembling sigh and presses her face lightly against my shoulder for balance.
I catch the scent of her hair. Her soap is floral, mixing with the scent of the rain, making my head fuzzy.
I take her to the private elevator. It rises quietly, her breathing the only sound in the enclosed space. I feel her heartbeat against my chest. Fast at first, then softer. Easier. Being around me seems to have a calming effect on her, which is not something I’m used to.
My presence rarely inspires calmness.
My penthouse is dark except for the glow of the city spilling through the windows. I step inside and the door closes behind us, shutting out the rest of the world. She shivers violently now, still soaked through from the rain.
I set her gently on the sofa, and she curls her arms around herself. The sight of her shaking is something I can’t stand. I need to get her warm as soon as possible.
I take one of the thick blankets from the hall closet and wrap it around her shoulders.
She grabs at it with both hands and pulls it tight, looking like it’s the only thing holding her together.
Her eyes lift to meet mine. There’s that unbridled, irrational trust again.
If she knew who I was, she wouldn’t be looking at me like that.
“We need to warm you up,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than usual.
She nods.
I go to the bathroom attached to the guest suite.
I turn on the faucet and adjust the temperature until steam rises.
A hot bath should help ease some of the shock.
It’ll warm her up, too. While the water is running, I look under the sink to find the special soaps Rosalina keeps stocked for guests, though it’s been a long time since I’ve had one.
I also grab soft towels, set them on the counter, and return to her.
“I’ve run you a bath,” I tell her. “It should help.”
She swallows and nods again, then stands slowly with the blanket wrapped tightly around her.
She walks toward the doorway I gesture to, keeping her gaze on me for a moment longer than necessary, as if she wants to say something but can’t find the words yet.
Then she disappears inside, and the door closes.
The sound of running water continues behind the door, filling the silence of the penthouse.
I return to the living room and go to the cabinet where I keep the liquor.
I take out two glasses and pour a drink into each.
I down mine in one swallow. The burn in my throat grounds me, rooting me back to the present.
I hold the second glass in my hand but don’t drink it. It isn’t for me. It sits on the table until she’s done with her bath. The glass glows amber under the dim lights.
I need to call my men and tell them to sweep the alley. One of the men got away and I never leave loose ends.
For the first time in years, something more important than vengeance or control pulled me toward someone. It’s unsettling how unlike myself I’ve been in the last hour.
I lean back in the armchair, run my hand over my jaw, and stare at the closed bathroom door. I have no idea who she is. I don’t even know her name. But I know one thing with frightening certainty.
I’m never letting her walk home alone again.
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