Page 22 of Tainted Obsession 1
To prevent myself from helping her, I keep my arms tucked tight to my chest while she pulls my shirt on over her blonde head. She’s shaking, but I’m worried that I’ll spook her if I invade her personal space. I never want Evelyn to fear me.
I enjoy seeing myself as her protector far too much.
“Massimo!” Gian’s voice booms from the sitting room as my friends burst into the suite.
I mutter a curse in Italian, and Evelyn blinks up at me, confused by the change in language. I’ve been speaking to her in English this whole time. Hopefully, she doesn’t understand Italian, so I’ll be able to talk to my friends without her understanding the conversation.
“Stai bene?” I ask if she’s okay in Italian, testing her.
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“Stay in here,” I reply in English. “I’m going to see the doctor now. I’ll just be in the next room.” I gently squeeze her hand in reassurance. “No one will touch you here. You’re with me now.”
She swallows and offers me a small, reluctant nod.
I don’t know how long it will take her to figure out that I’m not law enforcement, and this isn’t a safe house. But for now, my burning side is becoming a distraction, and I need to soothe my friends’ worries for my health.
My fingers linger against hers as I slowly pull away. She releases a shuddering sigh when I break contact, and she sways toward me slightly.
Is it possible that she doesn’t want me to leave her?
“I’ll be right back,” I promise.
I gather all my considerable willpower and stride out of the room. I straighten my shoulders, bracing myself to face Gian and Enzo’s questions. My friends won’t be impressed by how I handled the situation with Crawford, and they’ll wonder why I need a doctor for such a minor wound.
I’ll have to figure out how to tell them that I’ve taken Evelyn, and I don’t plan to let her go.
Chapter 11
Evelyn
Stai bene?Massimo’s rumbled words play through my mind, not quite comprehensible.
I’m good with languages, but I’ve never studied Italian. I wish I’d asked him what he meant, but I’d just stared dumbly as he slipped into the sitting room of the safe house suite.
My hands shake, so I clench them into fists to hide the trauma response. No one is around to witness my distress, but hiding the sign of unease is an ingrained response. I have a lifetime of practice at pretending I’m okay, a skill I’ve perfected during my six-year relationship with George. I don’t like to upset him.
George…
Two new, masculine voices join Massimo’s in the next room, speaking in rapid-fire Italian that I can’t even begin to follow. Whatever they’re saying, it’s clear from their sharp tones that the atmosphere is tense.
My mind churns, struggling to process everything.
Massimo and his friends are Italian, not American or Mexican. Are they working with Interpol? I know European agents sometimes collaborate with the DEA on international operations.
Massimo must work with George. It’s the only scenario that explains his presence in the bar earlier this evening and at the clandestine meeting I’d overheard between George and the cartel members.
I want my money.
If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
My chest aches, as though it’s on the verge of cracking open to release all of my inner turmoil on an anguished scream.
I suck in a desperate breath to stave off my panic, and the scent of leather and amber suffuse my senses. I’m wearing the beautiful stranger’s shirt. The smell enfolds me, blotting out the scent of drying blood that makes my camisole stick to my skin.
Massimo’s blood.
He threw himself in front of a bullet to save me.
