Page 34 of Desperate People

“I can’t just?—”

“You can,” I cut her off. “And you will. I’m not asking.”

My voice is absolute.

I close the door after making sure she’s tucked into the passenger seat, and I walk to the driver’s side.

Sliding in, I take a moment to calm down before I drive.

There’s no way I’m leaving her alone tonight. Not while that sick fuck is still out there.

Not after what he did. Not with that note burned into my memory like a curse.

For my Diablita.

I grind my teeth.

He’s going to pay. But right now? My only priority is her.

Getting her safe. To my home. And keeping her.

Because whatever this is between us—this attraction, this desperate pull—it’s real.

And she’ll learn real fast that I don’t let anyone fuck with what’s mine. Not ever.

I turn my face and see her watching me with those huge sapphire eyes of hers.

So fucking pretty.

Her chin lifts like she wants to argue, but I see the flicker of fear behind her eyes.

The part of her that wants to be told what to do right now.

The part that’s too tired to pretend this is normal.

She exhales slowly, then nods. “Fine. Just one night.”

“No guarantee, Lucy, just buckle up,” I bite out, jaw clenched so tight I feel it in my teeth. “We can get what you need later.”

“What about my apartment?” she asks, voice small.

“I have a team coming. They’ll sweep the scene. Gather evidence. And they’ll get rid of the rest. You don’t have to worry.”

She turns her head toward the window.

And I clench the steering wheel in my hand. Every time I blink I can see it.

Her apartment. Her bedroom.

My chest is heaving as I try to focus on driving.

But it is there, in my mind’s eye.

The destruction. The filth. That fucking rose.

All of it is a declaration of war.

Whoever left it just made a fatal mistake.

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