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Chapter 11
Massimo
Istopped the bike in front of the high rise building that Duarte owned in the heart of Mexico City. His enemies wouldn’t be able to touch her once I got her inside.
Rage still tightened my jaw, but otherwise, my body was on autopilot; this wasn’t the first time I’d faced down an armed opponent and won. Under other circumstances, I’d be completely relaxed in the aftermath of the swift, brutal violence. But that motherfucker had tried to kill Evelyn. He would’ve shot her in cold blood, and her piece of shit fiancé hadn’t lifted a finger to save her. Crawford definitely wouldn’t have thrown himself in front of a bullet for her.
More proof that he wasn’t worthy of her. I’d be doing her a favor when I eliminated him from her life.
I needed to get her inside—where Duarte’s small army of men would ensure that no one dared to follow us.
Her slender fingers were knotted in my shirt, her arms locked tight around my torso. I placed my hands over hers and urged her to let go with a firm squeeze. Her chest heaved against my back, her breath stuttering. She must be confused and scared right now. I would protect the fragile little butterfly from further harm.
“Let go, farfallina,” I urged, tugging her grasping fingers free from my shirt. She didn’t fight me. “Good girl.”
I got off the bike and removed the helmet from her blonde head. Her platinum hair shined under the streetlights: a beacon, a target.
I scooped her up in my arms and rushed her inside, releasing a relieved breath as soon as the bulletproof glass doors closed behind us. Two armed guards greeted me with familiar nods, not commenting on my precious cargo despite their curious looks. I tugged her closer to my chest, shooting them both a warning glower.
No one would touch her but me.
“Where are we?” she asked in a shaky whisper as I pressed the button to call the elevator.
“Somewhere safe.”
Her brow furrowed. “Like a safe house?”
My muscles tensed for a moment, and I forced my arms to relax around her so that I wouldn’t scare her with my strength.
She must think I was associated with law enforcement. I supposed that made some sort of sense, given my presence at the bar and in the alley outside her apartment just now. She must be trying to rationalize my behavior in her fear-addled mind.
All that mattered was that she saw me as her protector. As long as she didn’t try to run away from me, I could keep her safe without scaring her. I would prevent her from leaving this building if I had to, but I preferred not to add to her terrible ordeal tonight.
“You’re safe with me,” I replied smoothly: the absolute truth.
The elevator ascended to the fifth floor, where my suite was located. Duarte was an excellent host, and he’d made sure to provide my friends and me with lavish accommodations while we worked out the finer details of our business arrangement. Evelyn would be safe and comfortable here.
My friends. Shit. I had no idea how Gian and Enzo would react to her presence. I hadn’t told the brothers about my obsession with George Crawford’s fiancée. They probably wouldn’t like it.
Luckily, they weren’t in the suite when I stepped inside, Evelyn still cradled in my arms.
They would return eventually and discover us together, but I couldn’t worry about that now. She was all that mattered.
I didn’t want to release her from my protective embrace, but she shifted against me, apparently uncomfortable that I was still holding her despite the fact that we were safe from imminent danger. Reluctantly, I set her down on her feet, but I couldn’t bring myself to break contact. My hands skimmed her upper arms, steadying her as she found her balance on shaky legs. Her creamy skin was so soft against my rough callouses. It pebbled beneath my touch, and I wasn’t sure if that was a lingering fear response, or if she was as viscerally affected by our physical connection as I was.
Her pale green eyes were wide on mine, long blonde lashes nearly brushing her brows. When we’d been at the bar earlier, she must’ve darkened them with mascara, but I found her lovely like this: pure and perfect. She glowed like some ethereal creature, a tempting angel I wanted to ravage.
I trailed my palms down the length of her slender arms, loving the feel of her delicate body. My fingers brushed over wet fabric at her side, and fear punched my chest. A red stain marred the oversized white t-shirt that swallowed her fragile frame.
Evelyn was injured. I’d been so focused on getting her away from Crawford that I hadn’t stopped to check if she’d been hurt. The sight of blood soaking her side froze the breath in my lungs.
Without thinking, I fisted the cotton material in both hands and ripped it open, desperate to check the damage and do what I could to stop the bleeding.
She gasped and tried to step away from me. “What are you doing?”
I palmed the smaller crimson patch on her pale pink camisole she wore under the t-shirt. She didn’t cry out in pain when I applied pressure to the wound.
In fact, there was no wound.
