Page 1 of Savage Ruin
CHAPTER1
HENLEY
Awareness taps forcefully on the edges of my mind, but the excruciating pain it brings is too much for me to handle. I turn to the sea of nothing, and with a grateful sigh, slide into the inky darkness, letting the pain fade into the background. Yet a sliver of awareness remains and a voice slips into my world.
Drifting aimlessly, the low timbre of unintelligible sounds becomes a soothing lullaby accompanying me along my journey, stopping only to be replaced by another. Although different, the new voice seamlessly carries me through the darkness, and my cocoon remains intact—for a while. Somewhere along the way, the tone changes. Raw anguish pierces the veil of darkness, disrupting my peaceful interlude, until I’m unable to ignore it. Compelled to reassure them, I reach but never make contact. Restless, I strain against the darkness that once gave me such comfort.
Angry voices intrude. Expecting pain to follow, I flinch. Utter silence descends. When nothing follows, my body relaxes, but my mind is no longer content to just drift. It’s alert and vigilant against the danger I sense.
The darkness softens to grey, and the pain returns. A whimper escapes. Warmth encompasses my hand, followed by a sharp prick. The pain eases. Sleep takes over.
When I wake, light and heat surround me, pulling from me from the lingering shadows. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my body, I lift my eyelids and squint against the brightness to check my surroundings. The lack of familiarity is both unnerving and reassuring. Instead of grey concrete and a dim room, sunlight bounces off cheerful yellow walls, flooding the space with brightness. A television, high on the wall in front of me, plays softly while beeping noises fill the air around my bed. A dark figure slumps in a nearby chair causing my muscles to tense, but the lean silhouette eases my fears. I’m no longer in the warehouse, and that’s not Diego.
A cool hand clasps my wrist, startling me, and I jerk to find a woman in blue scrubs standing by the bed. “It’s okay. You’re safe and in the hospital. I’m Sam, your nurse, and I’m going to take your pulse. Okay?” She lightly circles my wrist but waits until she sees my slight nod before proceeding. “How are you feeling?” After a few seconds, she lays my hand on the bed and picks up the chart to write something down.
My voice cracks when I answer. “Fine. Sore.”
She grabs a sliver of ice from a nearby cup and places it in my mouth. “That’s to be expected. On a scale of one to ten, how is the pain?”
My body throbs in sync with the drummer in my head, but it’s less intense. “Five?” It’s hard to tell right now because everything seems muted.
She consults the chart and nods. “Good. You’re not due to get a pain reliever for a couple more hours. I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake, and I’m sure he’ll be in to see you shortly.” After adjusting the covers, she continues. “Take it easy, and if you need anything, press this button.” She hands me a remote and gestures to the red button with a plus sign on it.
I nod.
“Thank you, Sam,” a voice states softly. The figure at the end of the bed strides toward me.
Mateo. My breath hitches when I see his familiar face and warm brown eyes. “Is this real?”
“Yes, you’re safe. Diego is dead,” he says reassuringly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I feel like I did when I had a car accident at sixteen… fine until I saw my mom’s face. A dam bursts inside me, and my emotions come pouring out. Tears stream down my face while I silently tell him what happened to me, how scared I was, how bad it hurt, the moment I lost hope, and a million other things, including the overwhelming relief to find myself alive and here with him. I thought I’d never see anyone again. My hand squeezes his tightly, afraid to let him go, but it’s not enough. I’m terrified this is a dream conjured up by my desperate mind.
“Minha linda, you’re killing me,” he says softly. “I can’t even hold you right now. There are so many pieces of you stitched and held together by sutures and bandages.” He reaches over to the nightstand and pulls a tissue out of the box. Wiping softly down my face, he carefully dries my cheeks. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
When he mentions holding me, I can think of nothing else but the feel of strong arms surrounding and protecting me, even if it’s only for a brief second. I need it so badly I can barely breathe, almost as much as the moment I realized my mom was gone when I needed her the most. But I’ve been alone so long I don’t know how to ask for comfort, especially from someone I’ve only known for a few weeks. All I can do is cry and stare at him, hoping he hears my silent plea.
With a curse, he lowers the bed rail and eases part of his body onto the bed beside me. His arm hovers over my chest, caging me in tightly, but without touching a single sore spot. “I’m right here with you, and I’m not leaving.” His troubled dark eyes reflect his promise to keep me safe—even if I know it’s just for tonight.
Diego’s eyes promised death, and I believed him. Everyone says your life flashes before your eyes, but I saw very little. Instead, despair and regret consumed me. How could I die when I haven’t lived?
The image of the Santos men standing tall on the dance floor popped into my head during that final painful minute. A cruel vision, a subconscious dream? I don’t know, but I’m done with hiding in the dark. Whether I live a month, a year, or fifty years, I’m going to throw away my fears and find my best life, whatever that means. My hand grips his shirt to hold him close. My tears slow. Exhausted but safe, I drift off to sleep.
* * *
When I wake,Mateo is still lying beside me, his expressive eyes closed. Taking advantage of the moment, I blatantly study his beautiful features. Long dark lashes lie peacefully against strong cheekbones. Lean contours and sharp-looking cheekbones lend an aristocratic appearance to his face, but the dark stubble gracing his jaw makes him more approachable and appealing. Pouty lips relaxed in sleep offer their own temptation, making my lips tingle in memory of the last kiss we shared on the beach.
Beautiful, I muse. It’s not only his looks that draw me to him, nor his mind, although he’d never believe his intelligence isn’t his best asset. Don’t get me wrong, his genius is incredibly sexy, but it can also be a bit too sharp and singularly focused to be the only draw. Nope. It’s the vulnerability I sense beneath the surface that entices and calls to me, whispering of his secret need to let down his barriers and find a connection with someone.
A reflection of the ache in my own heart, I muse. I burrow a tiny bit closer.
“Ahem.”
I turn my head toward the sound and find Cruz standing by the bed with a speculative look in his eyes.
“Looks like we’ve traded places,” he states gruffly. “How are you feeling?”
I grimace. “Like a Mack truck ran over me a few times,” I reply, rolling to my back. My voice is hoarse, and I can’t help glancing over at the cup on the nightstand.
