Page 52 of His Ruthless Claim

I guide her to the SUV myself, trusting my men to handle the staged kidnapping of our plants. They'll rough them up enough to sell the story if anyone checks the cameras, then drag them into the van. A black eye is inconvenient but better than being dead.

The sound of fists hitting flesh carries from around the corner. Good. Let anyone watching believe we're taking prisoners. Let them think twice before touching what's mine again.

Bas jumps in the driver seat of my car as I help Maria into the back seat. I pull Maria into my arms, breathing her in and savoring the fact that she is safe. Her slim frame trembles against my chest. The urge to destroy everyone who put that fear in her eyes claws at my throat.

"I thought..." Maria's voice cracks. Now that she's safe, the fear I'm certain she's been holding back comes leaking through. "When they grabbed me, I thought this was it. That I'd end up like-"

"Never." I cut her off, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. Not wanting to think about my mother's broken body. "No one touches my family."

She pulls back, those warm brown eyes studying my face. Even after three days of being held captive, Maria's natural beauty shines through the dirt and exhaustion. "Please don't kill Enzo. He was actually decent to me, made sure I had food and water."

A harsh laugh escapes me - and Maria looks shocked. Yeah, I bet she is. Most people don't seem to know how to react to any of my expressions besides Skye. "I'm not going to kill him. He's the one who got you out."

"What?" Her brows furrow in confusion. "But he was there when they took me."

"Yeah, and I took him as a favor." I smooth back her tangled curls. "He set the plan to get you out, and I gave him security with us. This was his way of proving loyalty."

Maria sinks back against the leather seat, processing. "Shit. That's... actually pretty smart."

"You're staying with me for a while." Not a request. "The penthouse isn't safe right now."

"With you and your father?" I see the question in her eye.

I shake my head. "I…killed Father."

She barely even blinks. "Good."

Instead of focusing on that, I switch back to the original topic. "The house has better security. And I need to know you're protected."

"Always taking care of me." Maria squeezes my hand. "Just like when we were kids."

The gesture brings back memories of scraped knees and playground fights, of Maria standing up to anyone who dared whisper about my mother's death. Before I learned to shut everything off, she was the only one who could make me smile.

"You're family," I say simply. It's all that needs to be said.

The SUV pulls into my driveway, gravel crunching under tires. Maria's head rests against the window, exhaustion etched in every line of her face. Bas opens her door, helping her out with gentle hands that belie his usual brutality.

"Doc's already inside," he says, supporting her weight. "Let's get you checked out."

I follow them through the front door, scanning the foyer out of habit. The click of heels on hardwood draws my attention. Bas guides Mira to the guest room while I stand rooted in place as Skye comes around the corner. Relief bursts through me just to see her.

But the day's violence is still caked on me. Blood crusts under my fingernails, dark and accusing. I flex my hands, watching dried flakes fall to the marble floor.

Warm fingers thread through mine. Skye tugs me toward the kitchen without a word, her touch anchoring me to the present. She fills the sink with hot water, adding soap that smells like her lavender body wash. Good. I want to smell like her.

"Give me your hands."

I comply, watching as she works the soap under my nails with methodical precision. Her fingers massage my palms, washing away evidence of what I had to do. What I'll always do to protect what's mine.

"You got her back." Skye's voice is soft but certain. She looks up at me through thick lashes, those amber eyes seeing straight through my carefully constructed walls. "You protected your family."

I cup her face with my wet hand, needing to feel her warmth against my skin. She leans into the touch, pressing a kiss to my palm.

"I'm proud of you," she whispers against my skin.

The words hit like a physical blow, cracking something loose in my chest. I pull her against me, burying my face in her neck. She smells like jasmine and safety - like home.

Her arms wrap around my waist, holding me together as I breathe her in. No questions about the blood. No judgment about what I had to do. Just acceptance. Understanding.

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