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Walking back to me, Damian crouches in front of me. “Foot,” he mutters. I lift my left foot, and I have to grab hold of his shoulder, so I don’t fall over. He slips the shoe on, and then I quickly push my right foot into the one on the floor before he can pick it up. I let go of his shoulder and move away from him, my pulse racing from having to touch him.
I don’t think I’ll ever trust another human being or feel safe again.
Damian rises to his full height, and then he starts to strip the blankets and sheets from both beds. I watch him wipe the room clean – everywhere, and with such precision, it’s unnerving.
I don’t move as he works his way through the room and bathroom.
Shit, this guy is meticulous. He’s making sure we leave nothing behind.
When he’s seemingly satisfied, his eyes snap to me. “Let’s go.”
My heart leaps to my throat as I slowly turn to the door. Only then does it hit me that I have to leave the motel room.
Shit.
My legs feel numb as I slowly make my way out of the room. It’s dark outside, the cold air stealing my breath. I wrap my arms around my waist for some extra warmth.
When Damian’s arm falls over my shoulders, my body jerks, and I let out a startled squeak. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, then he pulls me against his side. “Just stick close to me.”
My insides shrivel with apprehension, my muscles so tense it makes every inch of my body ache.
Ducking my head, I keep my eyes on our feet as we walk away from the room where I didn’t have to think about what happened to me. It was a safety bubble.
We reach a white sedan that’s seen better days, and Damian nudges me into the passenger seat. My eyes dart around the area before I watch as Damian climbs behind the steering wheel. He starts the engine, and then his left arm suddenly moves in my direction.
I recoil against the door, turning my face away from him and bracing myself for the blow as a breath of air bursts over my lips. A broken sound escapes me as my wide eyes lock on Damian.
His arm stops midair, his icy gaze snapping to mine. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
All I can manage are the breaths rushing from me, setting my chest on fire.
He moves slower, placing his hand on the headrest, then he looks behind us as he backs the vehicle out of the parking.
My body slumps in the seat as a flicker of relief eases some of the tension coiling in my body.
DAMIAN
Fuck. I didn’t mean to scare Cara.
I hate the naked terror in her eyes, and it makes me clench my teeth.
Watching over Cara this past week has been both the easiest and hardest thing to do. She’s fucking strong, trying to hide her pain from me. But she’s broken.
They fucking gutted her soul, and it’s starting to chip away at my heart. Compassion’s a foreign emotion for me to feel. Whenever I have to deal with a victim, I always focus all my attention on the job. It’s what I’ve been trained to do because emotions will get you killed.
But it’s becoming harder and harder to see Cara as just another victim. Especially because she’ll be staying with me. It’s not something I’ve done before, always passing the victim off to whoever hired me. Cara’s situation’s different, though, because she’s not a paid job, and leaving her to her own defenses will only get her killed.
I glance at her, and once again, an intense protective feeling bleeds through my chest.
No, I can’t turn my back on this woman.
When Jeff told me about Cara, we sped up our plan to take down the group and free her. Remembering the state I found her in, there’s a ripple of regret that I didn’t get to her sooner.
Steering the car down the highway, my thoughts turn to the group we took down and Tom. I need to find out what’s going on and how big the threat is to Cara.
All I know is the mafia kidnapped Cara to get to her uncle.
My gaze flicks to her, where she’s squashed against the door, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.
The lie I told her about her uncle sending me to get her seems to have set her a little at ease. I’ll keep going with that story until I’ve found out exactly what’s going on.
Knowing Cara might have all the information I need, I ask, “How old are you?”
She startles from the sudden sound of my voice, her fear-filled eyes darting to me. “Ah… twenty-five.”
I’ve picked up on her accent but asking where she’s from might give away the fact that her uncle didn’t hire me. Instead, I ask, “Do you know anything about the group that took you?”
