“It’s clear, but it won’t last long. Stay behind me, Miss Herrera,” Tomàs says quietly, his voice cutting into my thoughts.
My throat has dried up, but I manage to mutely nod. Flashbacks of the night Zac had died are now trying to take over my mind, and I’m fighting against them. If I go to that place, it’ll make it difficult to get through the next few minutes, and I can’t check out on Tomàs.
Struggling to stay present, I watch as he eases the door open, allowing the lights in the outer hall to cut through the darkness of my apartment. He slips out the door, his warm hand gripping my wrist as he pulls me behind him.
Unaccustomed to the light, I nearly stumble into the two dead bodies lying on the floor just mere feet from my door. My body comes to an abrupt halt as my eyes widen. The men are dressed in black and wearing masks to hide their faces. Guns with silencers are still in their hands, and patches of blood saturate their chests as it shines wetly in the light.
Oh my God.
Tomàs had already taken down two men before waking me, and now he’s worried there’ll be more?
I’m yanked past them, and I follow behind Tomàs as he tries to shield me while keeping an eye on both ends of the hallway. I have three other neighbors on this floor of the building, and I’m shocked that no one’s screaming or calling the police. Did they not hear anything?
Tomàs quickly leads me to the stairwell, and he once more motions for me to stand against the wall beside the door, hiding myself from sight. He glances through the door’s small window before silently turning the lever and signaling me to move with him.
Instinctively, I step closer to him as we move through the doorway and into the stairwell. He positions his body in front of mine and looks upwards, gun pointing as he checks the stairwell leading up to the next level. After a quick scan, he nods towards the stairs going down, letting me know that’s where we’re going. He urges me to stay on his heels as we begin navigating the stairs. “There will be a vehicle waiting for us just outside the back exit,” he informs in a low voice.
The cement stairs are cold beneath my bare feet as I scurry behind him. We hear a soft noise coming from around the corner of a stairwell below, and Tomàs tenses. “Take cover,” he orders to me as he motions me to hide.
Hide?
I stand there and look around. Hide where?
A flurry of movement distracts me as two men dressed in black turn the corner, guns ready. As Tomàs stands there, his stance firm and aim steady, he begins firing at them.
I’m rooted to the spot, dead center of the stairwell as I watch everything unfold so quickly that I don’t know where to run. Guns are pointed in our direction since Tomàs is standing five feet in front of me, and bullets are flying as the silencers muffle their gunfire.
Something slams into my left shoulder, and the force sends me flying backwards. My back hits the stairs painfully, and I lie there, blinking at the fluorescent lights above. Some of the air had been knocked from my lungs, and I struggle to draw it back in. Was I shot? It doesn’t hurt. Wouldn’t I feel pain?
Everything’s strangely silent until Tomàs leans over me, his expression grim.
“What happened?” I mumble.
Instead of responding, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me to my feet. I wince as pain begins to radiate throughout my shoulder, and as I lean into him, I look down at myself.
That’s blood.
My pink tank is turning scarlet.
“Stay with me,” Tomàs commands as he takes my body weight and effortlessly maneuvers me past two very dead men.
“It hurts,” I mutter.
“Gunshots typically do,” he replies as he hurries me down another flight of stairs, his free hand keeping his gun ready. “Can you put your hand on the wound?”
I automatically reach up and touch my wet shoulder. It’s really beginning to burn, and I feel dizzy. It’s reminding me of that night when Zac died in my arms. All that blood…
As Tomàs helps me to a doorway, I stagger into his body as I begin to feel lethargic. He inches the door open with his shoulder, peeking out. “Don’t fade out on me, Catalina,” he says sharply
I release a weak snort. “Now you use my name,” I manage to say, trying to ignore the warm liquid beneath my hand.
“Don’t get used to it. Hallway’s clear. We’re nearly there.” He adjusts his hold on me and then helps me through the doorway. I blearily look around the empty hall as Tomàs eases me past closed doors. We pause briefly as he looks around a corner before urging me forward once more.
