It’s just because we need her. She’s a source of valuable information.
That was what he told himself, but it didn’t explain the surge of anger he felt at the thought of something bad happening to her. The drive to protect her was overriding everything else.
He went into her closet, grabbing a few dresses at random, knowing that she liked to dress nice at work. But just as he was putting them into the suitcase, he heard the door of the apartment opening. The sound of a man’s voice reached his ears, and he moved toward the doorway of the bedroom to listen.
“I’m here, but I didn’t see her car outside,” the man said.
“Then stay there and wait for her.” This voice had a slightly grainy quality that suggested it was coming from a phone speaker. Connor recognized it as Leo. “I’m sure she’s hiding something, sneaking around my parents’ house, and I’m not going to let her get away with it.”
“But are you sure you want me to take her to those guys? Won’t the don get mad?”
“You let me worry about that. I can talk him into going along when he sees what a good price she’ll get at auction. All he really cares about is money, anyway.”
Connor forgot how to breathe as the realization hit him. Alessia’s own brother was trying to give her to the traffickers. He wanted to sell her to some rich creep that would…
God, he couldn’t even think about what would happen to her.
Murderous rage surged through him. As the phone call ended, he couldn’t resist coming out of the bedroom and rushing toward the man that was here to take Alessia. He’d never get the chance to touch a hair on her head.
He was so angry that he attacked without drawing his weapon. A gunshot would have made too much noise anyway. The man had been facing away from him and only started to turn around at the sound of footsteps. It was too late.
Connor shoved the man from behind, putting all the force into that he could manage, and the man went flying into the wall with a loud thud. He gasped as he fell to the ground, and Connor was already there, kicking him in the ribs.
The element of surprise worked well in his favor, but the man recovered enough to roll away and send his own foot crashing into the side of Connor’s knee. His leg buckled, but he managed to land on top of the man as he fell. There were a few minutes of rolling around, sending punches into each other’s faces and trying to get the best of each other, but Connor was the stronger of the two, partially because he was fueled by his rage. He overpowered the man, wrapping his hands around his throat and squeezing.
He struggled, scratching at Connor’s arms, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel the pain. He barely saw the man’s face as he died. The image in his mind was of Alessia in the same thin gown that the woman on the computer screen was wearing, her face bruised up and a lifelessness to her eyes that made his heart clench. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d kill every man in the Italian mafia before they’d lay a hand on her.
When the man stopped struggling, Connor moved off of his body, sitting against the wall as he caught his breath. His knee ached, and there was blood on his scratched up arms, but he would be fine.
When he stood, he barely limped, so he wasn’t concerned. He sent a text to Owen, telling him what happened and to send a cleanup crew to the apartment. Then, he returned to the bedroom to get the suitcase and the cat carrier he’d also found in the closet. After coaxing Cleo into the plastic container, he left the apartment, having no regrets about what he did as he closed the door behind him.
* * *
Later that night, Connor was in his garage, working on his 1969 Chevelle. It was lifted up, and he was on his back underneath it, a wrench in his hand. Working on this old car was one of his favorite pastimes, but tonight, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it usually was.
It was because of Alessia. Or rather, because of her reaction when he told her what happened at her apartment. Hearing that her brother had planned to give her to sex traffickers had made her shut down. Her face went blank and her shoulders slumped. She stared at the floor for a long time before finally telling him that she wanted to be alone. She’d gone into his bedroom, which he was insisting that she use while she stayed with him, and stayed in there ever since. She didn’t want to eat dinner or talk.
So, here he was, trying to distract himself from her pain because no matter what he told himself, she was way more than a source of information to him. He wasn’t even sure when it happened, but he’d started to care about her. He hated to see her so upset, but he was trying to give her space.
The garage door suddenly opened, and he rolled out from under the car. Alessia stepped into the garage, looking around through red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying, and the realization felt like a kick in the chest.
“Hey,” he said, standing. “How are you?”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked someone that question, and it sounded odd coming out of his mouth.
“Fine,” she said, her eyes trained on his injured leg. “What about you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“I can’t say the same,” she replied, sighing.
Her arms were wrapped around herself, and he wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms, despite the fact that he was a greasy mess. But he didn’t have a lot of experience in consoling people, and none when it came to helping a woman get past a betrayal as deep as the one she’d gone through today. He didn’t know if she’d welcome his affection right now, especially since he was the one to deliver the devastating news.
“What is this?” she asked, looking at the car.
He grinned as he placed a hand on the hood, the shiny red paint gleamed in the lights overhead and he couldn’t help feeling proud as he answered her. “This is a Chevelle SS. My pride and joy.”
Alessia giggled, and the sound eased him in some way that he didn’t understand. It was as if her feelings were just as important to him as his own, like her pain was his.
