“How’s that supposed to make me feel safe?”

He presses his hands to the door on either side of me. “I hate Niccolo. I’d destroy him if I could.”

“Why?”

“My reasons don’t matter.”

“They do matter. And selling me would be self-preservation, which I believe you’re very good at.”

“Oh, I am, sweetheart, but I’m not giving you to Niccolo,” he vows, and the way he says the other man’s name is pure acid and hate.

“You hate Niccolo. Gallo hates you. You’re a man with enemies.”

“Wake up, Ella. Your enemies are mine.”

Footsteps sound on the stairwell behind him, and his “friend’s” voice cuts though the storm. Any bit of progress he might have made with me washes away. Kayden curses at the interruption, glancing over his shoulder and speaking to the man in Italian. I have a fleeting image of me with red hair, wearing goggles, while firing a gun. I know how to use a gun, and I reach for his. He grabs my hand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re full of shit, Kayden Wilkens,” I hiss. “You aren’t selling me to Niccolo? I don’t believe you. I know your ‘friend.’ And I know he was there the night I was attacked. You’re lying to me, and I won’t be kissed into stupidity. I might be alone and desperate, but I’m not that girl.”

“His name is Adriel Santaro and he works for me. And you’re right. He was there. He also has a sister who depends on him and could be used as a weapon against him or even me. The minute I found that matchbook, I sent him away before he ended up on the police report.”

Hope blossoms and expands in my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me he was there?”

“You don’t trust me, as you’ve proven by reaching for my gun. I wasn’t going to give you someone else to doubt.”

“And yet he was at the hospital.”

“I asked him to cover us while we left. A safety precaution I thought we needed.”

I study him, searching his eyes, looking for answers he’s too savvy to let me find. “How can I trust you, Kayden?” I ask, wanting him to say something, or do something, that erases my fears, when I know it’s an impossible feat.

He doesn’t immediately reply. Both my impossible demand and that steamy hot kiss hover between us, and it hits me that what I call familiar, he calls linked. We are linked. We both agree on this, but I don’t think it’s the way he claims. Not completely. He pushes off the door and puts a small space between us, his expression all hard lines and dark shadows. One second passes. Two. Three. He doesn’t have an answer for me, and I’m shivering again, my heart in my throat, sensing something is coming, dreading it. And I’m right. Something is coming.

Actually, it’s here. Kayden reaches into his holster and pulls his gun. And now I know what the kiss meant. It was goodbye.

six

I tilt my chin up and look Kayden in the eyes, not willing to die a coward. He holds my stare, not so much as blinking, and seconds tick by that could be my last until he surprises me and takes my hand. “Let me be clear, Ella,” he says, his tone deepening on my name. “I never give up control, but I am now, for you.”

“You’re talking in code,” I accuse, my voice remarkably steady considering I’m about to die. “Say what you mean.”

He places the butt of his weapon into my palm, closing my fingers, and his, around it. He steps into the barrel of the gun, pressing it to his chest. “You have control,” he says, his hand falling away, while mine trembles around the heavy steel. “You have two options,” he adds. “Trust me as I trust you right now, or . . . shoot me.”

But I’m not thinking about me shooting him. I’m thinking about him not shooting me. “You weren’t going to kill me.”

“No. I was not going to kill you.”

The adrenaline I’ve been running on this past hour drains away, leaving me weak, aware that my head is throbbing, but I’m oh so relieved. I laugh, and it sounds a little crazy. I think I’m losing it. “You weren’t going to kill me.”

“But are you going to kill me?” he asks. “That’s the real question. Or are you going to put the gun down and trust me?”

“Neither,” I whisper, becoming aware of how fiercely I’m shivering, every quake of my body intensifying the heaviness at the back of my head. “I’m not going to kill you, Kayden, but I won’t blindly trust you, either. And now”—I squeeze my eyes shut—“I need to sit.” I slide down the door, releasing the gun gently to the ground to pull my knees to my chest.

Kayden kneels in front of me, his fingers wrapping my calves, his touch confusingly right and wrong at the same time, like everything about him and me. “How bad is it?” he asks.

I ignore his question, focused on his hands on my legs, on him sitting in front of me, blocking the rain and the wind. Protecting me. Or is it possessing me? “You touch me like you own me,” I say, and I sense that my comment isn’t about this moment. Maybe not even about Kayden.

“I touch you like a man who wants you.” His answer is unapologetic, showing me that wolf in him that doesn’t bother with sheep’s clothing, his fingers flexing against me as he inches forward ever so slightly to add, “I don’t want to own you, Ella, but I will intervene when you’re trying to get yourself killed like you did tonight.”

“Because protecting me is protecting you,” I say, and now it’s all about the here, the now, and him.

His jaw clenches, eyes hardening. “In ways you don’t begin to understand and you never will.”

“I’m the one his men attacked,” I argue. “I need to understand. I deserve to understand.” I’ve barely finished the sentence when a sharp pain darts through my head and immediately repeats, forcing my face to my knees, and a frustrated sound from my lips. “I hate this. I thought this was over.”

“That was before you ran through a rainstorm.” His hand settles on my hair, his touch gentle, intimate. Familiar. “We need to get you someplace warm and safe.”

“That would require going back out in the rain, and I can’t do that. Not now. It feels like someone’s poking me with a needle over and over.”

“Which is all the more reason we need to get you out of here.”

I turn my head to rest my cheek on my legs. “I can’t move right now, Kayden. And I really can’t ride on your motorcycle.”

“Adriel left us his car.”

“We still have to get to the car.”

“Leave that to me,” he says, unzipping my purse where it hangs at my hip and placing the gun inside. “Security for both of us.”

I shut my eyes. “I’m not sure what that means. I’m not sure of much besides that I’m pretty sure you’re very rich and probably even more dangerous.”

“Not to you,” he promises, stroking my wet hair from my face.

I shiver at the touch, my lashes lifting to find those blue eyes staring into mine, and even in this dim light they are as stunning as ever. “If you’re trying to make me feel better—”

“You should feel better. Do you really want a saint helping you fight a mobster?”

“Double-edged sword,” I whisper, pressure forcing my eyes shut again.

“That’s it,” he says. “We’re getting you out of here.” He slides his arm under my knees.

“No,” I plead, grabbing his shoulder, the sound of the rain splattering on the pavement promising misery I can’t take right now. “Please. Not yet. It’s too cold.”

“The car is at the curb and the heater is running.”

“Yes, but—”

He scoops me up and stands, curling me easily against his body. Some piece of sanity breaks through the pain and I grab his jacket, fighting to even keep my eyes open. “I’m going with you, but I know how to use that gun and I will if I have to.”

“That’s why I gave it to you,” he surprises me by saying, already starting up the stairs, pausing just before we’re about to leave the overhang. “Ready?”