Finally, we reach a door that has a red ‘exit’ sign above it. Tomàs eases it open as quietly as he can and looks out into the night, gun ready. Next thing I know, he’s lifting me into his arms as he rushes out into the darkness. Pain engulfs my shoulder from the abrupt movement, and I groan.
Car doors are opening, and unfamiliar hands grasp me as Tomàs passes me off to someone. I’m carefully deposited onto a bench seat as a blurry face hovers over mine. “Christ, she took a bullet?” a masculine voice asks harshly.
“It’s just a shoulder wound but the amount of blood she’s losing might be a problem,” Tomàs replies in a tight voice.
The vehicle begins to move as someone applies pressure to my injured shoulder. I yelp with pain as my vision begins to darken.
“Hey, stay awake,” the stranger orders.
“Move aside,” I hear Tomàs say as my heavy eyelids begin to close. “Stay with us, Catalina,” he says from above me.
Thirteen
Nikolas
As I wait impatiently for the team to arrive with Catalina, I pace the foyer. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d assured her that she would be well-protected.
Fuck.
I’d known there was the possibility that Herrera would try again, but Tomàs is one of my best men and fully capable of taking down multiple men at once. I hadn’t considered that she might get caught in the crossfire.
A grim awareness settles heavily inside my chest. There’s the possibility that she wasn’t caught in the crossfire at all, and the bullet had been intended for her. As Herrera’s only child, I’d naturally assumed that eliminating her permanently would be a last resort. I’ve just begun to set in motion his demise, he shouldn’t be to the point of killing his own flesh and blood. Then again, this is Herrera I’m dealing with. The man will butcher anyone in his way, and if he believes killing Catalina will stop his empire from collapsing, he’ll choose his cartel over her.
My jaw tightens, and I rub the back of my neck where tension is collecting from the unexpected turn of events. Headlights suddenly sweep through the windows in the double doors that lead out to the main drive. My thoughts abruptly grind to a halt as I yank open one of the doors and stride outside to meet the vehicle.
Two of my usual security are standing out front, guns ready. The estate is well-protected with men down at the gated entrance of the drive, and I have security feeds being monitored twenty-four/seven.
The vehicle comes to an abrupt halt, and one of the back doors promptly opens. Tomàs is the first one out, and he leans back in as I approach. He straightens and turns, Catalina in his arms.
My chest tightens when I see her unconscious, her chest saturated with blood. “Dr. Jennings is on his way,” I inform as we hurry towards the mansion.
Inside, I lead the way to the nearest guest room, and Tomàs carefully eases Catalina onto the bed. “Thankfully, it’s just a shoulder hit, but she’s losing too much blood,” he mutters before spinning around and rushing to the en suite bathroom.
I stare down at the woman on the bed.
It’s strange seeing her so lifeless when I’m accustomed to eyes that are usually sparking with an inner fire. Her face is much paler than it should be, and her lashes look like bruises beneath her eyelids. A smear of blood on her cheek looks out of place, and it reminds me that no one is ever safe from violence. Not in my world.
Tomàs hurries over to her, pressing a whi
te towel against her shoulder as he blocks her upper body from view.
For the first time, I note that she’s wearing little, black lace panties that show off her curved hips and long, shapely legs. I mentally curse myself for even taking note of the curves on display when she’s lying there, bleeding. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Movement comes from the doorway, and I look up as Santos leads Dr. Jennings into the room. The man is in his late sixties, and I pay him handsomely for making house calls at all hours of the day and night.
With a black bag in hand, he hurries over to Catalina. Tomàs moves out of his way and comes over to stand beside me. Santos has also remained in the room, his expression unreadable as we wait to see what the doctor has to say.
