Her voice held a tremor. She was in pain, her entire body wound so tightly that I felt like if I breathed wrong or blinked too many times, she’d unfurl and put a hole through my chest.
She stepped over the threshold, rifle still aimed at me.
Would she really do it?
After everything?
“Drop it.” Santino pressed his gun to the side of her head. Helena didn’t so much as flinch. I’d been so focused on her that I hadn’t noticed his intentions.
She cracked an insidious grin and merely steadied her grip.
“Don’t shoot,” I said, my words meant for Santino, but I also hoped Helena would heed the advice.
“Si, don’t ask me that. This bitch is—”
“Santino!”
If he’d concluded that sentence, bad things would happen that neither of us could take back.
She cocked her head sideways, watching me, focused on me as though Santino wasn’t even in the room.
“Ever since you, my life has derailed. Somehow, I’ve become the target. And I’m trying to understand why.”
“You chose to pursue me. Or did you forget? Everything that came after had nothing to do with me.”
She stepped closer. “Bullshit! Who are you really?”
Santino’s hand twitched, and I signaled him to back off, but he didn’t give up. I had to figure out how to de-escalate before we all wound up dead.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. Her eyes narrowed into threatening slits. “I don’t remember who I am. Where I came from. I know nothing of my life except what I’ve livedfor the last sixteen years.” I dared to inch toward her, gauging her reaction. But she gave me nothing. “If something connects us somehow, we can figure it out…together. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”
Helena shook her head, tears filling her eyes and sliding down her face. I didn’t think she was capable of looking so frail and vulnerable. I felt an overwhelming urge to draw her into my arms and offer comfort.
I was closer now, hand extended toward her, and she simply watched, making no effort to stop or kill me. I’d consider that a win.
“Fuck,” she cussed, her voice barely above a whisper as her shoulders seemed to deflate, and she lowered her weapon, bowing her head. My fingers feathered the back of her arm, trailing down over the handle of the shotgun, but before I could get a grip on it, she slipped out of my grasp and pushed the handle into Santino’s face. She moved so fast and precisely that neither of us had a reaction until it was too late, and my friend lay on the floor unconscious, a stream of blood dripping from his nose.
Helena looked at me and shrugged as she shoved the weapon into my chest for me to hold and shuffled forward into the suite.
I closed and latched the door, placing the gun on a nearby counter before kneeling and assessing Santino, flipping him onto his side. Besides a concussion and possibly a broken nose, I was sure he’d be all right.
“Helena, what was all that for?”
She was hugging her body, shoulders trembling as she was turned away from me, facing out the window.
It was a long while before she said anything. I didn’t press, letting her cry silently. Somehow, I knew that whatever had happened had devastated her. She was…grieving.
When I touched her shoulder, she shuddered and turned around, and I readied myself for the expletives I knew would follow. But they never came. Instead, this woman, all steel and ice on the outside, threw herself into me, arms circling my torso as she sobbed uncontrollably against my chest. My hands returned the gesture, one against her back, the other in her hair,
“You can tell me what happened or just let it out.”
A chill trailed down my spine at her distraught state. Within the last few days, Helena had been slapped around, sexually assaulted, and damn near murdered. Yet she never let it break her, never betrayed any emotions of trauma. Yet here she was, coming apart in my arms.
Reaching down, I scooped her up and carried her into the ensuite, locking the door behind us. Santino would come to in a rage, and as much as I loved my brother, intense feelings of protection surged in my chest for the fragile woman in my arms. Her cries vibrated against my skin, and I hugged her tighter, silently letting her know I was there.
“I’m going to put you down for a second, okay? I just need my hand.” While she didn’t acknowledge my words with a response, she braced herself for having to bear weight on her shaky legs.
The spray of hot water drowned out her quiet sobs.
