Savage Secrets (Titan #6)

by Harber, Cristin

  “I’m… sorry.” Head shaking back and forth, over and over. “I didn’t—I’m…”

  The hotel room door opened and closed. A curse joined the occasional groans from the downed ACG men.

  Roman rounded the corner. “Whoa—” Then backed out, jaw clenching and eyes flashing to Rocco.

  “Be back in a min.” Rocco didn’t know what else to say to her. Wasn’t sure of how to comfort her or if he should even try. He walked out of the bedroom, over an ACG thug and nailed Roman with a look so full of uncontrollable hatred that he shook.

  “Cat?” Roman asked, his throat bobbing. Silence ticked for an eternity. “The Dog Killer?”

  “He. Hurt. Her.” Rocco raged inside, twitching from unexpended devastation.

  “She was…”

  Grinding his teeth, he couldn’t acknowledge his woman had been raped. He was going to be sick. And kill. He was going to fucking murder.

  “Jesus Christ.” The veins in Roman’s neck stood out. Fury pounded through him too.

  “We have to get her to a doctor. She’s bad off.”

  “Calling Jared.” Roman pulled out his phone. “He’ll get someone good and off the grid.”

  Rocco stepped back to Cat. “We’re getting you out of here. Give us a minute.” He scrounged anything they couldn’t leave behind and spent a minute wiping their prints. “You’ll be okay. Promise you. I swear on my life.”

  She nodded.

  “I have to get you dressed.”

  Another nod.

  Tearing apart his closet, he found clothes that’d be baggy on her, and as carefully as he could, he slipped his sweatpants and shirt onto her. Too much blood. Her eyes followed his movements. “It’s gonna be all right, Kitten.”

  It had to be all right. He’d found something special, and nothing would steal that from him.

  Roman walked in, eyes averted though Caterina was now curled in a ball at the top of the bed, wearing his clothes and burying her head back into the pillows.

  “Jared.” His outstretched hand held the cell. “Needs to talk to you.”

  Rocco wasn’t sure he could talk about Caterina, but Jared needed to bring down all the hell Titan was known for. That moment wasn’t the first time he’d thanked God he worked for Boss Man, but it was the most important of those times.

  “Whatever you need,” Jared grumbled.

  “Bring everything we got.” Rocco seethed, stormed into the kitchenette, and swallowed the need to rip the hotel room to pieces. The pressure in his jaw would crush his teeth. His mind spiraled in shock. “Everything.”

  He watched Roman drag the two ACG men, check pulses—they were still alive, damn it—and tie them together in a corner with curtains he’d ripped into ropes.

  “What do you want to do?” Jared paused and told someone to shut the hell up in the background. Then all his attention focused back on Rocco. “What’s your next move?”

  Next move… Rocco sat on the bed, careful not to touch her without warning again. “I need a doctor. Fast.”

  “Parker’s finding you a doctor.” Jared yelled away from the phone. “Where’s the doctor already?” He mumbled offline again, then back to Rocco. “You need to clean it up and get out.”

  “I know.”

  “How bad is she, Roc?”

  An angry, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He hurt for her. Pain wracked his mind. Tension in his fists begged for an outlet as he eyed the two men bleeding and groaning in corner. Just a few more punches. Anything. And when he got his hands on El Mateperros—

  “Rocco,” Jared snapped. “What’s going on with our girl?”

  He looked down and could barely describe his personal hell. “Tell me you’ve got someone we can see quickly.” Turning away, he couldn’t get the images from his mind. Whispering, he could barely take it. “A lot of blood, Jared. It’s bad.”

  “God—I’m bringing the fuckin’ cavalry.”

  “I’m not leaving her side until I know she’s okay.” He watched Roman clear the room of Titan-identifiers. “But I want that son of a bitch. You find him. I kill him. No discussion.”

  “Parker texted a doc’s address and directions to you. About four blocks away.”

  Holy fuck, he couldn’t breathe. She had to be okay. “Jared.” He choked trying to talk. “I…Caterina is…”

  “I got it. Get her to the doc.”

  The call ended, and Parker’s text came through.

  Roman walked over. “We gotta roll. Someone probably heard something.”

