Rosa

Chapter 60

With darkness enveloping them, his taunt echoed across her psyche.

Got you.

Got you.

Got you.

Even in the shadows, Rosa didn't need to see the bastard to know his voice by heart. The low, husky timbre of it sent shivers down her spine. Alarm pounded alongside every pulse. A voice within urged Rosa to get the hell away. Not because she was frightened of him per se. But because she was terrified of how readily he always managed to turn her world upside down.

How badly would he wreck her this time?

Yet, in the here and now, tucked against his larger frame, Rosa continued grasping for reasons to stay. He was still alive. Not dead. Thank fuck. Perhaps, she shouldn't run. A part of her wished to linger and hear him out. At the very least, she needed to check if he'd downed any questionable drinks in the past hour.

Reason kept tumbling out the window. Rosa was growing lightheaded and breathless. His proximity was fucking with her ability to think clearly. The closet seemed too small and tight for two people. Most of the empty space was being swallowed by his height and bulk, pressing them even closer together. Rosa didn't mind, though. She felt ashamed for craving his touch so much. Wearing a face of indifference, Rosa could lie to the world, but she couldn't deceive herself. She'd fucking missed him.

It was laughably tragic. Emotion tended to be a troublesome, fickle thing, twining her to him when she ought to sever the thread. Both of her feet refused to run. This reluctance rendered Rosa useless in these addictive seconds at his side. Her brow furrowed with disapproval. She needed to snap out of it. Summoning every last shred of resolve, Rosa refused to let him get under her skin. The bastard didn't deserve grace or benevolence.

The only thing he deserved, she determined bitterly, was a swift kick to the balls for snatching her into the dark like a goddamn villain.

Riding on this surge of adrenaline, Rosa attempted to ram her elbow into his crotch. She moved swiftly and surely, but he blocked her with ease. Putain. Rosa scowled in annoyance. He'd always held the upper hand when they were in close combat. Shifting tactics, she made a hard lunge for the door. Between fight and flight, escape appeared to be the better option. Using every muscle in her body, Rosa strained to break away. His grip was iron. Again, he held her back as though she was the bird and him—a steel cage.

Why was the bastard so goddamn strong?

His fingers tightened around her neck, silently warning her to behave. She could feel the fresh blood on his hand. Still fresh. Warm and wet. It was going to stain her skin. His muscles felt taut and coiled against her body. He was almost shaking with tension, and his breaths sounded a bit more pained than usual.

Was the bastard hurt again—or had he been playing with someone else's blood?

She couldn't tell. Rosa simply prayed that the blood didn't belong to him.

Dieu.

What if the ricin was already in his system?

If so, his chances for survival weren't high. The bastard was still in recovery from her bullet for fuck's sake. His body couldn't take more abuse. Maybe karma was catching up at last. Much like her, he'd lived like there was no tomorrow and sinned enough to deserve a thousand deaths. Rosa wondered how many times fate would continue to let them outrun the reaper.

Was his luck about to end today?

Immediately, the possibility of losing him for good shattered her deepest resentments. Guilt crept through the cracks, twisting anger into anguish. With her sight obscured by the shadows, her other senses spiked with awareness, noticing every little connection between them. Especially touch. There was something in the way that he clung to her. Desperate. Like he'd never let go now that she was caught. Yet gentle. Like he couldn't bear to hurt her. This paradox of cradling her while caging her was quite telling. Only he would embrace her with such intensity. It illuminated the faceless shadow of his identity, filling the darkness with little doubt in her mind.