We watch as he inspects her wound before checking vitals. After giving her some sort of injection, he cuts away the upper part of her tank, somehow keeping her breasts covered. He begins to speak as he wipes the blood off her skin and carefully cleans the wound. “The bullet went through, so it appears to be a clean injury. Once she’s sutured, she should make a full recovery,” he murmurs. “Using her left arm will cause pain for some time, so I would advise a sling to keep it immobilized the first few days. I have one out in my car, so I’ll run out and grab it after she’s patched up. She shouldn’t need a blood transfusion, but she’ll have to recover from the blood loss. It’s best if she takes it easy until she feels up to moving about.” He turns away from her and reaches for the items he’d already laid out to stitch her wound. “A shirt that buttons up the front would also be advisable.”
I turn to Santos, nodding at him to find something suitable for Catalina to wear.
His lips tighten in the corners but he leaves to do as I asked.
As the doctor begins stitching Catalina’s wound, I signal to Tomàs that I want to speak with him out in the hall. I carefully close the door to give the doctor privacy before I turn to Tomàs.
“I’m sorry,” he says before I can say anything, his eyes grim with regret. “She should have never been hurt on my watch.”
I give him a look. “I underestimated him. I’m the one who put you in the situation of having to take down enemies while trying to shield her. You’re good, but you’re not perfect—nor do I expect you to be. How quick was she to follow orders?”
Tomás hesitates.
I look at him questioningly.
“She was scared, as anyone would be. She froze up a few times,” he admits.
“Which you can’t control,” I remind as I clasp his shoulder. “You did well, my friend, so stop blaming yourself.” I release him as my eyebrows pull together into a frown. “Was that bullet a stray or was it meant for her?” I ask, switching the subject.
Tomàs turns grim. “His gun pointed straight at her, but I didn’t take him out fast enough.”
My expression hardens. “Herrera would kill his own daughter to save his ass.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No, and I should have been prepared for it. Tonight’s my fault,” I admit, and it’s hard to confess such a blunder. “Get a team to her apartment to clean the scene.” I hesitate and add, “Pack all her belongings as well.”
Tomàs nods and walks away to carry out my orders.
I’m about to re-enter the guest room when Santos walks towards me with a white shirt held in one hand. His expression is rigidly controlled. “She’s vulnerable out there,” he says grudgingly.
I nod in agreement. “She’ll be staying on the estate until this is over and the threat no longer exists.”
His expression turns brooding. “I don’t like it.”
“We don’t have any other options.” I glance at the shirt. “The doctor needs that.”
Santos gives me a cool look before opening the guest room door and striding inside.
I wisely stay out in the hall. The last thing I need is to see the doctor changing Catalina. If I see any more of her naked, I’m going to have a hell of a time erasing it from my mind.
Santos steps back out a moment later.
“Go make sure the cleanup goes smoothly,” I tell him.
Judging by his expression, he wants to discuss the topic of Catalina staying here, but that can come later. His eyes hold mine for a long moment to make it known he disagrees before he calmly turns and walks away.
Tonight was a shitshow.
Instead of going to my office to check in with those that are probably already on the scene, I find myself waiting in the hallway until the doctor finishes.
When he steps out of the guest room a while later, he informs me he’s leaving painkillers for Catalina and when she should take them. “Keep a close eye on her for infection. If she develops a fever or the wound has more drainage than normal, call me. I’ll send in the sling with one of the guards,” he adds.
I shake his hand. “Expect a deposit in your account by noon tomorrow.”
After he leaves, I slip into the guest room and stand over Catalina. She’s resting peacefully and wearing a long-sleeved, button-up shirt. The bedsheets have been pulled up past her waist so that she’s comfortable, and she looks innocent as she sleeps. The sight of her looking so vulnerable causes something to twist inside me.
I can’t imagine how she’s going to feel when she learns her father wants her dead, and I can feel growing empathy building for her. In the beginning, she was just a pawn—something to use against her father. Lately though, I’m beginning to see her as a person. She’s getting under my skin, and the sexual tension is aggravating the hell out of me. It’s one thing to lust after someone and screw them to ease it, but Catalina is off limits. This isn’t meant to become personal, and acting on the tension will just complicate the agreement we’d made.
