Stealing Beauty (Stolen 1)

AdriánI tried to ignore how good it felt to have Valentina slung over my shoulder like my own personal prize of war. My body buzzed with residual adrenaline from beating Hugo. I’d barely been able to restrain myself when I’d watched them cuddling in the limo, his proprietary hand on her thigh. And when I’d seen him follow her up to the seclusion of the library, my feet had carried me after him as though of their own accord. The sight of Valentina on her knees before the man I loathed had made insane impulse wash away rational thought.

I’d beaten the man who was once my tormentor.

I’d taken the woman who was once the girl I loved.

She wasn’t that girl anymore, but my hand was on her thigh now, my fingers sinking in to mark her. My knuckles stung where they’d split against Hugo’s jaw, but more of his blood coated my hands than my own.

Savage satisfaction raged through my system. Years of impotent fury had only slightly been siphoned off by breaking his doughy face. But carrying his wife off, taking her from him, provided me with a deeper, darker pleasure.

I hadn’t planned to abduct Valentina, but I no longer had a choice in the matter. A small, sane part of my mind told me there might still be a window of opportunity where I could make amends to Hugo and give her back to him.

But that felt as impossible as breathing underwater. Now that I could feel her soft body beneath my cruel hands—touching her for the first time in ten years—I wouldn’t be able to release her.

“Mateo!” I barked out, calling to my friend as I descended the stairs with my prize thoroughly under my control. She’d been effectively subdued by my show of violence, and she didn’t dare struggle as I ripped her away from her beloved husband.

“What the fuck?” Mateo’s dark brows drew together when he caught up to me in the foyer. His sharp features tightened, his black eyes flicking to Valentina’s upturned ass.

My hand firmed on her thigh in a possessive grip, and she whimpered. The sound of her distress stirred strange emotions in my chest. My sadistic streak demanded so much more than the small sound of pain, but the boy within me wanted to comfort her.

I shook my head sharply. I wasn’t that boy anymore, and she wasn’t the girl I’d so foolishly loved.

My hand roved higher, palming her ass. She wriggled against my shoulder, whining her wordless protest.

Yes, that sound definitely satisfied me. I craved it. Her screams for mercy might help take the edge off my keen emotions. They cut at my insides, shredding me.

“We’re leaving,” I bit out, glowering at Mateo for looking at her.

Ever loyal, Mateo simply nodded and fell into step beside me, hurrying through the castle’s front doors as guests gawked at the display we made.

“We’ll take my car,” he said as I picked up the pace, breaking into a jog. His cherry red Porsche gleamed through the darkness, far too conspicuous.

“We’re going to have to ditch it,” I told him.

“I know. You can buy me another one.”

I grunted my agreement. If he helped us get out of here alive, I’d buy my right-hand man whatever he wanted. We just had to get back to California first.

Somehow.

I didn’t have a plan in place that included stealing Valentina away from Hugo, and it wouldn’t be easy to evade my father. Vicente practically ruled Bogotá, and getting out of Colombia with my illicit prize wouldn’t be easy.

My mind whirred as we reached the flashy car, and I maneuvered Valentina into the back seat. Luckily, she was petite enough to fit in the tight space. Despite her small stature, her curves felt like heaven under my hands as I arranged her body and secured the seatbelt around her.

I lingered, taking in the sight of her lush red lips, which matched the silky red dress that revealed more than it concealed.

She’d worn this for Hugo. He provided her with all the pretty things she loved so much, from her expensive gown to her perfect manicure. She’d chosen this cosseted life with him. She’d chosen to be his kept woman, his happy wife.

I jerked away from her, grinding my teeth.

Not anymore. She’s not his anymore.

Her dark chocolate eyes were wide, her pouty lips parted in shock. She hadn’t spoken since I’d grabbed her. She hadn’t fought or begged to be released.

It seemed the gory mess I’d made of her husband had served as warning enough not to cross me.

“We have to go,” Mateo urged, already in the driver’s seat.

I slid into the passenger side and slammed my door. Tires squealed against asphalt, and the Porsche roared down the long driveway.

We’d only been driving for thirty seconds when headlights flashed behind us.