“Are you all right?” I dip my head, checking her eyes.
They’re clear. Not glassy. She’s aware. She’s been in a fight, no doubt. The bruise along her cheek’s blooming purple, and I don’t like seeing it. I hate knowing someone got that close.
I look over my shoulder at Sylveria. “Where’s the guy who hurt her?”
“We have him,” she says, calmly. “We’ll figure out who he is.”
Good. He needs to bleed. “I want him.”
“No.” Sylveria watches Ella try to escape the blanket.
Her one word scrapes my skin. “Yes.”
Sylveria lifts her chin with that same smug confidence she wears like perfume. “All right, you can have him. But I’m keeping Ella.”
Ella continues struggling to get out of the blanket. “Nobody is keeping me.”
“Wrong, princess.” I duck my head and lift her as gently as I can over my shoulder. She’s light, and while the doctor’s notes said she’s mostly okay, I can feel how tense her muscles are under the hospital gown and blanket. She’s putting on a brave face, but her body’s not convinced. I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m also not giving her a vote.
“Hey,” she starts, trying to worm her arms free from the wrap.
“Behave yourself.” I wrap one arm over her legs and turn toward the door. She keeps squirming, but it’s half-assed, more out of protest than real escape. She knows I’m not letting go.
Sylveria’s already reaching into her purse again, slow and theatrical. That same polished calm.
“You reach for that gun,” I say coldly, “I’m going to make you eat it.”
She pauses, hand still, mouth pressed into a line. We lock gazes. She steps to the side, just enough. “I am quite the witness, Justice Beathach,” she says. “If Ella ends up dead, I’ll make sure every newspaper and authority in the world knows it.”
“She’s not going to end up dead. Not today, anyway.” I shift Ella’s weight slightly, tightening my hold on the wriggling bundle over my shoulder. She’s still not yelling.She’s not pleading. She’s saving her breath for something that actually matters.
That’s another thing I like about her.
God, she’s irritating.
I stride past Sylveria and nod to my men at the door. Sylveria’s guards are still unconscious in two separate heaps. We hit the hallway, then the stairwell, all the way down to the car waiting outside.
Ella lets loose with a spew of truly impressive language—creative, vicious, and borderline poetic in how violently she strings the words together.
I’ve heard a lot of swearing in my life. This is new. I’m impressed. I fight the urge to smack her ass just to interrupt her, but I don’t know how badly she’s hurt, and the last thing I want is to cause more damage. She might be a thorn in my side, but I don’t want her bleeding.
We reach the car. I flip her around and lower her into the back seat, following close behind. She immediately explodes into motion, struggling like hell, her hair flying in every direction.
I grab a strand as it whips across my face and shut the door just as my driver peels away. “Your hair is soft,” I murmur.
She freezes for a beat. “You are a fucking asshole. Get me out of this stupid blanket.”
Amusement slips inside me. It’s unwelcome, but there it is, cutting under my skin like adrenaline. I don’t get intrigued often. I definitely don’t get amused when someone’s this pissed at me. But with her? It’s different. Her fury doesn’t push me away. It pulls something to the surface, and somehow, her words don’t harm me. In fact, I feel better than ever.
Yeah, I need to fuck her out of my system. Once she feels better.
She flails again, and I’ve had enough.
I pluck her up and set her on my lap, locking her in with one arm. “Would you please behave yourself?”
“Behave myself?” she spits. “You just kidnapped me!”
“I saved you from your evil stepmother.”
