Raúl’s intense gaze roved over my face, lingering on my bloodstained cheek. His jaw ticked, and his scar drew deeper as his lips peeled back from his flashing white teeth. “I’ll have him subdued within an hour,” he swore in a deep, dark rumble. “But I make no promises about how quickly I’ll kill him.”
The protest that had teased at the tip of my tongue withered and died. The beast that cradled me in his corded arms didn’t need my plea to save himself from Arturo’s ambush. As I stared up into his burning eyes, I understood with absolute clarity that Arturo was the one who should be afraid.
I’d been sure that Raúl could take care of himself. I’d told myself over and over that he wouldn’t be killed during Daniel’s coup.
It was clearer to me than ever that Raúl was a far more terrifying monster than the others. Even though he held me protectively now, I had to escape before he learned that I was just as much to blame for Carmen’s abduction as Daniel.
Daniel had been right; if I wasn’t gone by sunset, I wouldn’t survive.
Chapter 4
Marisol
Pain lanced through my skull as the doctor carefully examined my head wound, but it wasn’t the pain that made me dizzy. My heart raced as though I’d been running for miles rather than sitting stiffly on the edge of the plush couch in Raúl’s private suite. He’d brought me up to the rooms where he stayed when he slept in Stefano’s high rise, promising me that no one could get to me here. He’d sworn that I would be safe, and he’d left me in the care of his boss’s private physician.
I wasn’t safe. I had to run, but I needed the doctor to leave me alone before I could make a break for it. No one could suspect that my distress had anything to do with my complicity in the attempted coup.
How long has Raúl been gone? Stefano had ordered him to kill Arturo within an hour. Surely, at least a quarter of my precious time to escape had already passed while the doctor poked and prodded my aching head.
Unless Raúl chose to take his time punishing Arturo. I make no promises about how quickly I’ll kill him.
The memory of his chilling declaration sent a shiver racing down my spine, and my fingers trembled. I flexed and released them, as though that small movement would be enough to purge the anxiety that fizzed through my veins. My muscles twitched and danced beneath the surface of my skin, desperate to run. Every minute that passed was one minute closer to Raúl finding out the truth. One minute closer to his return.
One minute closer to my violent death.
“I feel okay,” I promised shakily, edging away from the doctor’s hands. “I just need to get cleaned up.”
Blood had started to dry on my cheek, clotting into a gory, sticky mask. I had to scrub it off before I fled. It would be dangerous enough to navigate the streets of an unfamiliar city. As a woman traveling alone, I already looked like easy prey. Looking like wounded prey wasn’t an option.
The doctor drew away, unconcerned with insisting on further examination. The middle-aged man’s eyes hadn’t met mine for more than a few, perfunctory seconds throughout his assessment, and his thick, dark-rimmed glasses served as a barrier between us. I supposed any doctor who chose to work for a drug lord didn’t care much for ethics or a soothing bedside manner.
“You’ll live.” He picked up his medical bag, leaving me without so much as a backward glance or word of comfort.
I tucked my trembling hands beneath my thighs, restraining myself from jumping into action until I was sure he’d left the suite. As soon as I heard the door close behind him, I sprang to my feet and bolted toward the bathroom. I stifled a gasp when I caught sight of my face in the mirror. It wasn’t the first time I’d been bloodied, but I hadn’t seen myself like this in a while. Not since Raúl had started watching over me.
I shook the thought of his verdant green eyes from my mind, but I was instantly forced to brace my hands against the marble sink to stave off a wave of dizziness. Gritting my teeth, I turned on the tap, barely waiting for the water to warm before I began the gruesome process of washing my face. The stark white porcelain sink was bathed in red, then pink, then clear water.
I studied myself in the mirror more closely, now that I’d cleansed the blood from my cheek. A dark crimson trail had dripped down the side of my neck, marking the collar of the drab gray dress that served as my maid’s uniform. My teeth worried at my lower lip as I considered the stain, indecision stalling me out.