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She’s crouched against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and holding herself tightly. “Hey mama, are you okay?” I ask, looking at her stunned face as tears fall. But she doesn’t answer. Fuck, I think she’s in shock. She’s shaking and rocking back and forth, staring in front of her blankly. I pray for the first time in forever. I pray that this doesn’t break her beautiful spirit.
Going over to my Angel, I crouch down in front of her. “Dios,” I say, noticing how hauntingly beautiful she looks right now. Lifting her into my arms, I step over her assailant and walk out of the alley. I know that I should take her back to the clinic, but instead, I take her to my car and load her into the backseat.
Yes, I know this is technically kidnapping, but I know that I was born to protect this girl. Cherish her. Where the hell did that come from? I am not this guy, but for her, I will be. Forgetting all about the job I have to do, I hop in the driver’s seat and take off for my condo.
Growing up with absolutely nothing, I took to the streets as soon as I could to steal food for my family. That’s where my life of crime started. Eventually, I came in contact with the Diaz Crime Family. With them, I’ve made a name for myself. I bought my sainted mama a house on Long Island, then worked even harder to have all that I have today. The family takes care of me, and in turn, I take care of them.
“Where am I?” a soft voice asks from the backseat. So lost in my musings, I didn’t hear her wake up.
“In my car,” I answer simply.
“Where is he?” she asks.
“Who?” I ask, clenching the steering wheel.
“Denny.” My blood runs cold. Even if she belongs to him, there is no way I’m giving her back. My teeth grit loudly.
“My stalker,” she finally says.
“Stalker?”
“Yes. From work. I’m Addison,” she says as she climbs from the backseat into the passenger seat.
“Addison, I’m Crews Santiago. I don’t know if you remember me, but you took care of me a couple weeks ago in the clinic.”
“I remember you, Crews, I’d never forget. Thank you for saving me back there.” I look over at her and see a bruise forming on her face and a split lip.
“He fucking hit you?” I ask, pulling the car over to inspect her face.
She winces. “He did. But that’s all he did. You saved me from him doing anything worse,” she says, putting her hand on my forearm. Immediately, I calm down. How can her touch soothe me so well?
“I should have killed him,” I growl, pulling back out into traffic.
“He’s not worth it, honestly. You don’t want his blood on your hands,” she says, her fingers stroke my arm absentmindedly. If she only knew how much blood was on my hands, she’d realize a little more won’t make or break me.
“Alright, mama,” I say as I pull into the underground parking garage under my building.
“Where are we?” She asks nervously, looking around the lit garage.
“Queens. My house.” Our house, but I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to scare her even more.
“Why are we here?” she asks as I pull into my assigned parking space.
“I had to get you away from him. I didn’t see your purse or anything, and you were kind of out of it. I was bringing you here until I figured out what to do with you,” I say, and her eyes widen. “I mean,” I start to say before she cuts me off.
“No. It’s fine. I know what you meant.”
“How old are you?” She is a nurse, so I reckon she has to be at least twenty-two.
“Twenty-three,” she breathes.
“Let’s get inside, and we can figure out what to do from there.”
“Okay.” We get out of the car, and she sticks close to me, holding my hand. There is something so right about her hand in mine. Her curvy body has to be at least a foot shorter than my six-foot seven height. The elevator I lead her to opens right into my living room.
She looks around with wide eyes. “Crews, your place is really nice,” she says sounding surprised.
“Thank you. I think it lacks a woman’s touch, but no woman has ever been in here, except for my mother.”
“Did you just move in?” she asks, moving around the room.
“About five years ago,” I say.
Her wide eyes pop up to mine. “Really?”
“Yeah. I haven’t had time to decorate it. Not that I would know what I am doing.” I say as I pour us both a shot of whiskey. She’s standing there fidgeting, looking around the room like a scared kitten. “Addison, have a seat on the couch.”