  “We’re going here.” Rocco tossed him the phone. Roman nodded. They both looked at Cat. The sobbing had stopped, or at least the shaking had. “She’s not going to be able to walk.”

  “Fuck it. Someone tries to stop you, I stop them.”

  Right. “Kitten, honey. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “No policia.”

  “I know. But you need a doctor.”

  She nodded.

  “So I have to pick you up, sweetheart. Okay? I have to touch you.”

  She nodded again, and it shattered his heart. “Help me.”

  “I’m all over it. Just…” He slipped an arm under her shoulder and the other behind her knees. “Easy there.” The clothes drowned her, and she buried her face into his chest. He sat down with her in his arms and begged God that something he would say could help. “That’s my girl. Shhh. You’re a survivor. You’re the strongest person I know.”

  Roman tilted his head, nodding Rocco off the bed. He looked down at sheets and a comforter stained with blood. He stood. “I need you to be okay. Okay? Just look at me. Just a second.”

  She did, and his soul bled out. All he could do was nod, promising that he’d make this right somehow.

  Roman stripped the bed, and then they headed to the door. Because of the number on the door Rocco had done knocking it in, the door was ajar and scratching when Roman pulled it open. He stuck his head out, then they were off. At the elevators, Rocco pushed the button, and Roman jimmied open the supply closet, coming back out with the soiled bedding in a bag.

  The elevator chimed, and they got on. A family—mom, dad, two kids—took a step back when they boarded, but then got out. Good idea, but surely they would call the cops. Classical music played, and Roman held the closed door button down, skipping any floors that expected them to stop.

  When they hit the lobby, tourists parted to let them exit. They were quite the sight, he was sure: Rocco bloody from the fight, torn shirt, busted face, a roughed-up, near comatose Caterina in his arms, next to Roman, holding a giant trash bag. They needed out of there before London coppers rolled up asking questions. Fists would fly if someone tried to stop them, or God forbid, tried to take her away from him.

  The automatic front door opened, and they spilled out onto a crowded sidewalk. Rocco got his bearings, turned left, and checked on his girl. Caterina’s eyes locked with his. She hung in his arms limp and a galaxy away, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen, and her nose red. Dried blood stained her cheeks and chin.

  “I need you to be okay. Okay?” It was all he could keep saying.

  A cold prickle chased down his spine. That spiky slide, like a thousand tiny shanks. It was fear, terror at losing someone he’d connected with. More than connected. He loved everything from her Spanish sass to the secrets that shaped her life.

  She had to be okay. Had to.

  His stomach turned. Passing a trash can, he ignored the urge to retch then watched Roman stop. Well, hell, now was as good a time as ever. Roman smashed the bag into the trashcan, pulled out a lighter, and lit it. It took a moment for it to catch. The comforter was probably flame retardant, but the sheets and bag weren’t, and retardant didn’t mean wouldn’t burn. It only meant a pain in their ass. But it started to burn while he kept walking. Black smoke and burning plastic filled the air.

  Cat’s eyes flitted to the side like she wanted to watch her DNA burn away but couldn’t control her line of sight. Concussion? The hell with walking. He
broke into a jog, bumping people out of his way. Boots behind him said Roman agreed with the move. He broke in front of them, clearing their path on the sidewalk.

  “Half a block, man,” Roman called over his shoulder.

  With Cat still cradled in his arms, Rocco pushed through the thick mob of bystanders. Her eyelids slid shut and jarred to open slits each time his feet pounded against the sidewalk. “Come on, Kitten. Stay with me.”

  I need you.

  Her eyes shut, and her head lolled. No control. How much blood had she lost? Internal bleeding? Head injury? Combat mode took over. He saw no one, nothing but the end goal: the doctor’s office. It was the only way she’d survive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Caterina cringed as she drifted awake. Her memory was fuzzy. The film on her tongue made nausea roll. Instinctively, her body lurched to vomit. Bile and nothingness came up as she twisted on her side. Her limbs twitched and spasmed. Her abdominal muscles ached like she’d thrown up for days. Pain between her legs throbbed. Her abdomen was sore, bruised. Her insides—

  The memory of El Mateperros above her, forcing himself in her—

  Her stomach cramped. She dry heaved. Once, twice. Again and again. The memory made her retch. Relief seemed almost impossible. Her body disgusted her. She needed a shower. Needed to scrub and purge. Needed help…

  Grunts and El Mateperros’s voice. No. Tears fell again.

