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Only then do I wonder what the fuck he meant about leaving Dante a parting gift. Whatever he meant, it didn't sound good, that's for damn sure.
I put the worry aside for the moment to finish clearing the rest of the house. By the time I reach the last room on the left, I haven't found anyone else. The padlock on the bedroom door in question confirms my suspicion that whatever he's got inside is bound to cause a whole helluva lot of trouble.
I circle back to Carmona's room, turning on lights as I go, and then rifle through his shit for the key. I find it along with about a pound of cocaine and 50gs. I leave the coke and the drug money alone, and head back to the end of the hall with the key.
Why the fuck do I feel like a man headed for the goddamn gallows?
I shake the feeling off, shoving the key into the padlock. It comes undone in my hands. I shove it into my pocket and gently push the door open.
"Jesus H. Christ."
I step into the room, staring in shock at the curvy blonde asleep in the bed, her hair spilling across her pillows, moonlight spilling across her perfect face. Aurora Branson, the mayor's daughter. Her photo has been plastered everywhere since she disappeared two months ago.
The sheriff and the Texas Rangers tore the county apart looking for her. The sheriff hasn't quit even though half the state assumes she's dead. All this time, they've had her. They've kept her locked up like a prisoner.
Rage courses through me, powerful and vast. If Carmona were still alive, I'd kill him slowly. Whatever she endured, he would. A thousandfold.
I stumble toward her a step, unable to take my eyes off her. She's so tiny in the bed, so still. And so fucking beautiful. Her honey hair gleams in the moonlight. So does her creamy skin. Her full lips pucker in her sleep as she mouths something. Her quiet whimper cracks my heart in half.
Somehow, I end up standing beside the bed, staring down at her. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't know pain or fear. When she's mine, she never will again.
Jesus.
I rub the palm of my hand over my heart, trying to think.
Why can't I think?
Because you're staring at an angel, you idiot.
If ever one walked the earth, I think it might be this sleeping beauty.
Pale blue eyes spring open, staring right at me. No. They stare into me, stripping me right down to the basest of desires. Protect. Claim. Fuck.
"Sleeping Beauty," I manage to whisper. It sounds like a prayer on my lips. The first I've said since I was a little boy.
"Don't call me that."
"Aurora." I crouch beside the bed, trying not to overwhelm her but desperate to be close to her. I can't leave her side. I won't. Not until she's safe.
Not until she's mine.
Chapter Two
Aurora
I lick my lips, staring in silence at the dark stranger. He's not one of the men that I've seen around here before. Is he new? Why is he in my room in the middle of the night? My stomach churns with anxiety, but I battle it back, refusing to consider the possibilities.
I've been a prisoner for long enough that I've started to lose track of the days, but Victor hasn't let anyone hurt me yet. I'm holding onto every last kernel of hope I have that the status quo remains unchanged.
I don't think this man works for Victor, though. Does Victor work for him? I never considered the possibility that Victor Carmona had a boss since everyone here answers to him, but perhaps this man is the one with the real power. He certainly fits the bill.
Victor Carmona is big and powerful, a wolf in sheep's clothing. This man is whatever eats the wolf. There's no blending in for him. His gorgeous eyes, bronze skin, and broad frame make him hard to miss, but that's not what keeps my attention. It's the hint of danger radiating from him that does that. It pulses in the air around him, kissing his aura like a neon sign screaming danger dwells here.
His dark hair—slightly too long and curling at the ends—and scruffy jaw give him a wild appearance. Not as if he's unkempt, but as if he's untamed. Intelligence blazes in his hazel eyes. So does something I've come to understand acutely since I woke up in this room. The will to survive.
He has it. He's used it. And I think it may haunt him.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Sleeping Beauty." He grimaces, his full lips pulling down into a deep frown. His brows furrow at the same time, almost as if he's distressed. "I'm sorry. Aurora."
I blink up at him. In all my time here, he's the first person who has apologized to me. Those words didn't even pass Victor's deceitful lips after he swore I was going home weeks ago only for that day never to come.
