Page 140 of Devil's Tulip

“What the hell are you doing here, Rafael?” I whisper-yell, whirling to face him, and my heart nearly stops when I spot a man behind him—gun raised, aimed right at us.

Neil Gallagher.

“Hands up, the both of ye,” the Irish mobster commands, his expression all fury.

“Great,youbrought a tail with you,” I grumble, slowly raising my hands to shoulder height.

“Is that the thank you I get for trying to rescue your ass?” Rafael’s tone is light, playful even, but I know better. Behind those silver eyes, the gears are already turning. He raises his hands as well, but it’s not surrender. He’s planning something. He’s always planning something.

“Oh please. I’m not some damsel in distress.” I roll my eyes, exasperated. This isn’t the first fucking time he’s pulled this shit. “You need to stop, Rafael. As you can see, I did just fine rescuing myself until you interfered.”

“I–”

“Jesus Christ, will the pair of ye shut up and step forward?” Neil snaps, cutting off Rafael’s words.

I share a glance with Rafael, an entire conversation passing between us in the space of a heartbeat. And as one, we move, lunging at Gallagher in a chaotic tangle of limbs and curses. The gun goes off with a deafening crack, and I flinch reflexively, expecting the sharp, tearing pain of a bullet—but thankfully it never comes.

Still, the sound alone is enough to screw us. Gallagher’s men are nearby, and they most likely heard the shot. We don’t have much time.

Rafael grapples for the gun, slamming Gallagher’s wrist against the ground until the man’s fingers spasm and the weapon tumbles free. Just then another man bursts into the clearing. I scramble to my feet, fists up and ready to fight, but Irecognize him as one of Rafael’s most trusted men and allow a tiny bit of tension to drain from my shoulders.

“Damn it, Rafael,” he grumbles as he moves to cuff the struggling Neil Gallagher.

“I hope you don’t take this too personally, Neil,” Rafael says, patting the man’s shoulder as he stands up. “But you have to understand, she’s mine.”

Excuse me? “Yours? I don’t belong to you, you arrogant–” The rest of my tirade is lost in a grunt as Rafael grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine in an unbreakable grip.

“Run.” At the same moment, I hear the footsteps closing in.

On autopilot, my legs start moving with his, and we fly through the park, leaping over picnicking families and dodging baffled dog walkers. Past the river where a group of awestruck children are tossing bits of bread at the ducks, Across the grass and into the parking lot, skidding to a stop beside a black SUV with windows tinted so dark they’re nearly opaque.

Rafael opens the backdoor, “Get in.” And like some sheep, I fucking do. It isn’t until we’re cruising down the road at 30 miles per hour that I finally snap out of it.

What the fuck am I doing?

My training kicks in. I slide closer to the driver’s seat and wrap my elbow around it until my arm locks around Rafael’s throat. “Stop the car. Right now.”

The metallic click of a gun being cocked splits the air.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetheart,” comes the soft, almost bored drawl from the passenger seat. “I’ll blow your brains out faster than you can choke him to death.”

I believe him. My heart pounds fiercely, hot sweat slicking down my back despite the AC blasting in the car.

“You’ve become so ungrateful,piccola.” Rafael’s voice rumbles against my arm, his stubble scratching my skin in a way that sends unwanted shivers down my spine. “A man comes toyour rescue, and this is the thanks he gets? This is how you repay me for looking out for you these past few years? For?—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I stammer, trying to ignore the part of my brain whispering that I know exactly what he’s talking about. He’s been a fucking albatross around my neck for the last three years. I’d be on missions and catch glimpses of him.

Critical moments where I’d almost lose my life or freedom—someone dies, and then I’m free. And in the distance, I’d see someone watching me. Watching over me like some guardian angel.More like guardian demon.

Someone who looked suspiciously like him.

At first, I thought I was going crazy—torn between guilt for betraying him and anger at what he did. But then six months ago, I knew for sure.

I got pushed off that yacht into the frigid, churning ocean. The currents were relentless and kept dragging me under. I was so sure I’d really die that time. But then strong arms wrapped around my waist, towing me up, up, up until I broke the surface, coughing and sputtering.

I don’t know when I passed out, but by the time I came to on the shore, my rescuer was long gone. All that was left was a single petal from an azalea flower, half-buried in the sand beside me.

He’s the only one who teases me with azaleas.

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