Page 5 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
He takes a small step back, nostrils flaring. “No scars,” he says.
I barely see his arm move before his hand collides with my face. The sting radiates over my cheek as I taste blood in my mouth. I swipe my tongue over my lip.
“Enough?” he asks with a wry smile.
I push to my feet once more, squaring my shoulders. He lifts a brow, as though he expected me to fear him, but I’m beyond such things now.
“No. Hit me again.”
2
Sasha
I can feel Una’s eyes on me as she moves around the kitchen. The scent of coffee and toast fills the air, and the low hum of jovial chatter comes from the dining room. I ignore everyone and stare at the blueprints in front of me.
“Are you okay?” Una finally asks.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s been two days—”
“Adelina is probably dead,” I interrupt.
“Or Enrique is.” She leans against the counter, casually clasping a mug of coffee in her hands.
I meet her cool gaze. “I don’t care.”
“You’re a bad liar, Sasha. You loved the girl three days ago, enough to try to sabotage her wedding.”
I do love her, but three days ago, I had a relapse, nothing more. I had already come to terms with losing her, with her decision to marry Bianchi. She did that. She chose that. All I can possibly do now is live with it.
“Leave it alone, Una.”
She shrugs one shoulder, flicking her hair away from her face. “Fine.” She walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone at last.
I go back to the blueprints, memorizing exit routes for our next mission. I make myself a fresh cup of coffee, and the buzz of conversation from the nearby dining room steadily dies down as men finish their breakfast and get on with their jobs. The house is almost quiet when I hear the sudden pounding of footsteps over the wooden floorboards. With a frown, I push to my feet and peer out the kitchen door. Several of Nero’s men hurry past me, along the corridor toward the front of the house.
Tommy stumbles after them, shoving a gun in the waistband of his pants.
I reach out and grab his arm. “What’s happening?”
“Uh, security breach.” His eyes dart around nervously before his face turns red, matching his copper hair. “At the front gate.”
As soon as I reach the front door, I see the plume of smoke streaming from beyond the front gates. Breaking into a jog, I reach for the gun holstered at my thigh and palm the weight of it. At the gate, several of Nero’s men are lined up, weapons drawn, pointed toward an old jeep, half-buried in the hedge beside the road. The radiator appears to be damaged, and steam pours from beneath the hood in a cloud of white fog.
There’s a strained creak as the door is thrown open, and a figure in a hood staggers from the vehicle. A collective tension ripples through the surrounding men. My finger lingers over the trigger until I realize who it is. The material falls away from a face that is engraved in my mind.
“Adelina?” I push forward, through the line of men—still their guns remain raised. “Lower your weapons! That’s an order!”
They slowly respond, holstering their guns one by one.
She walks straight toward me, seemingly unaware of the people surrounding her or the potential danger she’s is. When she reaches the gate, her fingers wrap around the bars. We stand, only two feet apart, divided by metal and a whole host of choices: hers and mine. A kaleidoscope of blues and purples decorate her face, and a bloody scab splits split her bottom lip. She’s physically damaged, but when I look into her eyes, I see something that didn’t exist before—a certain strength, forged through horror and circumstance.
“Sasha,” she breathes.
The gate retreats between us, and I find myself involuntarily falling forward a step. The last time we spoke, I resolved never to see Adelina again. I told myself that she was a moment of weakness, a simple lapse in judgment. But as I look at her, bruised and battered, I can’t help the instinct to protect her from the entire world.
She throws herself at me, her bloody lips colliding with mine. For long seconds, I don’t breathe or move. I fight the weak part of me that wants to hold her close and never let go. The wounds she inflicted on her wedding day are still raw and bleeding, but I made a vow to myself that day. As I walked away from her, I promised myself it would be the last time, that Adelina was now a figment of my past. Just because she survived her insane plan, it doesn’t change anything. She’s still a weakness I cannot indulge.
I push her away, holding her shoulders firmly. Her lip has broken open again, a tiny drop of blood welling on her skin.
