Ruthless Savior - Julia Sykes Page 0,12

want to take the time to go down to my small bedroom in the staff quarters on the ground floor. Walking out onto the street with blood on my clothes wasn’t a good idea, and I would have to retrieve a clean dress from my room if I didn’t want to risk it. But delaying my departure might be riskier. The seconds ticked by far too quickly, matching the pace of my rapidly beating heart.

Raúl probably had a change of clothes in this suite, but there was no way anything that fit his massive frame would remotely suit me. Wandering around in an oversized, man’s shirt would attract unwelcome scrutiny, too.

My attention turned to my hair, which was still loosely pulled back into a bun. The thick, black waves didn’t betray the same red stain that marked my collar, but my hair appeared unnaturally matted around the cut.

I couldn’t wash it. Remaining upright while the doctor had prodded at the wound had been nearly impossible. I couldn’t risk irritating the injury.

Forcing my shaking hands to steady, I carefully tugged free the pins that held my bun in place. It was already in disarray from my fight with Daniel, so letting my hair down tamed the wildness of my appearance somewhat. I carefully shifted a mass of glossy locks to one side, parting it farther to the left than usual. The extra weight over my cut pressed a dull ache into my skull, but I gritted my teeth and released the pain on a soft hiss.

I checked my reflection in the mirror again. With my hair rearranged, the matted, bloody spot was covered, and my stained collar was obscured. I’d have to be careful not to flip my hair over my shoulder by force of habit, but the throbbing in my head would serve as a constant, cruel reminder not to move more than absolutely necessary.

Fixing my reflection with a final determined stare, I straightened my shoulders and gathered my courage.

My safety wasn’t guaranteed outside this drug lord’s fortress, but I was no longer safe within these walls, either. Raúl had been the only person who’d kept me safe, and now, I’d destroyed any hope of his protection.

My eyes burned, and I swallowed down the lump in my throat. This reckless flight to freedom had seemed righteous only an hour ago. I’d risked everything for my own freedom, but it was the thought that I was saving Carmen that had fortified me.

Now, I was alone again. All I’d done was endanger her further, and I was back where I’d been all those awful months ago: running for my life.

I blinked rapidly to clear the sting from my eyes. Tears dampened my lashes, but I willed them to subside before they could spill down my cheeks.

If I was going to make it out there on my own, I needed money. Even though I knew that I couldn’t possibly make my situation with the cartel more dire, dread tugged at my gut when I realized the quickest solution.

I had to steal from Raúl.

I resolutely ignored the sinking sensation in my stomach. Taking one of his valuable possessions was a far smaller crime than endangering his life by colluding with Daniel. What was he going to do when he realized I’d stolen from him? Kill me? If he caught me, the penalty for stealing would pale in comparison to the punishment he would mete out for my betrayal.

Taking a deep breath to center myself, I made my way into his bedroom, searching for an item that was valuable enough to secure the funds I needed, but small enough to slip into my dress pocket. I didn’t even have a bag or purse. I’d flee with nothing but the clothes on my back and whatever I could steal from Raúl.

The bedroom was spotless and soulless. This was little more than Raúl’s private hotel room; a place where he slept when he needed to stay close to Stefano. It wasn’t his home.

Despite the bland, impersonal nature of the steel gray bedding and the indistinct abstract art in subdued shades of blue, I knew Raúl must keep a few personal possessions here.

I crossed to the ebony chest of drawers, hoping to find something of value. Wrenching open the drawers one after another, I found nothing but men’s clothing—basics that were no doubt expensive, but not the sort of thing I could pawn. No one was going to hand over a pocketful of cash for a drug lord’s