“Where are the snacks?” he asks.
I swallow. “Didn’t want any.”
Lie.
He calls me out on it. “Bullshit. Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing.” I insist.
My head dips left and down involuntarily.Please don’t push. Please?—
But he does.
“Mara.”
My throat burns. My legs curl up on instinct, pulled close, as if making myself smaller will make me invisible.
“We’re not leaving until you talk.”
I just want to get away.
“He grabbed—” I pause, breathing in. “He grabbed me. The guy inside. The cashi—” Something catches in my throat. “Thecashier. I was paying, and he touched me. Then he—he slapped my….ass. I pushed him away.”
The truth cracks through in small chunks. My stomach hurts, everything blurry through the tears that have welled up in my eyes.
I can’t do this.
“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”
I wait for the annoyance, the indifference even. Instead, Nicolo opens the door and starts to get out. And for the first time since the kidnapping, I don’t feel ashamed of how terrified I am.
I just feel…safe.
Nicolo
Grabbing the machete from underneath the seat, I open the car door.
“Nicolo, don’t?—”
Too late. I walk through the sliding doors, past the automatic chime and into the sterile white light. He’s behind the counter, scrolling on his phone like he didn’t just put hisfilthyhands on her.
He looks up, then back down.
“You just put your hands on what’s under my protection.” I step closer, voice impassive. Dead. “And men who touch what’s mine don’t get to keep their hands.” I unsheathe my blade. “You’ve got about three seconds to pray.”
“What the fu?—”
The machete slices through his wrist before the sentence is finished. His scream pierces the cold air. Blood sprays the counter, coating the candy display. He stumbles back, clutching the stump, shaking.
I grab him by the hair, yank his head forward, and slice—clean, fast, brutal. He gurgles as I cut deep across his tongue, severing it.
“Every time you think of touching any woman who doesn’t want to be touched by you, you will remember how I carved your tongue out and how instead of two hands, you have one.”
He collapses behind the counter, writhing, choking on blood. I turn and wipe the blade clean on a roll of paper towels by the register, spotting some snacks to the side. The ones Mara probably wanted to buy. I snap a picture of them and send them to Beast, telling him to get them on the plane before we get there, and then walk out.
Back in the car, Mara is pale. Eyes wide. Legs pulled up into her chest.
I get in beside her, calm as death. “No one touches what’s under my protection.”
