Page 83 of Texting My Valentine

“Hey, leave him alone!” somebody yells, jolting me from the moment.

I look up to find a group of passersby watching me, one of them with their phone to their ear.

“We’re calling 911,” they yell.

“Good,” I call over. “Tell them we’ll be waiting for them. You’re coming with me, you bastard. You’re not getting away again. And I need to check on my woman.”

I bash Damien in the side of the head with the hilt of the knife, causing him to fall unconscious. Then I pick him up, toss him over my good shoulder, and walk back toward the house.

About two hours later, I sit at Tori’s bedside in the hospital, checking on her vitals. My colleagues tried to insist that I let them take the lead, but I wanted to be the one to get my woman healthy again. I hate myself for ever leaving her side, for causing her to end up here.

Gray assures me that all is quiet at home, Elliot is safely asleep in his bed, and Catelina’s there in case he wakes up.

Monica sighs from the corner of the room. “This is my fault,” she murmurs.

“You didn’t know what he was going to do, ma’am,” I say firmly.

“Maybe not specifically,” she replies. “But I had a feeling it would be bad when I broke things off. I just never expected him to, and when he did, when he was gone, I didn’t think hissonwould come after us.”

“He’s in jail now. And he’ll be in prison for a long damn time. Kidnapping, assault, drugging Tori. He’s not going to bother you or your daughter ever again. And if he does, I’ll be there to set him straight.”

Monica sniffles. “Tori couldn’t have found a better man.”

“I second that,” Tori says quietly, opening her eyes.

I clutch her hand, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re awake.”

“Is everybody okay?” she croaks. “Elliot?”

That touches me more than she can ever know. “He’s safe,” I reassure her. “He’s with Catelina and the security detail. Damien is under arrest. He was ranting and raving when the police turned up, threatening to stab and shoot me again. He admitted his plans for you, too.”

My tone grows dark when I think about what his ultimate goal was: the sick bastard.

“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” I snarl.

Tori sits up.

“Hey, take it easy,” I murmur.

She looks at me stubbornly. “You said he shot and stabbed you?”

I nod. “A grazing flesh wound to the shoulder, a stab to the other shoulder, and one to the leg. But don’t worry about me. I’m not leaving your side until that filth is out of your system.”

“But—”

“No arguments. I would’ve taken the entire magazine of bullets to keep you safe, my perfect poet.”

She smiles, tears filling her beautiful eyes. “If we’re finally settling on nicknames, how does ‘perfect protector’ sound?”

“I didn’t protect you as well as I should have. I let that prick drug you.”

“Hush,” she says. “We’re safe, Alex. You saved us.”

Monica joins us at the bedside, taking her daughter’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Tori. About everything. About the way I’ve been since your father’s passing: all the men, all the drama, all the mess. I’m done with it. I’m done living for myself. From now on, I’m going to be better.”

“You’ve made mistakes, Mom. Everybody has. But I still love you. That’s never changed, and it never will.”

CHAPTER 29

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