Page 67 of Hostile Rival
Holding my breath, I crawl closer, inwardly talking to myself and pretending the girl who’s blouse I'm unbuttoning won’t mind.
Next, I strip another victim of her track pants. Then dress, all the while trying to see through the hot tears stinging my eyes.
It takes a while to fasten the difficult buttons, my filthy fingers so damn shaky. I take my time to stand, but when I straighten, my head spins. Instinctively, I bend a little and place my hands on my thighs, taking deep breaths.
Those moments of hesitation betray me when heavy footfall sounds outside. I drop to my knees and consider my options. Play dead or fight back.
Without a weapon, I’d be another corpse in seconds. So, I drop to the dirt and lie still, listening.
My heart pounds when the footsteps come closer, and the man swears under his breath. “Where are you, puta? It’s time to meet your maker.”
From outside the barn, a mechanical whir grows louder. I almost jump when a phone rings and suck in my lips, praying he won’t come any closer.
The ring tone stops. “What is it?” he answers. “Elias Souza is coming here. Fuck…yeah, okay. Coming now.”
Once the call ends, he pockets his phone and backtracks to the door.
26
DANIELA
PRESENT
Flashes of the last few hours come and go.
From being weightless in Matheus’ arms, laying my head on his lap in the back of a speeding SUV, unmoving when a sharp scratch pricked a vein in my arm, to watching an elderly guy stitch up my wound.
I’d slipped in and out of consciousness. Yet every time I managed to open my eyes; Matheus was right next to me. The deep frown on his face and those worried chestnut eyes of his had given me comfort. Something I never thought I’d ever appreciate or need from anyone, let alone a Souza.
When my gritty eyes blink open again, I find myself unarmed and alone in the middle of a grand four-poster bed, tucked in under a black satin sheet. Not recognizing my surroundings, crippling anxiety sets in.
I’ve made sure this very situation would never happen again by controlling everything I do. Which includes never sleeping in a stranger's bed, so I don't get triggered.
However, instead of waking to the unforgettable stench of death, the open drapes from across the bedroom billow gently in a sea breeze. I inhale deeply, happy to see a blue sky through the glass and the rays of sunlight pouring in.
Flicking the sheet off, I roll to my side and groan, aware of a sore wound under my ribs. I run my fingertips over the thick dressing beneath the silky red nightdress I’m wearing.
Do I remember putting it on? No. Nor do I recall the moment I entered this bedroom with its rose ceiling and dark furniture. It's a room fit for royalty. But I’m no one’s princess.
My body hurts from head to toe. The throbbing pain of bruises isn’t anything new. Being a fighter, I’m well-educated in the aftermath of a brawl. Except for the stab wound, an annoying failure on my part.
The effort needed to reach the edge of the mattress has me a little breathless. Carefully dropping my feet to the floor, I sit upright for a moment and give my heart rate a second to normalize.
Perched on the bed, I scan the pale carpet and notice track marks leading from the bay window to where a low-slung armchair is positioned at the foot of the bed. My breath catches and the antsiness creeping under my skin fades.
Matheus.
He stares at me from his seated position. My pulse thrums under his silent inspection, and every cell in my body urges me to curl up on his lap and stay there.
He’s bare chested and lounging back in the chair, feet planted wide on the carpet and black designer boxers snug to his groin. His messy hair is wet and teasing his lashes.
The gold chain around his neck glitters in the sunlight when he slowly bends forward and sets his elbows on his knees.
“Hey.” His lazy smile makes my heart flutter.
“Where am I?” I ask, unbalanced by the sight of him and the niggling pain in my side. “And…where’s my gun?”
“We’re back on the estate…at Dré’s place. The medical team were already waiting here by the time we arrived,” he explains, linking his fingers and holding my gaze. “Your weapons are likely in the ashes of the Di Rossi palace. How are you feeling?”
