Grunting. Scuffling. Crying.
Then she comes into view, body half dragged along the ground by the fist in her hair toward the rugged van. She isn’t making this bastard’s job easy, clawing his arms, kicking at his feet to trip him, mouth snapping against the gag to try to bite him.
Then he hits her.
And I explode.
I fucking lose it.
“Bella!” I roar.
The asshole hurting Bella snaps his attention to me. He throws her to the side, and she lands with a scream, just as someone else comes running out of the van. My heart rattles in its cage when she looks at me with tears streaming down her face, a concoction of emotions swirling behind her red eyes. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. I want to put a bullet in myself for it.
The fucking cunt who hurt Bella snarls as he charges forward. I meet him halfway. I need this asshole to pay. For a split second, pride blooms at the sight of Bella’s art on his skin. Three bloody slashes run diagonally along his cheek.
He’s bulkier than the guy in the ring, faster too. I don’t dodge his first hit in time. He doesn’t miss my throw either.
Behind me, Damien grunts as he exchanges blows with the driver while a gun lays abandoned on the street.
Then the light from the streetlamp glints against metal, flashing through the air and onto my forearm. I snarl from the pain that thunders across my flesh as I collide my own fist against his jaw. We dance around a couple more hits, but there’s nothing that will save him from me.
He’s fighting to stay alive. I’m fighting for Bella.
There’s no strategy or tact in my punches as I knock the knife out of his hand. My muscles move in pure rage. I can’t feel the pain in my arm anymore. Every hit lacks its usual thrill, and it doesn’t matter how many times I kick him or feel his bones crack, the surging, white-hot anger doesn’t dissipate.
He made Bella bleed.
He tried to take her away from me.
He hurt her.
The driver pulls me off him, but someone tackles him a second later, leaving me to continue with my assault on the man who hurt her. He reaches for the gun, but Rico grabs it before he can, going to help his brother.
I yank the man back to me by the collar of his shirt and descend my fists on any part of him I can reach. The fire isn’t doused when he’s on the ground, and I’m seconds away from killing him with my fists alone.
I put Bella at risk. I got her hurt. I failed her. I need to kill them all.
“Roman, stop!” Damien tries dragging me off. The mother fucker isn’t conscious, but I’m not finished. He needs to die for what he did. They all need to fucking pay. “Take your girl and get the hell out of here.”
My girl.
I whip around to find Bella sprawled on the ground, leaning against Rico for support. Why the fuck is he touching her?
The harsh moonlight isn’t enough to see the damage clearly, but what I can gather makes me want to keel over. Tears stream down her face, tangling with the red droplets falling from the split in her soft cheek. The delicate skin of her hands is bloody and bruised, too.
Bella is hurt, and it’s all my fault.
Bella is hurt, and it’s all my fault.
Bella is hurt, and she’s leaning on Rico.
“You’re bleeding,” Bella says to me, voice hoarse.
I’m on my feet, taking long strides toward them. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Rico leaps up, hauling Bella with him before holding up his hands. “Chill the hell out, bro.”
“I’m not your bro. This happened because you two fuckers left her alone,” I snarl, as I pull Bella to my side. Exactly where she’s meant to be. Where she will always be.
“Stop treating me like a child,” Bella snaps and crosses her arms. Her voice lacks genuine anger with her shuddering breaths… She sounds broken instead.
Fuck.
“Not right now, Bella.”
“Fuck you, Roman,” she sneers, breath shuddering.
Roman.
She said Roman.
No. No, she wasn’t thinking about it that way. She’s just saying the name because it’s what she calls me when she’s angry. She doesn’t want to end this. Us.
“We need to get your inhaler. If they hadn’t fucking left you alone, you wouldn’t be hurt.” She doesn’t believe my words. Neither do I.
I can’t blame them when I’m the one who should have known better. This is the second time I’ve put her in danger.
“No. This happened because you brought me here,” she cries, then steps back to cough. “And look at you.” She waves at the gash in my arm, but I don’t feel the pain.
In the distance, the sound of a door crashing open has the two brothers snapping their heads. Bella doesn’t seem to notice or care. She’s too busy staring me down.
Rico throws my duffle bag at me, somehow getting into my locker while everything else was turning to shit. “Cash is in there.”
“Leave before more shit hits the fan,” Damien growls, already walking away with Rico.
I curse under my breath and reach for Bella’s elbow, but she yanks herself out of my reach. “I know where the car is.” With that, she spins on her heel and starts running, leaving me behind in the darkness. I follow behind her, fumbling with the bag to get her inhaler as the sound of her ragged breaths fills the night air.
If she thinks she can run away from me, she’s wrong.
If she thinks that one word will make me leave, she’s fooling herself.
I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.
Chapter 29
ISABELLA
1) The romance authors lied. Real-life mobsters are scary, ugly, the bad kind of dangerous, and should not be romanticized.
2) I am beyond sick of getting kidnapped and all the emotional and physical bruising that comes with it.
3) Fuck Roman Riviera.
I realize there’s something off-kilter about my current state of mind, but I think it’s highly justified.
My face hurts. My throat is raw. My lungs burn. My ribs are probably an unnatural shade of purple.
In the span of three days, Roman-fucking-Riviera almost got me killed twice. No guns were involved this time, but the prospect of all the horrifying things the cartel could have done to me is far more terrifying than getting my brains blown out.
And it’s all Roman’s fault.
Sure, I’ll take part of the blame. Yes, I should have had Damien accompany me. Yes, maybe I would have heard the man come in if I didn't drink so much. Yes, I should have insisted not to come. But I’m not the catalyst for all this.
Maybe I should be distraught about thoughts of what ifs. Like, what if Roman didn’t save me? What if Vargas sent more than one man? But I can’t bring myself to truly feel the anxieties regarding the what ifs because what’s done is done, and tomorrow is another day where Vargas and his men still live.
“Riviera killed two of our men. And now, he gives us a pretty, breakable gift,” the man said.
Me.
The Vargas Cartel put a gun to my head two days ago because of Roman. And tonight, the Vargas Cartel almost took everything away from me because of Roman.