Page 50 of Delivered to the Devil

A huge hand comes up to my hair, and I expect him to yank me away. But instead of fisting my tresses, he curves his palm around the back of my head while he circles his other arm around my waist.

I mewl into his shoulder as I sink into him. The relief is so strong that tears drip from my eyes as I press myself closer to the man whose arms are my nightmare and my sanctuary.

The night remains dead silent, yet it crackles with the intensity of our close connection. I can barely hear Janos’s breaths, but I feel them in the rapid movements of his chest, and I sense the unspoken emotion in his arm tightening more with each passing minute.

Even as he compresses my lungs until breathing takes effort, the tight grip is soothing. My muscles loosen one by one. The tension drains from my shoulders, my head droops against his chest, and my fingers lose their death grip on his T-shirt. It seems to relax him in turn. His grip becomes less severe, and his hand takes up a gentle stroking along my hair. I’ve felt the same promise to protect so many times, but the difference now is that I know the comfort isn’t deceptive.

Janos might not stop Gabor from using me, but he wants to ease my pain. And he does. Everything is easier when he’s there. He makes sure I don’t break irrevocably, and he lights the spark in my eyes and gives me something worth living for.

But I have no idea how far his protection goes. I’m convinced that I’m more than just a job to him and that a part of him wants to take care of me. But would he stop Gabor from selling me if it came to it? Are whatever feelings he holds for me enough to override his loyalty to Gabor?

And how will it all end?

I’ve avoided these last questions long enough, and I can’t hold the terrible fear at bay anymore.

“What will happen when Gabor gets tired of me?” I ask with a quivering voice.

Janos strokes his hand over my arm a couple of times before leaning forward to turn on the night light. A soft glow lights up our corner of the room, and I stare at Janos as he turns his attention to me with a reassuring expression. “Most girls end up with a great place to live, free to do whatever they want.”

The wordmostdoesn’t escape me. So even though the answer is much better than I could have hoped, I have to gulp down a knot of fear. “And the others?”

Janos’s jaw tightens as his hand stills.

I grab his T-shirt to alleviate the shaking in my hands. “What about the others?” I repeat in a higher pitch.

Releasing a heavy breath, he lets go of my arm to rake his hand through his hair. “He went too far with one of them.”

“How?” I demand.

With a shake of his head, he denies me the information.

“Tell me!” Bunching up his T-shirt in my fists, I shake it as I stare at him with a frenzy written across my face—eyes burning and nostrils flaring with my loud inhales.

Rage blazes in his eyes with terrifying suddenness as he grabs my chin. “You really want to know?”

I should cower—draw back and say no. But I can’t. I need to know. “Tell me,” I insist urgently.

He rips his hand from my chin and slams it onto my throat. The force knocks me back, but his fingers curling around my neck keep me in place. Slowly and inexorably, he squeezes, his eyes flaring as he says, “He got so caught up in controlling her breathing that he didn’t stop in time.” His words are a harsh sneer that reflects the exact ruthlessness it takes to cut off another person’s airflow for good.

He keeps squeezing, and I groan as I struggle to drag air past the restriction. I’m wheezing with every breath when he finally stops tightening, and I instinctively shoot up my hand to pull at his. But he doesn’t budge, and I go dizzier by the second.

I cough between useless gasps as I scratch at his hand. Black dots form in my vision, and the energy fades from my body. The fight drains too, leaving my fingers hanging loosely on his hand, like it will keep me conscious.

This is it,I think. He’s going to end me.

My last strength fades, and just as my hands fall into my lap, he lets go.

With a loud gasp, I suck in air and collapse against his chest. I cling to him for dear life—the same man I just thought would take my life. He reacts in the same irrational ways, pulling me to him and holding me tight as if to comfort me.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my hair with startling tenderness. “I’ve got you, Rebecca.”

I breathe hard against his chest for a while before pulling back to look up at him. His face is impassive again. No uncontrolled violence, neither comfort nor sympathy.

But he’s not entirely closed off. Because when he sees the fear carved into my features, something flickers across his face, and his next words are meant to calm me. “Gabor doesn’t want a huge pile of dead women,” he says, stroking my arm reassuringly. “It’s much more expensive to make the policesweep a body under the rug than a mere rape or break-in. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

Part of me wants to rage at the way he mentions rape as a trifle, but what has my heart hammering with the need for an explanation are his last words. “Whyareyou here?” I say.

He shrugs. “To stop him from killing another girl.”

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