Page 6 of Savage Vow

She isn’t creating a rope out of bed sheets or fashioning a weapon. She’s only sleeping, lying on her back with one arm folded over her abdomen while the other is bent, her hand resting on the pillow, close to her face. She’s peaceful, without so much as a care lining her smooth brow. Her breathing is soft and even.

Something moves in me, shifts. I swallow hard against whatever is trying to work its way out of my chest—whatever it is, it isn’t rage. I’m far too familiar with that emotion to mistake it. This isn’t the rush of heat brought about by mindless rage.

It’s warmth. Something close to tenderness, perhaps.

She is the last person in the world who deserves it. I stand a bit straighter and lift my chin in defiance. Of what? My own weakness, I suppose. The very thing that brought me here. The very thing that killed my grandfather, no matter who pulled the trigger. It was I who put him in that position. I might as well have placed the gun in the murderer’s hand.

She doesn’t stir when I enter the room, though the carpet beneath my feet muffles my steps. I place my glass on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed, perching carefully, knowing anything more would wake her immediately. I don’t know why, but I want to have this moment with her. A moment of peace. A moment in which she has no idea of the danger she’s in while she sleeps peacefully. The wolf sitting beside her.

It would take no effort at all. A hand over her face to stop her breathing. Not a pillow; I would want to watch her panic, not simply imagine it from the other side of the pillow. I could crush her throat. Snap her neck. Or I could do it the old-fashioned way and simply put a bullet in her head.

I’m considering this when suddenly, she stirs. Does she sense me? Probably not, because her absolute shock is not the sort of thing that could be feigned. Immediately, she begins scrambling away, tears springing to her eyes as she attempts to leap across the bed away from me.

I’m too fast, and I reach out wrapping an arm around her waist, while using my other hand to cover her mouth. “Stop crying,” I growl, holding her tight. “I’m sick to death of hearing you cry. Was it your grandfather who was murdered in front of you? What the fuck reason do you have to cry?” Eventually, she calms herself, her mouth still covered. But there are no more tears, and her breathing has calmed to something more normal, less hitching and gasping.

I lower my hand, then take hold of the glass I set down. “It’s over,” I inform her as if she couldn’t put that together on her own. “He’s in the ground. Congratulations. We did it. We got him killed.”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything, but—”

“Don’t waste your breath,” I mutter, staring down into the glass. I should have brought the entire bottle. This won’t be nearly enough. The warmth of her body calls to me. I merely glance at her, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Dammit, there’s still something about her body. She has a way of making me react, though it’s the last thing I want to do. I can’t afford to be weak, not again, and certainly not because of her. But the memory of her lusciousness, her sweetness, it’s all still so fresh. And she is right here, lying only inches from where I sit.

I shouldn’t, but there’s no helping it. My fingers fairly twitch with desire, especially now that the nightgown she’s wearing has worked its way up her thighs, thanks to her attempts to escape me.

I shouldn’t, but I have to. Her creamy skin demands to be touched. I run the backs of my fingers over her thigh, just above her knee, and her breath catches. “Now,” I murmur, staring down at her skin because I can’t bring myself to look her in the eye, “you are going to tell me everything I want to know. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good. I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if you lie, and from now on, I will take nothing you say at face value. I will do my research. I will know if you are lying to me. Understood?”

I glance away from her thigh in time to see her nod, her gaze steady. “Yes.”

“Very well. You can’t say you weren’t warned.” I throw back the rest of the whiskey before speaking again. “Now. Tell me, exactly who are you, and how you ended up at that warehouse?” Meanwhile, my hand inches up her thigh, a silent warning. I’m giving her a chance to speak her peace, and the moment she displeases me, it’s over.

I will hurt her. I know exactly how to do it, and she knows I do.

“My name is Alicia, which I told you before. I’m just a normal person. Before I met you, I was an average college student, nothing special. Only I didn’t have enough money to stay enrolled. I would have had to wait another year to take the classes I needed, and I didn’t want to wait another year to finish my credits and graduate. The whole thing was hopeless. And a friend of mine…”

“Go on.”

“My friend told me about a way to make a lot of money in one night. She’s the one who sent me to the warehouse to pick up that package. I was supposed to deliver it to another location. And that was it. That was all I was supposed to do. I didn’t know anything about what I was picking up; she didn’t tell me a thing, I swear. I mean, I sort of figured it out, but I was desperate. And she promised all I had to do was pick it up and then drop it off. That’s it.”

A likely story. “Who is this friend of yours?”

Her cheeks darken, and for the first time, she averts her gaze. “Her name is Elena. I only know her through school. But she made it sound like this was a job she was doing for her family, and she had done it before lots of times. It’s how she makes her money.”

“So you knew you were doing something that could have been very dangerous, but you did it anyway.”

“I just told you. I had no money. And it’s not just tuition,” she continues when I scoff and click my tongue. “I’m not saying I was living on the streets, but I came close once or twice. This place?” She waves a hand, indicating the luxury in which she was peacefully sleeping only minutes ago. “I guess this is where you live when you’re not in a townhouse like the one back in Miami. My entire apartment could fit in this single room. I never had any extra money. I couldn’t afford to go out with friends. My clothes have to be literally falling to pieces before I replace them. So yes, I was willing to trade all of that for a little bit of comfort, even if it meant doing something that might have been dangerous. But Elena insisted it wasn’t, that she does it all the time and nobody ever has a problem with it, so I was desperate and stupid enough to go along with it.”

I hear her. I do.

But a great deal of my concentration is also focused on the feel of her. She is the ultimate escape, the ultimate release. That’s what I need most right now. Not explanations, not reflection, not even planning out what comes next. I need to forget. There’s not enough liquor in this entire house to make that happen, but it could happen so easily with her. Alicia. Aly. Whatever she calls herself.

Her breath hitches when I slide my hand over the silky fabric that looks as though it was poured over her curves. My fingertips skim her chest and the curve of her tit. “And it never once occurred to you to tell me the truth? That you only went there to make a little money because a friend told you about it?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Because you weren’t willing to take the chance.”

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