Chapter seven
Greyson
Domenico Lombardi. Hell, of all the men I expected Tilly to be promised to, he’s the last one I would have guessed.
The Lombardi family have been a powerful Italian mafia family for decades.
Domenico’s reign makes my own boss’s seem like a fairytale.
The torture and pain he’s ordered over the years would make the bravest man’s toes curl.
Betray Domenico and expect to lose at least a limb, if not your life.
I’ve also heard of his long line of now-ex or deceased wives.
There are five of them, three of whom died under dubious circumstances after failing to provide an heir.
The rumor mill is powerful in our world, and those of us who serve the perceived royalty talk.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Domenico orchestrated his previous wives’ demises when they refused his divorce requests.
No is not a word in his vocabulary. He’s a man used to getting what and who he wants.
I finish placing our plates and cups in the cupboards, then return to the living area to stoke the fire. On my arrival, I find Tilly crouched in front of it, poking at a heap of wood. She’s piled it high and the lower sticks crackle blissfully.
“That’ll light okay,” I tell her. “It will just take a little time.”
I place the two mugs and bottle I’m carrying on the coffee table. She stands and turns to face me. Her blonde hair is pulled high into a knot on top of her head. The remnants of her makeup are gone. She looks young, fresh, and completely out of her depth in this situation.
The clothes she’s wearing are all muted tones of green or brown. Obviously too large, the waist of the jeans has been rolled over numerous times, and a heavy knitted jumper is stuffed inside.
“I thought they’d be too big,” I say, stepping toward her. “This may be better.”
Her eyes widen as my hands drop to my belt.
I release the clasp and pull the leather through the loops of my jeans.
Holding the item, I move closer to her and unroll her waistband, then pull upwards.
It sits just below her breasts when extended to full length.
I take my belt and slide it through a few belt loops as I wrap it around her back before securing it firmly at the front by tying it in a knot.
“Better?” I ask, and she mumbles something resembling a yes. Her pretty face has flushed pink, and those fucking blue eyes fall onto my lips. I feel them staring. “Good.”
I step away before I’m tempted to do something stupid like kiss her. She’s so fucking unpredictable; she may stab me if I try, though her body is begging for it. “Have a drink and get some sleep. We’ll leave early. Did you get the sneakers in the bag too?”
“I did, thanks.” She looks to the sofa, still piled with all the jumbled blankets from earlier. I watch as she walks over and lies down. “I don’t need a drink. I’m exhausted. Where will you sleep?”
“Same place as last night,” I tell her, then pick up my glass and move to my position in front of the fire. I sit, enjoying the flames flickering in the now darkening room. The few candles we have lit begin to go out, and before long I hear the gentle breaths of a woman asleep.
Moving over to the wall, I lean my back against it, raise my knees, and lay my head down as I’ve done a thousand times before in an attempt to rest somewhere I feel uncomfortable.
Before long, I drift off, asleep but alert, waiting for any sign of attack.
I know the men sent to kill her won’t have given up so easily.
I’m surprised they’ve not found us yet, wherever the hell we are.
“No! Stop! I won’t! Don’t touch me!” A high-pitched female scream wakes me, I jump to my feet and find Tilly curled in a ball on the floor beside the couch. Unsure if she is asleep or awake, I approach her slowly. It’s then I notice the small knife in her hands, tip facing outward.
“Miss,” I say calm but firm, wanting to make sure she realizes it is me. The light is dim from the fire, but I can make out her shape. “Miss Tilly. It’s Greyson. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Those stunning eyes blink open trying to focus in the dark room. I lift the almost burned-out candle from the coffee table, placing it on the floor to create more light. Her hands tremble holding the knife, and I reach forward to pluck it from her grip then put it on the table.
“It was a nightmare,” I tell her firmly.
“You’re safe. I’m here.” Words designed to provide her with some peace slip from my lips again.
I saved plenty of people in the past, collected many from dangerous circumstances in order to bring them home.
But never have I parted personally with supportive words before, nor has it felt so important that they have an effect.
Never have I wanted to make someone feel safer than I do now.
She remains lying in a ball, as if she isn’t fully awake. Wanting to ensure she’s alright, I bundle her into my arms and lift her back onto the sofa. I’m kneeling beside her as her eyes open fully—they widen when she realizes our proximity.
