Page 16 of Forgotten Vows

Every muscle in my body locks, white-hot rage flooding through me with a force that makes my heartbeat pound in my ears. The man is working his cock harder, grunting and moaning as he stares at the woman on the screen with her bra tugged to one side, her breast cupped in her hand as she toys with her nipple. His mouth is open, and he's panting, singularly focused as if there's not a chance he could be caught on duty jerking off.

Jerking off tomy fucking woman.

I haven't seen her in ten years, but I know the woman on the screen is Adriana. And from the look on her face in the picture, she's not happy to have been taking them.

I would recognize her anywhere, in any context, no matter how much time has passed or how much she's changed. I know it's her, in a red lacy pair of panties and a bra, and everything about her is stillher, if slightly changed by the years… except for her eyes.

They look dead, resigned to whatever forced her to take those photos.

My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles crack, and every rational thought in my head evaporates in the face of a rage so intense it's almost blinding. Surely the man who's about to come looking at a woman who belongs to me sees that she doesn't want to be posing for him, but I don't think he cares. In fact, from the look on his face, he's getting off on it.

The guard groans again, his hand moving faster, his hips starting to thrust up into his grip, and I'm across the room before I've consciously decided to move. I don't think about the consequences or the noise, or anything except the overwhelming need to make this manhurt, to make him pay for what he's doing, for what Gio has been doing to her, for every second of the last ten years that she's spent trapped in this house. For daring to pleasure himself to something that's always been mine. For even daring tolookat her that way.

My hand closes around his throat.

His eyes fly open, wide and suddenly terrified as he realizes what's happening. He tries to say something, but I'm squeezing too hard for him to make any sound except a choked gurgle. The phone falls from his hand and clatters to the floor, his wet cock still sticking up red and obscene as I strangle him.

"You like those?" I snarl, digging my fingers in harder. "You like jerking off to pictures of a woman who's being forced to pose for you?"

He claws at my hand, his face turning purple, his legs kicking uselessly against the edge of the toilet. I can feel his pulse hammering against my palm, his body starting to go limp as his brain is starved of oxygen.

I don't let go.

"She's mine," I hiss out through my teeth. "She's always been mine. And you—you're nothing. You're less than nothing."

I clamp my other hand over his face, my thumb and forefinger digging into the wet meat of his eyeballs. I feel the moment they give, hear his choked, gurgling cry of pain as he kicks and writhes, weakening moment by moment as fluid and blood smear over my hand.

When I pull my fingers away, his eyeballs are jelly, and he's gone limp. I check his pulse, and when I feel nothing, I let him slump over on the toilet, his head banging against the side of the counter. With the heel of one boot, I crush the phone's screen, then grab it and yank out the SIM card with bloody fingers, crushing that, too.

I'm shaking all over and breathing hard, and I struggle to getmyself back under control. I need to get her out of here. And if anyone else gets in my way, they're going to die too.

The part of the west wing where she's supposedly at is darker than the rest of the house, the hallway narrower. I reach the one Tommy said was hers and find it's closed but not locked, and I push it open slowly, carefully, my gun raised and ready for anything.

The room is plain and sparse, more like a staff bedroom than a room belonging to a mafia princess. And sitting up in bed, frozen with her attention on the window as she shrinks back away from it, is Adriana.

Even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, I can see how thin she is, how fragile she looks compared to the girl I remember. There are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn't had a full night's rest in years. She looks exhausted. Haunted.

She's mine. I'm so close. After all these years…

For a moment I just look at her, drinking in the sight of her after ten years of wondering and imagining and dreaming about this moment. Even like this, she's even more beautiful than I remembered.

"Adriana," I say softly.

She jerks around with a gasp, her eyes flying open, and for a second she just stares at me like she's seeing a ghost. Her wide-eyed gaze flicks over my face, my black fatigues, the bloody hand at my side, the gun in my hand, and her mouth drops open.

"Lachlan?" Her voice is barely a whisper, rough with sleep and confusion. "What—how?—"

"I'm getting you out of here," I tell her, keeping my voice low and calm even though my heart is pounding. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to grab her and run. "Get dressed. We need to move."

She's wearing an oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts, and she looks smaller than I've ever seen her, vulnerable and scared. "I don't understand." Her hands are shaking as she pushes her hair back from her face. "You can't be here. If Gio finds you?—"

"Gio's not going to find me." I stand up, moving to her closet and pulling out the first clothes I see. "Get dressed. Now."

"Lachlan, you don't understand?—"

"I understand perfectly." I turn back to her. I know my expression must be hard, showing some of the fury I'm barely keeping contained, because she flinches. "I'm getting you out. That's all you need to know right now."

She shakes her head. "I can't leave without Matteo. I can't—he's my son, Lachlan. I won't leave without him."