Page 3 of Tainted Obsession 1
I will never risk being caged again.
I shake the remaining violent tension from my shoulders and pluck my blade from the dying man’s chest. The threat is handled. The woman is all that matters now.
She’s too still, and the pool of crimson blood beneath her cheek stains her white-blonde hair. She’s small and slender, appearing as frail as a broken butterfly. More blood coats her hands where she’s torn her wrists fighting the cruel restraints.
I crouch over her and test the pulse at her throat. It’s steady beneath my fingers. I heave out a breath, the last of my rage leaving my body on a long exhale.
The men who hurt her are dead. No one will harm her now.
I free the knotted gag and blindfold. She doesn’t stir when they drop away from her face. Long lashes fan her lightly freckled cheeks, and her eyes remain closed. She’s beautiful and delicate and far too pale.
I hiss a curse and wipe the dead man’s blood from my knife before using it to cut away the cable ties around her ankles and wrists. She doesn’t so much as flinch when I carefully peel them from her torn skin.
I have to get her to a hospital. Dropping her off myself would be a stupid risk, so I put in an anonymous call to emergency services and give them our location.
I wait with her until I hear the wail of approaching sirens. Then I take a breath and force myself to leave her alone in the basement with the lifeless bodies of my enemies.
The ambulance will be here soon, and she’ll get the medical care she needs.
Besides, if I want to check on her wellbeing in the coming days, I know exactly where to find her. She’s George Crawford’s fiancée.
I’ll make amends to Duarte by offering to stalk his DEA agent enemy myself. And if I’m able to watch over this innocent beauty at the same time, all the better.
Her piece of shit lover won’t be alive much longer. Until then, I can protect her from my criminal associates.
Chapter 3
Evelyn
Disjointed, horrific memories flicker through my thoughts in a nauseating film reel.
Darkness. Terror. Pain. Hands groping at my body, violating me while I’m bound and helpless. Unable to move or scream for help.
George.They want to kill my fiancé. They’re using me as bait to lure him into a trap.
I jolt upright with a gasp, and pain knifes through my skull. The overly bright world swirls around me, and I fall back onto the pillow.
I’m lying on something soft, not damp concrete. My head pounds, but no further agony is inflicted as punishment for my struggles. My hands twitch at my sides, jerking against the phantom restraints that no longer bind me.
“George.” I moan his name, fear for him saturating my thoughts.
“I’m right here.” His warm, familiar hand settles gently over mine, the barest brush of his palm against my knuckles.
“George.” This time, his name is a harsh sob. I turn my hand so that I can clutch at him, holding on like he’s my lifeline.
“You’re safe now,” he promises, his voice tight with suppressed anger.
I blink hard, forcing my heavy lids to open so that I can find his steady blue gaze. His soft navy eyes fill my world, and I quickly dash away the sting of tears before my vision blurs. I can’t lose sight of him.
My wrist aches as I move to wipe the wetness from my cheeks, and I note the thick white bandage that encircles it. I glance down at our entwined hands and see that both wrists have been similarly dressed; the wounds inflicted by the cruel cable ties have been treated.
The bright, clinical lighting and slightly harsh, sterile scent in the air indicate that I’m in a hospital. Not a dank basement.
“You saved me,” I rasp, my throat still hoarse from screaming.
Fine lines of strain tighten around George’s mouth, his expression turning stony. The familiar, smooth planes of his classically handsome face harden into rough-hewn granite.
Six years ago, I fell hard for his captain-of-the-football team sunny smile and golden hair. But I’ve learned to read his darker moods in the subtle shifts of his square jaw and the shadowed dimple in his chin.
