Page 16 of Devil's Tulip

“What do you mean? What bounty?” I ask, forcing myself to focus on his words rather than how stupidly good looking he is with rain-darkened hair. Though deep down, I already know what he’s talking about. I’ve suspected someone was hunting me. That constant prickle between my shoulder blades, the feeling of eyes watching, hot breath on my neck.

I always attributed my restlessness to the knowledge that Uncle Aldo wouldn’t just let me go, and so it drove me to keep moving, never staying longer than two weeks anywhere. But a bounty? Shit.

“Aldo has been searching for you for months, as you well know,” he starts, and I nod in response. “When he realized you were too smart for his men, he put a fifteen-million-dollar bounty on your head, leading several mercenaries on a search for you. But they couldn’t find you either.”

Jesus Mother-fucking Christ on a cracker.

Fifteen million? My scumbag uncle put a fifteen-million-dollar bounty on my head? I think I’m gonna be sick.

But wait… was that a note of admiration? Approval?

Sure enough, when I glance up at him, the pride is clear as day on his face. “You outsmarted and outwitted all those men. My beauty with brains.”

My heart jolts, cheeks heating at the possessive note in his voice. “I wasn’t so smart this time. That man found me after all.”

“Nah, that was pure luck, trust me, nothing else,” he answers, a slight smile lurking at the corners of his lips.

I narrow my eyes. As nice as the compliments are, they don’t change the facts. This guy, hot as he may be, is still a stranger. One who seems to know an awful lot about my situation. “And you? How do you know all this? Who are you?”

His hesitation chills my blood as realization dawns.He’s one of them. A mercenary chasing that fifteen million.

“When the mercenaries failed after two weeks, Aldo sought my services. I’m one of the best trackers in the States.”

I roll my eyes at his arrogance, but the fact that he actually found me proves he’s not just bragging. I go silent, letting the weight of it settle. “So, what now that you’ve found me? Taking me back to my uncle?” I straighten my spine, summoning what’s left of my courage. “I won’t go willingly.”

His smile deepens. “No. I’m not taking you back to Aldo. I changed my mind.”

Changed his mind? My breath hitches at the heat in his blue eyes as they roam my face. What does that mean for me? “Why?” I whisper.

“Tell me why you ran away first.”

Tell him about Carlo? About discovering I was being sold to a man famous for making his wives disappear? About finally realizing that no matter how much I twisted myself into knots, my family would never love me? That the scraps of kindness they gave me my first year living there were all they had to offer?

I think not.

Instead, I say, “Since you know so much, I’m sure you’re aware my uncle was in a dangerous association.” He only raises a brow, so I continue, “I couldn’t keep up with that lifestyle. I needed some independence for myself.”

He doesn’t buy it. I can see it in the way his jaw tenses, but he just restarts the car. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

I do as I’m told, staring out the window as the first hints of daylight creep across the sky. Now that I’m warm and relatively safe—at least for now—the exhaustion from the constant running and sleepless nights of the past few weeks suddenly hits me, almost paralyzing me.

A deep sigh escapes, followed closely by a wide yawn. My mind feels fuzzy around the edges, my eyelids becoming suffocatingly heavy.

Stay awake, I order myself.This guy worked for my uncle, and even though he claims to have changed his mind, he can easily change it again.

But something about his presence makes me feel safer than I have in months—maybe years. It’s ridiculous, dangerous even, but I can’t fight it. My eyes drift closed despite my internal warnings.

I must pass out, because the next thing I know, a ringtone has me jerking awake.

“Sorry about that,” my rescuer mutters, muting his phone.

I squint out the windshield to take in our surroundings, but my groggy brain struggles to process where we are. We’re in what looks like a dense forest, trees pressing so close their branches scrape against the car. The road—if it can even be called that—is overgrown with weeds, barely visible beneath the tangled greenery.

We take a left turn, and a pair of tall, thick gates appear, opening automatically as the car gets closer. Beyond them stretches another tree-lined drive, but here the wilderness feels more… taken care of. Unlike the wild mess outside.

“Where are we?” I ask through a yawn, sitting up and discreetly wiping my chin to check for drool.

“My house.”

---