“Do you understand what’s happened?” Bradley asks quietly. He places one large, rough palm on my bare back, and a streak of something wet and cold glides over my wound.
“Harris died,” I murmur softly. “He died and the Mafia are real and we stole from them.”
“Correct.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, and my head falls into my upturned palms. I can’t contain my sobs any longer, so I let the tears falland my whole body shakes, though not as violently as it was before Bradley touched my back.
All I wanted to do was save my brother. That’s the whole reason I’m in this fucking mess, and now Harris is dead and Peter is God knows where with the last member of our group who, for all I know, is under the same murderous orders as Harris. Finding him feels impossible when I have no idea where to look, how to start looking, or how I’m going to deal with the fact that I’m now captive in a strange room with the man I tried to kill.
After the initial burst of tears, I wipe my eyes and lift my head. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No,” Bradley replies. His head remains down even as I look at him, and soon, he’s smoothing tape and gauze over my wound to protect it.
“You’re Mafia, though, aren’t you? That’s the only explanation for all those cars and guns and how you found me with one text.”
Bradley’s broad shoulders lift as he breathes in, then he lifts his head and meets my eye. “Technically, yes.”
“But you’re not going to kill me?”
“No, Zira. I’m not going to kill you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” Bradley maintains eye contact as he hands me back my shirt, and not once does he try to sneak a look lower at my bra, or anywhere else, for that matter. His eyes remain on my face and his hand remains on my back until I pull my shirt back across my shoulders.
“How are you feeling?”
“How can you ask me that?” I choke out, and I shift away from him, removing myself from the cloud of welcoming warmth and sweet cologne that radiates from him. “I nearlydied. I watched Harris die, and now I’m here, wherever here is, and you tell me I stole from theMafia. I thought I was just— Wait, does that mean I was working for the Mafia?”
My eyes widen and Bradley nods. “Technically, yes. You and millions of others.”
“Oh, my God, I’m a criminal.”
“You are, but not for the reasons you’re thinking.”
It’s not until I’ve settled away from him at the top of the bed that I realize his questions and comments were keeping me distracted from the pain now radiating like a hot brand against my skin. My face screws up against a wave of pain and I wrap my arms around my middle.
“Why are you doing this? Are you just keeping me here until they come to collect me?”
“I’m helping you because you got shot and you deserve treatment, Zira,” Bradley replies, and the corners of his eyes crease when he smiles. “That’s all.”
“But why?” I demand as my heart lurches. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything other than revenge, so why would you help me?” There has to be a catch. Everything has something attached to it and no amount of kindness or care ever comes without a price.
“You could say it’s for the same reason I let you believe that pregnant woman was my wife. I protect people when I can.”
“You let us believe?” I repeat softly, hastily wiping away a stray tear.
“Yes. Because I helped her, you thought I was linked to her, which turned her from a victim into a tool you could use against me, shifting the focus of target from her to me. You chose me that day because you wanted to use the threat against her to keep me in line, which, in my eyes, ended up keeping her and her baby safe.”
I stare at him open-mouthed. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. As soon as I thought they were together, he became the easier target in my mind.
“So, what about me?” I whisper, tightening my arms around my body. “What am I? A victim or a tool?”
“You, Zira, are someone who is both, and if I can, I want to help you out of this. Like I said, I protect people, and if you help me recover the rest of the diamonds, I’ll protect you too.”
12
BRADLEY
