Page 4 of Whispered Desire

“Êtes-vous d'accord?”

No answer.

“Es-tu blessé?”

Still nothing.

Rolling over, I switch positions with my savior, so I’m hovering over them.

Her.

It’s a woman.

Frizzy brown curls cling to the concrete and her eyes remain closed behind rain-splattered glasses. Dark patches of blood spread beneath the fabric of her pink sweater and unzipped raincoat—one blooming on her bicep and the other on her thigh.

This woman—this stranger—intercepted at least two bullets that were meant for me.

Why?

“Mathias, are you okay?” Luca army crawls across the pavement, a cut above his eyebrow leaving a trail of blood down his cheek and neck. “Who the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” As the Blackchapel Bastards, me, Luca, and our five brothers-in-arms, have no shortage of enemies. It could be any number of organizations looking to kill one or all of us. Hell, it could be Louis fucking Petit if he caught wind of my true intentions for him and his company.

He knows I'm his son, and he's aware of Conrad's desire for revenge. But I'm unsure if he knows that desire didn't die with Conrad.

It still lives within me.

“First, we need to get her to the hospital before she bleeds out.”

“An ambulance is on its way. Let them handle it. We need to leave.”

“No!” I bark, and stunned confusion passes over Luca’s face.

I’m the calm one.

Nothing affects my poise.

Except, apparently, a mystery woman diving in front of bullets meant for me.

Attempting to defuse the raging storm inside, I take a breath before continuing in a forced tone of calm. “No, she threw herself into a barrage of bullets for me, and I want to know why. I’m going to the hospital to ensure she survives.”

Luca remains silent before sighing. “Fine. Do you want me to go with you as backup in case those assholes try to finish the job?”

“I can handle myself. Go back to the hotel and notify everyone about the situation.” My brain buzzes with questions about this woman's motives, but a sliver of my usual cool, analytical self emerges long enough to give instructions. “Start pulling footagefrom the traffic lights to see if we can track the vehicle and find the culprits. Get Jonah to handle the security cameras from this building.”

“I'm on it. Be careful.”

An ambulance and several police cars roar to a stop on the street as Luca slips into the crowd—dodging curious onlookers—when a moan of pain comes from my rescuer. Her eyes blink open to reveal blurry blue irises behind her glasses, so I carefully remove the frames and slide them into my coat pocket to improve my view.

Eyes are the windows to the soul.

These windows better offer damn quick revelations, because I hate being kept in the dark.

“What… I need—” She tries to sit up then winces, falling back to the concrete.

“Don’t move,” I command in English. It seems my mystery woman is American with her blunt consonants and hard vowels. “You’ve been shot and need to remain still.”

Instinctively, my hands had moved to put pressure on her wounds, but they aren't doing much to stem the tide of blood, the viscous fluid pulsing from beneath my palms.

---