I gaze at her broodingly.
Catalina Herrera is more dangerous than any foe I’ve ever faced.
Fourteen
Catalina
The pain in my shoulder is the first thing I become aware of. Had I sleep on it wrong? It’s not until I open my eyes and blink, taking in the unfamiliar room that the memory of being shot slams into me.
My breath hitches as I recall Tomàs trying to get me out of the building, and then the men cornering us in the stairwell. The rest is kind of blurry.
Slowly, my eyes roam around the understated but luxurious room. The walls are painted a pale blue while the décor accents—which are minimal, are dark blue. All the furniture is a gorgeous mahogany brown, and the beige carpet has a geometric pattern that prevents the room from looking monotonous. Someone had also packed my belongings, because my luggage is piled beside a large armoire. There’s no doubt in my mind that I am on Nikolas’s estate. After what happened at the apartment, I’m certain he’s not taking any further chances with my life. After all, I’m still useful.
It’s a lot to wrap my mind around, and a lump fills my throat as I come to terms with the knowledge that the bullet was likely meant for me. Yes, I was standing in the open, but there’s a high possibility that my father wants to end me so he can save his cartel. Was it the phone call that made him decide I was better off dead? Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea, but I don’t regret it. Still, it hurts to know that my father—the man who’d given me life, now wants to take it back.
I tell myself that I feel nothing for him, so why should he feel anything for me? It’s not like we’d had any sort of relationship, so it’s pointless to dwell over things that I can’t change.
Which leads me back to the realization that I’m on Nikolas Del Toro’s property. I’ll be safer here, but this is the last place I want to be. The more distance between us, the better. Now, I’m in closer proximity, and that’s just asking for trouble.
My attention shifts to the window across the room. The sun is out, which means it’s daytime. There isn’t an alarm clock on the nightstand, but judging by the brightness of the sun, I’m guessing it’s morning or early afternoon.
Once more, I scan the room before focusing on myself and how I’m physical
ly feeling. For the first time, I note that my left arm is in a sling to help keep it immobilized. Someone had also changed me, and I’m wearing a long-sleeved, button-up shirt. My legs feel bare, and I’m assuming I’m still wearing the panties I’d had on last night.
Carefully, I use my right hand to ease back the sheets so I can try sitting upright. The moment I begin to lift my shoulders from the mattress, I muffle a yelp of pain.
Oh damn, that hurts.
I slowly inhale before exhaling. It’s just a little pain, I tell myself. I can handle it. After a brief pep talk, I try once more to sit upright. I have to move gingerly, and my teeth clench as pain radiates throughout my shoulder.
I spy the bottle of pills on the nightstand and presume I’m due for a dose. Unfortunately, there’s no glass or bottle of water to take them with, so the painkillers will have to wait.
Now that I’m sitting, I use my free hand to lift the bottom of the shirt. Yep, black panties. That’s a relief.
Okay, now that I’m upright, now what? My eyes fall upon the luggage across the room. It would be nice to change into my own clothes, but that’s probably wishful thinking at this point. I won’t be doing anything strenuous—and that includes changing clothes—until some of the pain lessens. I’m also feeling weak and fatigued, but I’m trying to push it aside so that I can talk to someone, preferably Nikolas. There are going to be some rules if I have to stay here.
I glance at the closed door and frown. When will someone be by to check on me? I don’t want to sit here for hours simply waiting. When I recall that I usually contact Tomàs and Nikolas through text messaging, I look around to see if the cell phone is nearby. It isn’t anywhere to be seen.
A disappointed sigh escapes. It looks like I’m going to have to find someone myself. Feeling determined, I carefully ease myself off the bed while trying not to move my upper body much. Easier said than done. My breath hisses through clenched teeth as I painstakingly make my way across the plush carpet to the closed door.
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