Page 34 of Blind Devotion
Just like yesterday, his palm pressed against my throat, but this time he didn’t squeeze. His thumb brushed up and down over my pulse point. His skin trembled against my own—warm, firm, unyielding, and yet somehow vulnerable too. Maybe that was what drew me to him, because it wasn’t rational how much I wanted him closer, his arms around me, his body against mine.
We were suspended like that for seconds…minutes. It could have been hours. Somehow deep inside, I felt protected for the first time in forever. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t have to, but in my jailer’s arms, in this moment, the void melted away and lightness spread. I wanted more, but the instant I reached for him, before I even touched him, he jerked away.
He cleared his throat.
“Never ask that of me again.”
“Or what?”
He stomped across the room and threw the door open so hard it crashed against the wall and skittered back in scattered croaks.
A strangled laugh choked out of me. Pain shot up my side, and tears seeped under my eye dressings. None of this was funny, but his switch in moods was giving me whiplash, especially after the lightness of that memory.
“You don’t possess a touch of sunshine, do you? You’re angry. Tormented, so you hide behind violence thinking it makes youso tough, but you’re nothing but a big ol’ grump, trying to spread his own misery.”
“You know nothing about me.”
He didn’t stick around for my rebuttal. The door battered the frame on his way out, and the lock clicked loudly into place. His absence left me lonelier than before, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. One thing I was almost certain of though. He didn’t really want to kill me. The next time I saw him, I’d put that to the test.
Chapter 13
Thenextmorning,beforesunrise, I returned to my mysterious guest’s room while she slept. This needed to end. I was making a fool of myself, turning back into that eight-year-old boy unable to pull a goddamn trigger. The boy who doomed himself and his brother with his hesitation. Except this time, it was my reputation, my family, and Erel I put at risk.
Over the years, I flayed my enemies. Burned them alive. Dismembered them. Dissolved them in acid. Drowned them. Pummeled them. Without hesitation. Without remorse. Without regret. I was known for it. Praised for it. Respected for it.Never show weakness. Strength conquers all. Yet all those years of hard determination and grit were being brought down by one weak, vulnerable little woman. No more.
On silent steps, I treaded to her bedside. Awake, she was vibrant and curious and so genuine, unlike anyone I’d known in the last few years, yet so very frail. It felt wrong to do it then, like I was taking advantage. Asleep, she was just another target in their bed, faceless, purposeless, just another person resting the night away, unaware of the dangers that surrounded her.
Yet she lay unconscious for twenty days, and each time I went to end her, I faltered. Same as last night.Because I needed to know how she knew me. The excuse felt faint, even to my own ears, but I ignored my logic because any other reason was inconceivable. It didn’t matter how she felt in my arms that day on the boat. That tightness in my chest because I partially caused her condition, that need to keep others away, that desire to keep her safe. None of it meant anything.
I delayed this too long. Her body would be found bloated and floating in the Mediterranean. Whatever she knew died with her. Then the mission would be complete.
Any of my men could do this. Erel would gladly take on the opportunity to add another kill to his belt, but it had to be me. I left her alive on that boat. I needed to be the one to see it through. Otherwise, I didn’t deserve the title of Caïd.
I slipped the pillow out from beneath her head. No hesitation, I shoved it over her face. She stirred. Her hands went up, but they didn’t tug at the pillow. They didn’t wrestle my hold. They rested on my arms, her fingers dragging up and down my skin.
Stinging prickles crawled up to my biceps, then to my shoulders. I cracked my neck and pressed down harder. My eyes smarted, blurring my vision. My arms shook as I clutched the pillow, seeming to demand I pull myself off her. My entire body was fighting against this, but not her.
She still didn’t fight back. It wasn’t fucking normal. Her hand moved to my chest and gave a light tap before dragging her fingers along my dress shirt. Not pulling it, not yanking it. What the fuck was she doing? Was she…tracing letters? The letterT, no anF. Why? Why anF? Why wasn’t she fighting me?
I tossed the pillow aside as she gulped down air and coughed. She whimpered and gritted her teeth, her hands pressed against her side to temper her obvious discomfort. At least that was a normal response.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?”
She held up a finger, gasping hard.
“Why didn’t you fight back?”
“Was…about…to. Took…too…long.”
“You’re not normal.”
“If you say so.”
I was saying so.
The dressing over her left eye had slipped up, exposing the lingering red skin from a chemical burn. It probably happened that night I crashed into Bogdani’s bedroom.
I shot him and left her there to suffer. Unknowingly. That didn’t assuage this uncomfortable sensation in my chest, no matter how much I rubbed.
