Page 83 of Fighting for Ella

The concrete swung closer to Ella’s head, seconds away from making contact. Miguel screamed Ella’s name as he frantically tore through the wall of rubble preventing him from getting to her.

Then, at the very last second, just as he was sure he was about to watch his girl take her final breath as the blow to the head stole her from him, Ella sprang into action.

Somehow, she’d found her own weapon, and she swung it as she launched at her would-be murderer.

Moving quicker than Dora, and catching the other woman off-guard, Ella slammed the concrete she held in her hand into Dora’s head.

The sickening crunch was another sound that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

At least the sound of concrete hitting bone, splintering it, wasn't his girl’s skull being shattered.

Functioning clearly in a terror-fueled autopilot, Ella didn't stop after one strike.

Again and again, she slammed the concrete into Dora’s head.

Following the woman to the ground, she kept going.

Blow after blow.

Desperate to get to his girl, Miguel renewed his efforts to get through the rubble, and as soon as there was a hole big enough for him to scramble through that was exactly what he did.

“Honey, I'm here now. You can stop, Ella,” he said softly, reaching out to grasp her wrist to still her.

While he’d been worried she might fight him, fueled by fear and survival as she was, Ella didn't. As soon as his fingers circled her wrist, she dropped the bloody chunk of concrete and all but collapsed into his arms.

Breathing hard, shaking all over, huge violent shudders, Ella sobbed in his arms as he pulled her close and held her tight against his chest. She felt every bit as good as he’d been imagining. Not just good, holding her felt right.

Almost too right.

Because even though he could acknowledge Ella as his, that didn't magically solve all his problems. He still had to find a way to make sure that he was never going to be a threat to this beautiful, brave woman he clutched against him like the precious thing she was.

“Is … is she … d-dead?” Ella asked through her tears.

“She’d dead,” Rocco answered for him as the other man knelt beside Dora Hibbert.

“You killed her, honey,” he told his trembling woman.

“Killed the moleanda weapons trafficker. Girl, you are on fire,” Rocco teased, and Ella hiccupped a laugh.

“You're amazing,” Miguel agreed, smoothing a hand down Ella’s tangled locks.

When she looked up at him, he knew he was done for. Whatever it took he would find a way to be with this woman. Whatever personal demons he had to exorcise he would do. Anything. Walk through the fires of Hell themselves if he had to.

But he couldn’t walk away from her.

Couldn’t not give this thing between them a chance.

“I-I was s-scared,” Ella stammered. “I thought … I th-thought you w-were d-dead.”

That right there was why he had no choice but to find a way to be with her. Even though she was the one blown up, the one trapped with a deranged would-be killer, she had been more worried about him.

“No, honey. I'm okay, and now you're safe, too. Dora won't ever hurt you again.” Neither would anything else. He was never letting his girl get hurt again. For the rest of his life, he would find a way to protect her from pain.

“Ambulance is just pulling up outside,” Phantom said through the slowly enlarging hole in the wall of rubble that had kept him from his girl for what felt like hours.

“Time to get you to the hospital,” he told Ella, palming her cheek and letting his fingertips caress her soft skin. Blood coated the other side of her face, and various other places on her exposed arms. Her dress was torn, even in the thin light he could see bruises beginning to form, and she’d lost both her shoes. Still, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, and for some reason, she seemed to be interested in him.

A miracle.

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