  Her head spun, worsening with every remembered syllable of the disgusting memory. A headache panged her temples. Reality was awful. Hatred and misery took over. Why had this happened? Why couldn’t she stop it? Strength and tenacity, impervious and impassable. That was how she would have described herself. Not pathetic.

  Friction-burned flesh was raw between her legs. How had she—oh… a cool cloth pressed against her forehead. Ah. Relief. Only a small flicker.

  But one ounce of it was enough to keep the maddening pain at bay for a microsecond. Disheveled strands of hair were tucked behind her ear, and again, the cool cloth. On her forehead. Her cheeks. Her neck. Opening her eyes was too much. Strong and stable warmth patted her hair, repositioning the cloth.

  “I think she’s waking up.” An echoing, distantly familiar voice tugged her awake—Rocco.

  The caress of his voice drew her eyes open. His chiseled face was furrowed. Soft caramel eyes had darkened and dulled. Her stomach twisted again, and her headache quadrupled, stomach roiling as the memories came back in jolting chunks, like flipping channels on the TV. A gap in memory, El Mateperros’s face. Another gap, the ice bath. A gap, her sickening attack and—Rocco arrived. She hadn’t seen him, but she heard him. All American-cartoon-style. Bow. Bam. Pop. The brute force. The sounds of the room being destroyed had screamed in her ears. Rocco had wanted to save her life, her dignity. One out of two at least…She gagged, wallowing until she boxed up the self-pity, hiding it from herself, and re-prioritized her feelings. Rage. That was better. If nothing else, it would make this survivable. Caterina would have El Mateperros’s balls if it killed her. She’d castrate him with a toothbrush. Or a toothpick. Whichever one was slower and more painful. Soon as her body healed.

  Hushed voices brought her from planning the Dog Killer’s dismembering. A doctor. He shooed Rocco out of the room and gave her a onceover, asking questions and providing information. She didn’t speak or listen, only kept her eyes partly open. There was nothing other than the obvious wrong with her, and she didn’t want to talk about it to a stranger, even if he was a doctor. As soon as the exam was over, she curled back onto the bed and tried to sleep again.

  “Kitten?” Rocco stepped back in, pulled a chair back to the bed, and his thumb smoothed over her cheek.

  She blinked. Focused. Tried to swallow. Didn’t work so much.

  “Hello.” Her whisper barely made a sound, cracking and aching in her raw throat.

  His forehead bunched, and she saw a flicker of a smile, but then stress lines reappeared. “Hi.”

  Her eyelids burned as though she’d cried for days. They were swollen, and her eyes scratched with each blink. The cool cloth pressed on her temple again, and he smoothed it across her skin.

  “How do you feel?”

  She nodded. “Okay enough.”

  Rocco put the cloth down and took her hand. His dwarfed hers, and dropping down, he hunched over in a chair pulled close to the bed. Silence wrapped around them. The room was so quiet. Too quiet to be a hospital. Medical equipment lined the walls. A cross on the wall. Cabinets and medical supplies.

  “Doc’s been taking care of you…” He squeezed her hand as if trying to impart strength and brought it to his cheek. “Titan did a job for his medical charity out in—hell, it doesn’t matter. Just know the doc here is good.”

  “Where is here?”

  “Private residence, not too far from the hotel.”

  He scrubbed his bruised jaw and ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn, Cat. I never should’ve left you alone. I can’t explain how sorry I am.” His throat bobbed, and tears laced it. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  He brought her hand back to the bridge of his nose and bowed his head. They fell silent. His breaths were irregular. Every few minutes, he moved, motioned, acted as if he had something to say, but nothing more came.

  Finally, Rocco shook his head. “I don’t want to make this about me, but hell, holding you to me… like I was the one dying. And I was. Dying.”

  What to say to that? She had nothing. Helpless guilt choked her.

  Rocco continued, quietly, maybe talking to himself, maybe talking to her. “I’m sure there are special words I should say. Hell, or shouldn’t say. Caterina… goddamn. I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be like this.”

