Page 55 of Savage Princess

The truth, of course, is that I don’t care about any of that. It’s not being left to fend for myself that I’m as afraid of—not compared to losing him. That cold truth strikes me squarely in the chest as I go back to holding the compress against his side with both hands, begging in hushed whispers for the bleeding to stop.

The thought of being all alone in Rio with no one to help me is terrifying. But the thought of losing Levin forever—not just because he goes home to New York, but because he’sdead—is a million times worse.

I care about him—more than I should, and in ways that I can’t find the words to verbalize, not even now…maybeespeciallynot now. I can’t lose him like this.

The red starts to seep through the towel, but it doesn’t drench it. At some point, it slows, and I see Levin’s head loll to one side on the pillow. For a terrifying moment, I almost can’t bring myself to check his pulse. His breathing is so shallow that I can’t be sure if he’s still breathing at all, and I’m so scared of what I’ll find.

I reach up hesitantly and press my fingers to his throat. For a brief second, I don’t think I feel anything, and I’m certain he’s dead. A cold panic floods me, my throat closing up as my eyes burn with tears—and then I feel the soft, faint thud of a pulse beneath my fingertips.

Oh, thank god.I pull my hand away, leaving the towel where the shirt is, keeping it pressed against the wound. I press my hand to his face again, and he’s as cold as he was before.

I need medical supplies. I look at him, wondering if I can leave him alone, and I know that I don’t really have a choice. If we stay exactly like this, I’m almost certain he won’t make it.

I lean over him, gently brushing my fingers against his hairline as I cover him up with a thin blanket tossed across the bottom of the bed. “I’ll be back,” I whisper, hoping that he hears me in some way, even if it’s subconscious. “I’m going to go get some things to help you feel better. I need you to be alive when I get back, okay?”

He’s not going to answer. I know that. But it makes me feel a little better to say it.

Elena

Ireach for the jacket that I flung at the end of the bed, rifling through the inner pockets for the rest of the money. I find a few more bills to add to what I’d had in my hand and tossed onto the bed when I’d laid him down, and a gun. My first reaction when my fingers brush the cold metal isn’t fear—it’s relief.

At least I’ll be able to protect myself while I’m out there on my own.

My mind is racing as I shove the gun back into the jacket, shrugging it on over my dress. I don’t have any other way to carry anything—I’d had a small clutch purse, but it’s gone, left at the hotel bar when the men had dragged me to the poker table to try and make an example of me. The leather jacket swims on me, meant for a much bigger man, but it smells comfortingly of Levin, and for a moment, I feel as if everything might be okay.

I need medical supplies. Something to stitch him up, stop infection. Medicine. Something to hydrate him with—and I need to get rid of the car. Wipe it down. Bleach. I need bleach.

My stomach cramps with anxiety as I take one last look at Levin, grabbing the room key and the key to the car and heading for the door. This feels like I’m a different person—like the Elena Santiago who read romance novels and wandered through her garden and laughed with her sister drowned in that ocean as the plane went down. I’ve just been getting further and further away from her ever since.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to Boston and be her again. How I’m supposed to go out and make friends and date boys my own age and take college classes or whatever it is that Levin and my sister think I’m going to do once I’m there andsafe. I’m not sure how I’m ever supposed to go back to who I was.

Not when I’ve become the kind of girl who falls for an assassin, who fights her way out of a poker game gone bad, who staunches that man’s bloody wounds and then goes out with a gun and a fistful of blood-soaked money, looking for a way to save him and hide the evidence of what happened tonight.

I have no idea how to reconcile that. And I don’t have time to think about it right now.

There had been what looked like a seedy drugstore on the way to the motel—I’d noticed it as I’d driven past, trying to stay on the road and not end up on the sidewalk. I consider taking the car, but it feels easier to walk, even in my heels. Taking the car seems dangerous, too, considering someone could notice the license plate. I’m not even sure what the laws for driving here are.

This is all a life I know nothing about, I realize as I hobble as quickly as I can in the direction of the store, the jacket clutched around me, ready to reach for the gun at the first sign of anyone coming towards me.How does Levin do it? How does he think of it all?There are so many things to keep track of, so many ways it can all go wrong, so many ways to be caught or seen or found by the wrong people…on both sides of the law.

And still, even so, I can’t deny that there’s an inevitable rush to the fear. An adrenaline that I can see how it could be addictive if a person is good at this.

Maybe I’m good at it. Who knows?

A giggle erupts from my lips at that, louder than I mean for it to be in the darkness as I hurry towards the lighted sign, a half-block away now. I suck in a breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. I know I’m on the verge of losing it, all the fear and adrenaline and worry coalescing into what could be hysterics or a panic attack, if I don’t hold it together.

For Levin’s sake, Ihaveto hold it together.

There’s a small chime as I step into the drugstore, and I wince, not wanting anyone to notice me until I see if I can find what I need. I’m well aware of what I look like, dressed in an evening gown and too-big jacket, my hair a mess and my skirt ripped around the hem, my nails still a little crusted with blood despite my best attempts to quickly wipe my hands off on the duvet before I left the hotel. I don’t look like a woman just grabbing some painkillers to sleep off a future hangover.

I look like someone in trouble. And I know now that only brings more trouble, in turn.

I rattle off the list of things I need in my head as I go down the aisles, looking for medical supplies first. Antibiotic ointment, alcohol, gauze, medical tape, painkillers, and something to help with fever. I grab anything that looks like it could help, tossing it into the basket I grabbed on my way and heading down another aisle. All I can find to possibly stitch him up is a small sewing kit, and I wince at the thought of trying to stab the needle through his flesh, but I don’t know what else to do. My side throbs just thinking about it, where Levin sewed me up while I was unconscious after the accident. The scar there is still thick and raised and pink, and a shudder goes through me when I remember him clipping away the stitches. I have a memory of us on the ship, his fingers brushing over my skin as he’d gently removed them, and how even that small touch had made me ache for him.

No matter what happens after this, I don’t think I’m ever going to stop wanting him.

I grab bleach from another aisle and a packet of napkins and throw them into the basket, to wipe down the car and stash it somewhere. Looking at the rapidly growing pile, I hope I have enough money in the wad of bills stuffed into the jacket.

Exhaustion is starting to creep in. I’m starting to feel tired, sluggish, my mind and my body shutting down from what has been a night that’s altogether too much. But I can’t give in to it.I can rest when this is done. When I know he’s safe.

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