“What happened?” she whispers, her pupils darting around as if trying to make sense of it all.
“You had a nightmare,” I say, keeping my voice level. It threatens to waver as my heart beats hard in my chest. “Has that happened before?” She closes her eyes tight, another tear escaping down her cheek. It was fucking awful to watch earlier in the kitchen, but this close, seeing her cry cuts deep.
“All the damn time.” Her eyes reopen and she looks at me, all the broken parts of her swirling in front of my face. “My life is one long nightmare. I’m sorry for waking you.” Her apology takes me by surprise, and I smile. “I like it when you smile,” she says quietly. “You look almost normal.”
“Normal?” I question with a laugh. “Are you saying something about my appearance is abnormal?”
“Yes, Greyson. There isn’t one part of you that’s typical of an Englishman. One look at you shouts trouble.”
“It’s a good thing I’m a Scotsman then, and we’re known for our troublesome behavior.”
Tilly laughs. It’s so sweet and innocent.
The sound reminds me of the picture I was sent before this whole bloody riot started, where she looked no more than a spoiled young woman living her life to the fullest with designer clothes and perfect makeup.
Now, I know she’s promised to one of the world’s most dangerous men and has no intention of going through with it.
I’m also aware she has skills to protect herself that most women do not, but as independent as she appears, part of me wants to protect her. A part I know I should ignore.
“Lie with me,” she suggests, her voice almost shy. “It’s cold, and the sofa is big enough for two.”
“No, Miss. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Consider it an order, Greyson. You are my staff, are you not?”
“I work for your uncle,” I challenge, but she reaches for me, placing delicate fingers on my bicep.
“One night, please. Lie with me. I’ll feel safer, and you’ll get a good night’s sleep.”
I look at the sofa. It’s certainly wide enough for two. Against my better judgement, I grab a few pillows and crawl in behind her, then slide them between us. She grabs my arm and throws it around her mid-section.
“Just in case I fall,” she says mischievously. “You wouldn’t want to return me with a broken arm.”
“If your father or uncle hear of this Miss Tilly, I’ll have more than a broken arm.” She giggles, and my cock hardens against the pillow I strategically placed at her ass. A small, fine hand falls over mine as it sits on her stomach, and she pushes back against me.
“Tell me something interesting about yourself,” she says, sleepily.
“There is nothing interesting about me,” I reply evasively.
She giggles and wiggles her hips, creating friction between us.
It only excites my wayward dick more. I need to divert my attention to anything other than her.
So, I tell her about the father I’m planning to meet, and how I never knew about him until recent months.
My distraction plan works, and my rage at being left to fend for myself heightens, as it does each time I think of him.
How he has created an amazing life for himself, while leaving his son to rot in the system.
Tilly listens about how I plan to confront him, and ask him to justify why he walked away and left my in the care of the government.
“And do you want a relationship with him?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I suppose it will depend on what he says.” We both fall silent, the sexually charged atmosphere dissipated with the confessions of my childhood. Eventually, Tilly sighs deeply, a small snore escaping, clearly on the brink of sleep.
“Sleep, my protector,” she says. “I need you fighting fit to return me to my own version of hell tomorrow.”
For a man such as myself, being wrapped around a beautiful woman is a happy but uncommon place to be.
Tilly sleeps in my arms peacefully. She has turned to face me, her fine, petite nose barely inches from mine.
When she snores softly, her warm breath tickles my lips, and I find myself having to resist placing mine on hers.
She feels incredible in my arms, feminine and comforting. The pillows between us are squashed tight as we move closer together on instinct. Her body wriggles against mine in search of the comfort that only another person can provide. It’s a feeling I’ve never truly had for long.
My own sleep hasn’t returned yet. Perhaps it’s because I’m on alert, waiting for the danger to our lives to rear its head once more.
In my experience, it’s once your body settles and believes the risk has passed when you are more likely to be caught.
To be taken off guard is when you can lose not only your own life, but those of whom you have sworn to protect.
But I would love nothing more than to sleep deeply with Tilly tonight, even if was only for a few hours of peace.