  Tears blurred her vision. She wiped at them, angry that they kept falling. Her body ached, soreness a vicious reminder of the attack.

  “I forget what normal feels like, and I was normal…yesterday. Even hours ago.” She gulped a breath. “How do you forget that?”

  His jaw flexed. “Do you need to, ya know, talk? Want me to get one of the girls on the phone? Mia, Nic, Sugar, Sarah… I trust them. Someone else?”

  “No.”

  “Cat…” She could hear him breathe. Swallow. A clock ticked somewhere nearby. “You want to talk to me?”

  She didn’t know what she wanted. Talking seemed awful. Silence was so much better. But even in silence, she couldn’t get away from her thoughts. They replayed everything over and over. Licking a raw lip, she tried to find the words. “I shouldn’t have opened the door.”

  “What?” His face twisted.

  Forcing herself up, she pulled her hand from his and sat up. Emotions swirled. Guilt. Embarrassment. Anger. Desperation. Sadness. She was all over the place. Rocco moved to adjust her pillows, and she flinched, shrinking back as if he came at her with a baseball bat. Holy God. Her cheeks heated. “I didn’t mean to—I know… I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t apologize.” He moved so slowly, adjusting her pillows and delicately touching her arm to help her move back against them. His deliberate actions made her feel even more foolish. “There you go.”

  “What if—”

  Slowly, his head shook. “You can’t torture yourself.”

  “I’ve tortured people most my life. This is karma. I deserved it. And I was stupid. I should’ve looked, should’ve pushed stronger, fought harder.” She dissolved into a mess of tears. “I’m stronger than this. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

  He wrapped himself around her. She flinched again, reacting even though she knew better, but it didn’t stop him from enveloping her in the safety of his arms. Thank God, because she needed him to hold her more than she’d realized. She needed him in so many ways.

  “This is not your fault.”

  Nothing to say to that. It might have been her fault. It felt a hell of a lot like her fault.

  “Caterina Cruz.” He pulled back, stealing his fortifying embrace. “Look at me.”

  But she couldn’t. How wou
ld he ever touch her again? The worst person she’d ever met, the most awful monster that walked the face of the earth, had been inside her. She was disgusting. Awful. Just completely, absolutely horrific. And that bastard… She needed to hurl.

  “Kitten.” Slowly, he reached over, taking her chin in his hand and redirected her. Barely a whisper. “Just look at me.”

  She closed her eyes tight then opened to his warm gaze. Reaching. Caring. Loving. And it was too much. “I can’t.”

  With eyes sealed shut, he sucked a breath, then leveled a stare as calculating as she felt cold and empty. He let her chin go and found her hand again, stroking her knuckles. “I’ll get El Mateperros for you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  “No.” She moved too fast. The room spun. Tugging her hand back, she shook her head, doing bad things for her nausea. “No. You can’t.”

  “Kitten.”

  “No.”

  “Cat. Caterina—”

  El Mateperros was hers. Especially now. No white knight was going to steal her revenge. “No.”

  “Lie down—”

  “No.” Panic flowed. She tore into a tirade, a mix of Spanish and English. She didn’t even know what she was saying. It was all El Mateperros is mine. You owe me. He owes me. Too much hurt in her chest. In her memory. Anger bubbled up at Rocco, and a cold sweat broke out over her body.

  “Caterina,” he tried to cut her off.

  But she couldn’t stop. Her mouth ran. Her hands, her legs moved. She’d escape. Chase down her nemesis. Rocco couldn’t take this from her. He just couldn’t. El Mateperros, more so than ever, was hers to destroy. Mind spinning, she tried to hop off the bed. Rocco held her in place, saying something, but she couldn’t hear him.

  “What are you saying?” He turned behind them, talking to someone she hadn’t seen. “What’s she saying? Doc, a little help in here.”

  She couldn’t stop. El Mateperros was her obsession. Her will to live, breathe, and survive rested on taking out the terrorist. He took from her, and he would pay at her hands.

  Rocco’s fingers snapped at her, but she couldn’t look at him. No stopping her now. She’d walk out of the doctor’s and find her attacker on foot if she had to.