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Something niggles in the back of my mind, something my captor said. What was he supposed to do to me?
But just as I try to process what that could mean, my mind finally gives up along with my body, and I fall into a deep sleep, dreaming what I always do—about being stolen away in the dead of night, but instead of my keeper being a faceless entity, DeLuca’s dangerously handsome image replaces the void.
8
DeLuca
I reach my office just as my phone rings, and lo and behold, it’s exactly who I was about to call.
“DeLuca,” Ferro barks, making my nostrils flare. “Where the fuck is my wife?”
My hackles rise at the piece of shit laying any kind of claim on my woman. I lower myself into my leather seat behind my big mahogany desk, reminding myself to keep my voice calm when really I want to rage at the motherfucker for trying to murder Arabella.
“I took care of it. There was a struggle, so it wouldn’t have looked like the suicide you wanted to portray. I got rid of the body. You’re welcome,” I tell him, which is technically the truth, although I’d have no problem lying to him.
There’s a pause, and I hear him mumbling, “Okay, okay, that’s good. She’s gone, so now I can be with…. Wait.” He curses, his voice rising. “Got rid of the body. Got rid of the body? What the fuck? Now she’s going to be a missing person, you idiot. You were supposed to kill her and leave her to be found so I could be done with her!” he yells into the phone, and I have to take deep breaths to calm myself enough not to crush my cell in my hand.
“It’s Desolation, Ferro. Who the hell is going to care about one missing woman who has no friends and stays holed up in her apartment ninety-nine percent of the time?” I growl, gripping the arm of my chair with my other hand.
He lets out a frustrated rumble before telling me between clenched teeth, “Her fucking dad, asshole. Our marriage was to bring our two families together, a business transaction. If she turns up missing and not discovered having committed suicide, he won’t stop until he finds her or what really happened to her.”
I put half-assed effort into placating him. “If he finds her body, then it will just look like any old murder in your wretched little city. Either way, you got what you wanted. She’s gone, and you’re free to do… whatever it is you truly wanted her dead for.”
I stop myself abruptly, not wanting to say exactly what’s on my mind. I have a feeling, deep in my soul, that Arabella had no information that would wreck The Ruin. There’s a different reason Ferro wanted her dead, and he knew I wouldn’t have taken the job if I knew the truth. So I have no qualms lying to the motherfucker. I didn’t miss his murmurings to himself. I caught what he said about “now he gets to be with…” even though he didn’t finish the sentence. And that tells me my gut feeling about her not wanting to destroy The Ruin is the truth.
“You better fucking hope he finds the body and finds it fast so we can put this all behind us. In fact, just tell me where it is so I can find some way to lead them to her,” he orders, and my eyes narrow on nothing, just seeing the wiry fucker in my mind, thinking he can make demands of me.
“Not my problem. I did what you paid me to do, and now our transaction is complete. Do not contact me again.” And with that, I end our connection, my mind returning to the little one upstairs in my bed.
By the time I return to the bedroom, the beautiful creature taking up such a small part of my huge, encompassing bed has fallen asleep. Arabella looks stunning, even in her slumber. I can tell the events of the long night are haunting her dreams in her soft features. She’s scared, yes, but I can tell she’s wrestling with the feelings that draw us to one another.
We shouldn’t be this way, the feelings—those shouldn’t be transpiring. But I know now just how evil the man she’s married to and planned her death when her back was turned is. I vow to protect her from him, even if that means danger to me. If I must run for the hills with her chained to me, I will. No one will ever get to her again.
I watch her a minute longer before heading for the shower. Turning on the water, I let it steam up the bathroom, the hot water nearly being felt before I even step in. Once inside, I let the scalding water cascade around my bunched muscles. They haven’t relaxed since the moment I saw her, and each passing moment in her presence has only wound me tighter, to the point that I will combust if I don’t soon make her mine completely.
