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“Stop fighting me!” he roars, before shouting to his men in the hallway outside. “Sam, search the stairwells. Get Gabrio and Hernández to sweep the parking lot.”
I’m still clutching at the material and the remnants of my dignity, but he’s too strong for me. There’s an awful ripping sound as the neckline disintegrates and the accompanying look on his face is terrifying. He’s a huge man and I’d be powerless to stop him if he ever forced me against my will.
Sam would never let that happen.
“Sam, help me! Help me!”
“Wasting your breath,Mi Cielo,” he hisses, prizing my hands away. “Sam does whatever the fuck I tell him to do.”
“Have you lost your mind? Get off me!”
But he doesn’t stop until my dress is a shredded mess on the floor.
“Are you burning up?” he demands, grasping me by the shoulders, his eyes anywhere but my face. To my relief, there’s no hunger in his expression. He may as well be assessing cattle.
“Burning up with anger, more like,” I splutter, standing there in just my panties with one arm thrown across my chest to cover my breasts.
He’s not listening. He’s too busy checking every inch of my skin again.
“We can’t risk it. We need to wash you.” With this, he scoops me up in his arms, and carries me straight into my walk-in shower, despite my violent protests. I may as well be swatting away a wall. Punching his chest and arms is like punching concrete.
“Don’t youdaredo what I think you’re about to do! I’ve just done my hair and make-up. My dinner reservation is in twenty minutes!”
“Fuck your make-up. You don’t need it anyway. You’re beautiful without.”
“Don’t be so—oh my God!” I let out a shriek as my body is engulfed in boiling jets of water.
Dumping me back on my feet, he aims the shower head at my shoulders and breasts before ripping down my panties and doing the same there, running his rough, calloused hands over every part of me, and then repeating it with body wash.
I’ve had enough.
“Stop!” I scream above the hissing water, temporarily blinded by the relentless torrent. “Just switch the damn shower off!”
Instead, he spins me around and takes my face between his hands. “Do you feel dizzy? Faint?”
“No, no,” I stammer, realizing he’s still wearing his black suit and he’s just as soaked as I am. “I feel nothing exceptreallydark thoughts about you.”
Despite my anger, I can’t help noticing the way the water runs in rivulets down his face, skimming off his carved cheekbones, forcing paths through his stubble, and accentuating his strong jaw. His suit is completely wrecked, the shirt underneath molding to his muscles and hard edges. It’s the second one he’s ruined because of me.
His fierce expression starts to relax when he realizes I’m okay.
“I didn’t send you the dress.”
“What? Then who…?” I stop fighting him as soon as his words hit home. Some things chill me to the bone, and my attempted murder is one of them. “Was there something on the dress? Did someone try to p-poison me?” I can hardly get the word out.
He doesn’t answer, but I can feel the tension in his touch. He’s poised to give me something—finally—be it the truth or more of his aching silences.
I wait for him to speak, but nothing comes out.
“No,” I say harshly, trying to rip his hands from my face, but they’re stuck like glue. “No more boxes, Edier. You need to tell me right now what’s going on. Is one of my father’s enemies trying to hurt me, or is it one of yours?”
“Mine,” he rasps, the word barely audible above the water.
“Why?”
“Doesn’t matter how much running or forgetting I do,” he mutters, sounding exhausted suddenly. “It always finds me.”
Running and forgetting.
