My vision goes blurry. I press a hand to my belly, unsure if I’m going to faint. Whether it’s adrenaline or the concussion, I’m hatefully vulnerable. Suddenly a large arm hooks my waist, his bullish power sweeping me into the air until I’m cradled in his arms. The energetic shock of it makes me squeal.
“What the hell, Dré?” I thump his firm chest. “Put me down!”
He ignores me. My stomach clenches when his hips work to carry us through the sunlit living space, storming past the muted cleaning staff who've just arrived, and all the way upstairs.
“I'm perfectly capable of walking, you know. I’ll never know where I stand with a man like you.”
Silence settles between us, his heavy, determined footfalls a powerful rhythm of dominance. With my hair swaying and his hands pressed to my skin, his predatory strides eat up the corridor.
Entering the master suite, he offloads me onto the bed. I land flat on my back, bouncing a little on the mattress, and look over his naked form. I resent the sight of his godlike masculinity, how I can still taste his enticing cum, and I hate the faint acrid scent of nitroglycerin following the shots fired.
He could have killed me.
But he didn’t.
Familiar cramping starts off negligible, then teams with prickles of nausea. I scoot off the bed, uncomfortably aware of an ache in my uterus. My muscles are tense from an ill-fated shock. Terrified by the muddled line between a psychotic criminal and my husband. He’s evil, yet so beautiful—and ironically the only one who makes me feel alive.
“Don’t walk away,” he warns, stuffing all of his fingers into the thick mass of messy hair on top of his head.
All I want to do is bolt from the unstable way he makes me feel. The sharp pains catapulting through my legs have other plans. I lurch in the direction of the bathroom, dizzy to the point I could faint, a palm clutched to my midriff. Only he’s behind me before I can shut the door.
“Leave me alone, Dré.” My voice comes across weak and breathy.
A strong hand latches onto my elbow. He halts me in the entrance of his massive bathroom and gently holds me captive, lowering his head to meet my worn-out gaze. Thick eyebrows pinch together. “I’m wasted, Sinéad… my head is fucked… it was bad timing.”
I narrow my eyes at him, shivery sickness rising in my throat. “Get off me.” I try to shirk him off, but his grip on me contracts. “Leave me alone.”
His expression bleeds torment. “I asked you to leave me alone in my office. You didn’t. What makes you think I'll afford you the courtesy of space?”
“I didn’t sleep well… and then I confessed my secret… h-how I really feel about you… and in return you pulled a fucking gun on me, Dré. Don’t you get it? I had sex with you—for you—for us. To save you from Frankie’s threat of assassination, of war. I don’t want anything bad to happen to my mother…ormy husband. Now I’m stressed out and I don’t feel well because of it.”
He stiffens, the fingers on my arm still strong, but not harmful in any way. “I’m André fucking Souza, Sinéad. This is the world I grew up in. There are a ton of fuckers out there who want me dead, and look, I’ve survived thirty years. Sapori can come for me if he has a death wish. I can defend myself… and I’ll protect you too… with my own life if I have to. All I ask for is your trust. And for the record, I didn’t point my gun at you. I’d never do that.”
“Frankie’s men were in the Sky Hotel before the alarm even went off,” I protest. “They watched you stab that guy in the hands and had a video to prove it. Face it, Dré, we’re not safe, and now I have to add a husband with a split personality to the chaos. So, why should I believe you?”
Dizziness casts floaty blobs over my vision and a notable exorcism of blood dampens my inner thighs.
I’m not pregnant.
“Just leave me the hell alone!” I choke on a muted sob, refusing to show weakness. “It’s a basic human right to use the bathroom unaccompanied. Give me some damn privacy, won’t you?”
His avid gaze trails my bare breasts, skims over my slightly hunched posture, and skates the length of my legs. The slow sweep welcomes a cruel rampage of chills over my scalp. When he sees exactly what is happening to me, he frowns. “You’re bleeding?”
I sway against the doorframe. “I said go!”
His bare chest strains as he inhales, studying the drips of dark red on the warm tiles underfoot. In a flash, he lowers to his haunches and runs two fingers through the blood stain.
“Your period?” He removes the sullied fingertips and stares at them as if he’s seeing double. “What do you need?”
Exhausted, I shuffle backward, palm my belly, and do a one-eighty, desperate to clean myself up. My shins ache as I take deliberate small steps, the discomfort I’m in heightened by the apprehension of his volatility.
“Yeah… you don’t need to worry about becoming a father anytime soon. I need you to leave me the fuck alone. Please. Just get the hell away from me.”
I hear his sharp intake of air when I put a cavernous distance between us, wait for the fancy toilet lid to automatically lift, and plonk myself onto the heated seat, mentally and physically drained. Perched in his opulent bathroom, our distant gazes knot. He pins me in place, staring deep into my eyes.
His dick hangs between his legs, all signs of arousal diminished. In contrast, those well-earned muscles of his are tight and hard. He doesn’t say a word, only nods once and then his deific tattooed body rotates.
I blink away liquid frustration when he gradually pivots and heads into the bedroom, doing my best to defy the flutters in my chest. My elbows drop to my thighs and my forehead rests in my palms.
