Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I cry out, startled when Naz backhands him across the face so hard he tumbles sideways. His head cracks against the side of the dresser hard and he goes limp.
Naz watches, vicious satisfaction blazing in his eyes, and then turns to me, holding out his hand. "Come here, mi cielito."
I don't move for a moment though. I can't because I'm not looking at Naz. I'm not looking at Nazario, either. This is the monster—the man his people call Dios de la Guerra. This is their God of War. And I've never met him before now.
He's been locked away, caged by the man who loves me. But the one who tried to hurt me just set him free. And he's capable of unspeakable acts.
"I will never hurt you, Brynna," he murmurs, his voice soft. "My life before yours. You will always be safe with me. Remember my promise, little one?"
But even the god of war has a soul. Even the monster knows love. And even in the midst of his rage, he needs me.
Tears spill down my cheeks as I fling myself at him. He catches me against his chest, engulfing me in his arms. His eyes drift closed.
"She's safe," he breathes, talking to God, to the universe…to fate. "Thank God, she's safe."
Sobs wrack my body as I cling to him, trying to press myself into his skin, to remind us both that we're still standing. That, somehow, we survived this.
"Wait," Naz says, and I lift my head to see Michael inching toward the door.
He stops, glancing back at us.
"Who are you?" Naz asks him again.
"I told you my name is Kincaid," Michael mutters, frustration seething in his tone, as if he doesn't understand why Naz won't just let it go. But he doesn't know this man the way I do.
"Your first name?"
Michael hesitates.
"You saved Brynna," Naz murmurs. "I'd like to know who to thank for that."
"Michael."
"Michael Kincaid." Naz nods as he repeats the name, committing it to memory. "Why are you here, Michael Kincaid? Who do you work for?"
"I don't work for anyone. I'm just trying to get the hell out of this city," Michael sighs. "My bike broke down outside. I came to use your phone to call a tow truck. Your door was open and she was screaming. Didn't like that much."
Naz eyes him, skepticism written all over his face. But I believe him.
For the first time, perhaps in his life, Naz put a little good into the world today. He did charity. At least, he wrote a check massive enough to ensure the homeless in this city won't go hungry for a long time. I think Michael Kincaid showing up here and now might be his karma—the answer to his prayers. A reminder that even monsters can balance the scales.
But I don't tell Naz that. That's for him to work out on his own. Instead, I tell him what I know for sure.
"He's telling the truth," I whisper in his ear. "He's a student. We have a literature class together."
His expression morphs from uncertainty to acceptance, his faith in me absolute.
"You're a student. You go to UCLA?" he asks Michael.
Michael grimaces, a wave of pain rolling through his expression. "Not anymore," he rasps.
"Why not?"
Michael clamps his jaws shut, refusing to answer. Or maybe he can't. Some pain is too raw, too awful to speak out loud.
"His girlfriend's family was murdered," I murmur to Naz, speaking it for him. "A rival gang shot them to death on her birthday."
His arms tighten around me as if he understands a little too well what that's like. And I guess maybe he does.
Naz doesn't ask any questions. He just processes and accepts it, leaving Michael privacy to deal with his own messed-up world.
"I'll help you get out of Los Angeles," he says.
Michael's eyes narrow on Naz, suspicion heavy in his gaze. Naz sees it too, understands it, too.
"You helped me," he says. "You saved my life and that of my fiancée. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Getting you out of the city won't balance the scales, but it's a start at least, yes?"
Michael hesitates for a long moment and then lowers the gun. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's a start."
Chapter Fifteen
Naz
"Stay in the car, mi alma," I murmur, staring out at the mansion where she grew up.
"Naz," she says softly, my name a protest on her lips.
"Please, little one."
She huffs a breath, grumbling quietly. "Fine. But if you get hit again tonight, it's your only fault."
The ghost of a smile paints my lips as I glance over at her. "You think he'll hit me?"
She shrugs, her expression disgruntled. But I see the anxiety behind the mask, the worry. Even now, she fears for my safety, worries that we've pushed her father too far. And perhaps we did. Perhaps we should have handled shit a different way, gone about us all fucking different. Too late. We didn't.