In typical Scottish fashion, the snow fall subsides only to be replaced by high winds. Branches hit the old windows, creating nothing but never-ending noise. The fire still burns, though it’s dropping with each hour that passes. Shadows flicker on the walls as the wind throws around the trees.
I’ve all but drifted off when I notice a small white circle moving over the wall opposite us.
It moves across the room and widens. A second circle joins the first, and the pair reflect more light into the room.
Tilly moans softly, and I hold her tighter as the flashlights search our refuge.
As the glow lifts, I pull the blankets covering us up over our heads.
“Miss,” I whisper. “You need to wake up. We need to move.”
“Go away, Greyson,” she mutters sleepily. A sad joy that she knows I’m here with her flutters momentarily. “I need to sleep.”
“Tilly, we have company.” Her eyes pop open, and we stare at one another in the almost blackness. I feel her tense beside me, and I respond by tightening my grip. “Don’t panic.”
“What if they see me?”
“We don’t have long,” I continue, ignoring her concern. I need her to do as I tell her if we’re to have a chance of surviving this. There’s no doubt in my mind that these are the men sent to kill her, or kidnap her at best. “Put your shoes on, and the jacket I found.”
“Jacket?”
“It’s on the coffee table.” Luckily, before cuddling down with my target, I’d had the awareness to prepare the room if we did need to escape hastily. Considering the excitement of lying with her, at this point I am pretty proud of myself for the restraint. “We’re going to sneak out the back.”
“Okay,” she mumbles uncertainly.
“Tilly,” I say firmly. “I’ve survived war, bombings, kidnappings, and my family. We will survive this.” Her fingers lift to my cheek, and she strokes it softly. It’s possibly the most intimate and loving gesture anyone has ever done to me.
“At some point, Greyson, we all run out of lives.” Her words bring me up short—they reflect back every worry I’ve ever had about my lifestyle. With all the risky situations I put myself in, how long will I continue to come out in more or less one piece? When will my clock finally run down to zero?
“Not today,” I tell her. “Now, move.” She slides off the sofa and dresses as I asked her to. I reach for the weapon I have concealed at my hip. “Your knife is on the coffee table.”
“Thanks.”
I drop to the floor beside her.
“We are going to crawl as close to the floor as we can to the rear window beside the fire.” I keep my words blunt with no room for confusion. “I’ll open it and go first. If someone is there and I’m taken, I want you to move to the front of the house and run as fast as you can for the woods.”
“Greyson…”
“Don’t argue,” I snap, almost silent. “For once, just accept someone knows better than you. Do as I say, Miss, please.”
Without another word, we crawl toward the window.
The flashlights reappear, and I know they’ve seen us with the raised voices at the front of the house.
I can’t understand what is being said—the language sounds Eastern European.
The next thing I know, a gunshot sounds loudly and plaster bursts from the wall above our heads.
“Fuck, we need to run.” Jumping to my feet, I throw the window up and climb out.
Sometimes you need to take the bloody risk.
“Quickly,” I shout to Tilly who clamors out after me as three large men with guns round the corner of the house.
I grab her hand and pull her in the direction of the forest surrounding us.
It only takes seconds to disappear into the trees.
Another gunshot, and this time I twist and return the fire.
A man grunts. With a glance over my shoulder, I see a dark lump fallen into the white snow.
One man drops down beside him, while the other follows us.
We duck into the trees, weaving quietly across the damp ground, and I find a large conifer to hide within the branches.
Luckily, the trees are crammed closely together, the branches almost touching tree to tree.
The floor of the forest only has a light dusting of snow thanks to the canopy.
Between the natural debris on the floor and the wet ground, our footprints are hidden.
More gunshots, but I can’t tell where they’re coming from or directed to. The blasts echo all around in the still night. The high winds, which have created so much destruction, have fallen away to leave nothing but silence.
“We need to get higher,” I whisper to Tilly.
I signal to the branches we stand within and raise my eyes upward.
She climbs without argument, and I follow.
Five minutes later, two men walk past us shooting randomly into the forest.
Tilly gasps, but I take her hand and squeeze it.
We are only feet from our hunters, but up here for now we should be safe.
The dark green pines will hide us in the early morning light.
Hopefully, they will give up and we can escape soon.
Or we may have to fight our way out of here. Only time will tell.