Theirs to Protect - Julia Sykes Page 0,28

weapon. He held the Glock in both hands, pointed at the floor. The lethal readiness in the lines of his body let me know that he was prepared to act as soon as Rafael cracked open the door.

I banged my fist against the wood, drawing a curse from Rafael. I didn’t let up. I kept hammering until the drunk man roared in frustration and flung open the door.

Marco moved in immediately, shoving Rafael back and lifting his gun. “Quiet,” he growled as he stalked into the apartment.

I followed on his heels, closing the door behind us. Rafael stood in the center of his dirty studio apartment, his raised hands shaking slightly. I nearly gagged on the stench of unwashed clothes and stale cigarette smoke. The only inch of the apartment clear of filth was a corner of a tiny dining table, where half a dozen pills had spilled out of an orange plastic bottle. A half-empty handle of Jack Daniel’s sat beside them, the cap missing.

No wonder Rafael sounded like he was fucked up. I assessed him more closely. In addition to his shaking hands, his brown eyes were bloodshot, and his tanned cheeks had gone pale. His ratty white t-shirt was stained with a blotch of red low on his abdomen, toward his right hip. Marco took a step forward, and he shrank back, his eyes wide and wild. He obviously recognized the man who’d stabbed him; the reason he was bleeding through his bandages.

“You shouldn’t mix alcohol and painkillers,” I admonished, my voice shockingly soft and steady in my own ears. If that tone had come from anyone else, I would’ve found it unnerving. As it was, Marco’s jaw went slack for half a second before his cold mask froze once again.

His gaze remained trained on Rafael, along with his gun. It seemed he was going to allow me to do the talking, after all.

Rafael’s eyes swung toward me, squinting as though struggling to focus.

“You look pale,” I remarked, gesturing at the rickety wooden chair that lay on its side by the dirty table. “Sit down, and we’ll talk.”

Marco took another step toward him, and Rafael stumbled back. He lost his balance and cried out when he hit the dusty floor. A fresh blotch of bright red soaked through his shirt.

I stepped around him, my expression bland. Not cold and murderous like Marco’s; my face was relaxed into bored, vaguely polite lines. My volatile emotions had receded along with most of my humanity. It was far easier to shut everything out in order to do what was necessary to protect my family.

I picked up the chair, righting it and gesturing for Rafael to sit. When he didn’t move right away, Marco leaned down and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him into place.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he babbled. “I won’t bother you ever again. I won’t come near you.”

I allowed his panicked words to slide over my consciousness, listening for anything that might be useful while tuning out his fear. Marco kept the gun aimed between his eyes, but I would need to get in closer if I had to persuade him to answer my questions. I needed something to bind him in place while I convinced him to talk.

My eyes skipped over the filthy clothes, rejecting the idea of rummaging through them for a tie. I spotted a dented, aged toaster on the tiny kitchen counter. I grabbed it and ripped the plug out of the wall. Wrapping the cord around my fist, I tore the wires free from the appliance with a vicious jerk of my arms.

Rafael was still babbling when I returned to him. The threat of Marco’s gun rendered him immobile. He didn’t fight me when I grabbed his hands and secured them behind the chair, using the cord to tie an expert knot that would hold him in place.

Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, I moved to stand before him. Marco shifted to one side, giving me space to work. I felt his dark eyes on me, assessing and cautious. I ignored his intense stare and focused on my enemy.

I moved with a suddenness that would’ve shocked me if I’d been in my right mind. My hand locked over his mouth, smothering his pleas. The other fisted his short black hair, yanking his head back and utterly immobilizing him.

“Don’t scream,” I warned, calm and cool. “Answer our questions, and this doesn’t have to hurt.”

His bloodshot eyes glistened with a sheen of tears, and his