Page 4 of Catching His Runaway

“Valeria.” Speaking my name like it’s a curse, he hisses it through his teeth.

“Good to see you too,” I huff as I try to give my arm another tug. With the grip he has on me, it’s like he’d rather shatter my wrist by gripping tighter than release me.

What happened to this man?

His eyes are so dark, a pit of darkness without an ounce of light left behind.

Once we’ve collected ourselves, and I stop tugging on his grip, I think foolishly that he’ll ease up a little. Not that he’ll trust me, but that he’d give me some kind of opening.

Even if I’m tired, I’m too stubborn to give up. However, his bruising grip remains, and that stare of his can burn a hole straight through me.

He releases my wrist, but doesn’t let me run. Rather, he moves his hand to my arm. Secure as a handcuff, he jerks me toward the home I grew up in. He’s taking me to see my family, I’m sure of it.

I’m not ready to see them. I don’t want to.

Tommy drags me out of the grass and straight through the gravel. I can barely keep my steps steady without falling over. Even if I did trip, I’m sure this man would drag me to our destination.

“Tommy, you have to let me go. I’ll leave, alright?” I hate how desperate I sound, but my words fall on deaf ears. So, I do what I always do. I let my anger get the best of me and see how far my tongue gets me.

As I call this man every name in the book, I claw at his hand and ignore our surroundings. Assuming there are men wandering all over this place, I’m sure I’m putting up one hell of a show.

This man isn’t going to let me go. Wherever he’s taking me, I can only hope it isn’t worse than the fate I’m already doomed to.

2

Tommy

I’ve felt rage before. Hell, it’s what fuels me to keep going as each day passes. I’ve used my emotions as a weapon, dulling them down to leave nothing but emptiness when it comes to feeling anything else.

Rage keeps me alive in this life. My tasks get finished, and it’s worth the praise I get from this family. I’m able to serve them, functioning like a weapon at their disposal.

However, despite my anger, I’ve learned how to keep myself in check. I don’t have time to be angry all the time.

Something about seeing this woman, the one I let slip through my fingers, makes thinking impossible. If I can’t think, I can’t control myself.

If I kill her because I can’t think, then this family will be unforgiving. Her wrongdoings aside, she’s still directly related to the Bertelli family. The only daughter amongst the offspring of Leon and Bia.

Killing her isn’t on the table. Not until I get the clearance I need. So, what to do with her? If she continues to dig at my hand, my fingers are going to be bloodied and raw from her nails. They’re sharp, but she’s not using them in ways she should.

Dragging her around is an option. I could tire her out until she has no choice but to give in. If she’s got the fighting spirit of her siblings, I know I’ve got my hands full until I make a decision. Ineedto do something.

Touching her plenty, I’ve listened to her labored breathing and her grunts. My body might’ve forgiven her, my cock in particular. It’s why my slacks feel so fucking tight. My damn eyes had betrayed me as well, drinking her in during our little struggle outside. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

Maybe I’d inhaled too much disinfectant, and my mind was hazy. It’s not usual for the ghosts of my past to haunt me. Except it wasn’t some teenage brat staring back at me. Instead, it was a full-grown woman. A sight for sore eyes.

Then she tried to run, and it was like getting hit with deja vu.

Valeria’s grown thicker and softer in places I’ve touched. Unfortunately, I haven’t mapped her out entirely. Didn’t stop me from touching her earlier, but not by choice. She’s a fighter, born to be one.

Icouldsearch her body for any other weapons. The knife pissed me off, but I’ll be damned if she has a gun and chose not to use it. She might have the blood in her, but she’s not smart when it comes to dire situations. It’s an insult to her family name.

“Tommy.” She uses my name against me, pleading once more. “Tommy.”

Not even the lure of her voice is going to make the cracks show. I’ve worked on myself over the years. I’m not the man she used to torture for her amusement.

I’ve become something else entirely. Whatever Santino needed me to become. It’s why the options in my head are clashing, unable to come to a decision.

I can’t tell if I want to drag her to my room and tie her up to my bed so she can’t leave, or drag her down below and strap her up to one of my favorite chairs and torture all the answers I need to know.

---