Page 44 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
His pain-filled eyes lift to mine before a long breath slips past his lips. “I can’t protect you in there, Adelina.”
I stroke his face, trying to reassure him. “I survived once, didn’t I?”
He finally steps back, and my hand falls to my side. He’s only a foot away, but it feels like a chasm opens up between us. “You need to go to him as soon as possible. He’ll kill Gabriella if you waste time.”
I hate the cold distance in his voice, but there’s nothing more I can do.
Stepping forward, I grab his shirt and slam my lips over his. For a moment, he’s frozen, but he slowly comes to life, winding his arms around my waist and pulling me close. My ribs scream in protest, but I don’t care because I need this: his support, his love. Tearing away from me, he touches his forehead to mine, rapid breaths blowing over my lips.
“I love you,” I breathe, the true depth of my feelings stealing all the air from my lungs.
There’s always been so many things between us, a thousand reasons why we couldn’t be together, and yet, now, as I’m leaving him once again, I realize just how inevitable Sasha and I always were. Fate brought us together in the cruelest of ways, but I think we gave each other a reason. To keep going. To keep fighting.
His fingers stroke over my cheek, his soft touch so at odds with his rough, calloused hands. “I love you, malyshka.”
I close my eyes, fighting the telltale prickle of tears before I slip out from between him and the door. With a twist of the knob, I’m gone. As I walk down the corridor toward my room, my heart feels like it’s cracking. By the time I’ve packed a bag, I manage to get a handle on my emotions. This isn’t about me or even Sasha or Enrique. I have to get my sister back.
I don’t see Sasha as I make my way through the house and outside. Lorenzo waits out front, leaning against a black SUV. A cigarette hangs between his lips, the ash burning and falling to the floor. The quiet out here is almost unsettling as though the world is holding a moment’s silence as I walk to my own funeral. Wordlessly, I approach the car, and Lorenzo walks over to me, taking the small bag from my hand. Sad eyes meet mine, and he opens his mouth to speak.
I hold up my hand. “Please don’t try and talk me out of this, Lorenzo.”
“I just wanted to say that your father would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”
A lump form’s in my throat, and an ache takes up residence behind my already bettered ribs. “Thank you,” I whisper before hurrying past him to the car.
Sasha never comes outside, but he doesn’t need to. We’ve said our goodbyes, made our promises. All that’s left now is action.
The car pulls away, and we wind down the hillside, away from my childhood home. Brilliant sunshine lights a clear blue sky, and everything seems a little too cheery, too bright. The world keeps turning, existing, and it seems unfair given that my entire world feels like a constant war zone. I almost resent the sunshine. There should be gray rolling clouds and rain. Everyone else should share just a little of my misery.
As we drive, Lorenzo tightens his grip on the steering wheel, over and over until his knuckles turn white. We crawl along the dusty, winding roads, but no matter how slow he drives, he can’t stop this. My stomach knots, sickness creeping up my throat with each passing minute. Finally, Enrique’s house comes into view. The sun reflects off the glass walls, glinting and blinding me. Lorenzo slows the car as we approach the gates. I count five men, all armed with rifles as they approach the car. One uses a mirror to sweep the underside of the vehicle, and when he’s satisfied, the tall metal gates slowly glide open.
Inside, it’s like something out of a creepy reality TV show, where the grass is so perfect, it doesn’t even look real, and the white gravel driveway is immaculate. I hate it. I hate everything about this place.
Soul-deep fear suddenly punches me in the gut as I’m faced with going into that house again. I tighten my fists until nails bite into my palms with a sting.
Beyond the windshield, Enrique’s men descend the steps from the front of the house and linger in front of the car.
“Are you okay, Miss Adelina?” Lorenzo asks quietly.
I nod and open the door, slowly lowering myself to the ground. As I approach the waiting men, the front door opens, and Enrique steps out into the bright sunshine wearing a beige suit and aviators. As if I need any more reason to hate him.
