"I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have come here." I willed my feet to move, to head toward the door. I'd find a way to get to somewhere. Anywhere.
"Where do you think you're going, Sierra? You have no money, no identification, and no phone. Let alone the fact you're covered in a dead man's blood." As he turned to face me, he rubbed his jaw, closing his eyes briefly.
"I don't know. Okay? I wasn't thinking."
"What. Were. You. Doing. There?"
I swallowed at least three times. "Talking to an informant."
"An informant. If you're not a cop, then that makes you a reporter." He didn't need me to answer, a smile curling on his lip. "Goddamn it."
"I know what it sounds like. I thought I'd be safe."
"You thought wrong," he snapped, pacing the room for a full minute. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to get into a warm bath. I'll get you something to sleep in. You'll get a good night of rest then we are going to talk in the morning."
"No, I can't." I held out my hand, taking two steps backward. I couldn't tell him the rest. I wasn't certain I could tell anyone what the bastard did to the poor kid. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one, maybe. The blood. The gore. The screams.
"I'm not going to touch you, Sierra, but I will protect you until we can figure this out. That's the single promise I'm going to make to you. I hope you understand me."
The room was suddenly spinning, my entire world plummeting straight into hell. Images rushed into my mind: the killer's face as he licked blood off the knife, his wild eyes as he studied my reaction, and the man's body writhing in the throes of death. Lights. Suffocation. I couldn't breathe.
As I slumped forward, the blackness reached out with ugly claws, dragging me into a cataclysm of fire and damnation.
"There's nowhere you can run from me. I will be coming for you..." I'd never felt such warmth enveloping my body, tickling my senses. I felt cocooned, so comfortable. My eyelids felt heavy, every muscle aching.
"I know who you are, Sierra Fox. I know where you live. I know who all your friends are. And I know your weaknesses. There isn't a place on this earth you can run to where I won't find you and when I do, I'll never let you go."
"No!" I jerked up, gasping for air.
"Whoa. Take it easy." The husky voice was velvety smooth, slipping over me like a warm blanket as strong hands held me down.
I blinked several times in an effort to focus, still struggling to breathe as the realization of where I was finally settled in. "Lorenzo." I realized that I was in a bathtub full of bubbles, the warmth surrounding me from the water. He was crouched over the tub, a washcloth in one hand. He'd rolled up his sleeves, his muscular arms creating a beautiful memory instead of a wretched one. I concentrated on the open portion of his shirt, taking shallow breaths as I envisioned the time we'd spent together.
"You fainted but you're going to be all right. You have a cut on your hand, but I don't think you need stitches." He gave me a stern look before reaching into the water and lifting my arm. As he began to scrub, sliding the terrycloth up and down in a methodical manner, I realized this wasn't the kind of behavior I could ever imagine.
Not from a powerful leader.
Not from a man who'd been purported to kill dozens.
Not from the man who'd required full submission.
I shivered, not from any chill but from the realization that I was still as insanely attracted to him as I'd been before. I was embarrassed that my pussy was quivering as much as my heart was racing. I couldn't take my eyes off him as he carefully washed every inch of my arm, dipping the cloth into the water several times. The pink tinge of the bubbles was a clear reminder of the horrors I'd experienced.
He shifted closer, rubbing the cloth down my neck, his hand disappearing into the water. As it brushed across my nipple, a moan slipped past my lips. Everything about him was far too enticing, but I'd done my research the day I'd seen his picture in the newspaper. Moving to Chicago had been the last objective in my mind given this was my father's territory, but the opportunity to work with the Tribune had been far too lucrative to resist.
That's when I'd learned who Lorenzo truly was, his identity hitting me like a ton of bricks. I'd bedded a mobster, learning to surrender in a way I never had before. Since learning about the dangerous man he was, I'd been leery of my decisions regarding men, diving into my professional life.
Investigative reporting had consumed me, my natural tendency to track down vicious criminals placing me in several precarious positions during the last two years.
But none was so damning as the crime wave plaguing the city on an entirely different level than what the Francesco mob handled. The mafia family was pristine in their actions, sophisticated in their methods. While they were brutal in every manner, they chose their victims based on necessity instead of lording their power.
Usually.
I'd read every story and every report, knowing by instinct that so many were glorified bullshit. What reporter didn't want to get close to the supremacy that the Francesco regime offered? I'd shied away on purpose, even though my boss had proposed on several occasions that I delve into various aspects of the family and their hold on Chicago.
This was something else entirely.
He slid his hand lower, his eyes raking over me provocatively. I could see the same kind of burning hunger in him as I had before, the electricity we'd shared brimming once again. I was terrified that I'd fall into his web, but this was my doing. I had to figure a way out. Was there any such thing?
His breathing remained heavy as he moved the cloth to my other breast, his head dropping until his lips were dangerously close to mine. I wanted to reach out, but I knew better. I had to rid myself of everything involving this man. I was finally somewhat clearheaded, realizing I'd made two significant mistakes tonight.
"I can do it," I said quietly.
He froze for a few seconds then jerked to a standing position, as if angry that I'd pushed him away. Huffing, he moved toward the door, not bothering to turn around when he spoke. "That's fine, Sierra. All I have is a tee shirt and sweatpants for you to wear. I'm certain you'll find those comfortable. I'll have the clothes you came in washed. The bedroom is just outside this door. However, hear me. We will talk in the morning and Sierra, no more bullshit. You're going to tell me everything. I'm not the kind of man to take this lightly."
"You're threatening me?"
"You obviously know who I am by now, so you realize the kind of man I am. Don't fuck with me. You came to me because you have no other choice but to do so."
His words made me shiver all over again.
He closed the door with a hard thud, the sound reverberating in my ears. I swallowed hard, sinking further into the water before reaching for the drain plug. I needed to wash away every inch of dirt and grime, including Lorenzo's touch.
Too bad the memories continued to flood into my mind.
"Will I ever see you again?" I asked, knowing the answer.