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I let my keys drop from my fingers, sensing that Ruiz caught them before they hit the pavement. I couldn’t take my attention off Medina, even though it made my skin crawl to have Ruiz at my back while I remained motionless, neutralized far more effectively than he could have managed with a gun to my head.
“Let’s go,” Ruiz wheezed to Medina, his throat bruised from my crushing grip.
I was glad I hadn’t killed him quickly. Once I had Sofia safely inside the house, I could return to the hellhole where I was born and eviscerate Ruiz properly.
“Move.” Medina pulled on Sofia’s curls, forcing her to walk with him to my Porsche. He used her as a shield, knowing that I’d tear him apart the moment he released her.
Her soft whimper as he yanked at her hair pierced my chest and twisted as cruelly as the blade that threatened her life.
Ruiz unlocked the Porsche and slid into the driver’s seat, his freshly-ruined teeth flashing in a red, broken grin.
Medina moved awkwardly when he reached the car, maintaining his hold on Sofia while fumbling at the passenger door handle. As soon as he managed to open it, he shoved her away from him and slammed the door. The Porsche’s roar echoed my own savage rage as Ruiz pushed the car to accelerate, as though putting distance between us would somehow save them from me.
Sofia stumbled, and I barely managed to catch her before her knees hit the sidewalk. I lifted her into my arms, crushing her close to my chest to shield her from further harm. Her delicate body shook, and she tucked herself against me, seeking protection.
My muscles bunched and flexed, already anticipating the slaughter of the men who had dared to frighten her.
Focusing the feeble capacity for conscious thought that remained, I rushed her to safety, never releasing her for so much as a second as I unlocked the front gate and hustled her into the house.
“Mateo?” Mom called out, the fearful hitch in her voice stoking the imperative to mete out violence.
She must have heard me shouting outside her house. Ruiz and Medina had terrorized two of the three people in the world who mattered to me. The only two who were completely defenseless without my protection.
Impotent rage pounded through my system. I hadn’t felt this debilitating powerlessness since the night I’d met Adrián. The only thing tethering me to sanity was the knowledge that Ruiz and Medina were going to beg for death very soon.
I rushed toward the living room, where Mom liked to spend her afternoons reading. When I entered the room, I found her struggling to stand, trying to come to me and offer solace. The pain that twisted her ruined face incensed me, driving me to new heights of fury I’d never known before.
“Don’t get up.” My command was so gravelly that I wasn’t sure how she understood me.
Mom eased back down onto her couch, grimacing at the permanent agony inflicted by the man who’d almost destroyed her.
I shot a glance at her live-in caregiver, who was dithering at Mom’s elbow, assisting her in getting into a more comfortable position.
“Get out,” I snapped at the woman, making her kind gray eyes widen in alarm.
Beatrice was a quiet, nurturing woman with a round face and gentle manner. She knew nothing of my criminal enterprises, and I intended to keep it that way. I’d hired her to make Mom’s life as easy as possible, and revealing dark truths to Beatrice would complicate things.
“What’s wrong, mijo?” Mom asked as soon as we were alone. Her chocolate eyes were dark with worry, the scars carved into her face drawn deep.
I took a breath, struggling to function on a civilized level. I at least needed to reassure her before I went tearing off after the men who had threatened Sofia.
“Ruiz and Medina followed me here,” I ground out, clutching Sofia closer to my chest, as though the men might materialize and try to take my precious possession away from me again.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, but her concerned gaze shifted to Sofia.
My little flower was still trembling in my arms, but she reassured my mom. “I’m okay.”
Her emerald eyes fixed on mine. Tears still glistened on her pale cheeks, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Her delicate features were soft and calm, all traces of tension and anxiety gone.
She lifted her hand to my face, tenderly caressing my cheek. My sweet girl was comforting me.
“I’m okay,” she promised, her voice low and soothing.
The crushing panic that had weighed on my chest lifted, and I drew in a calming breath. My rage didn’t abate, but she grounded me enough to harness it, focusing my wrath with purpose. My fury was a tool, fuel that would sustain me while I destroyed the men who’d threatened her. The sense of powerlessness that had debilitated me faded, and I was fortified with renewed strength and white-hot purpose.
