Ruthless Savior - Julia Sykes Page 0,28

empty glass.

I hesitated, not wanting to offend him. But my mouth was on fire, and my eyes would start watering if I didn’t do something to mitigate the pain. “Do you have any milk?”

His heavy brows drew together, and he grabbed my plate, carrying off the last few morsels of sauce-covered egg. Before I could worry that I’d been too obvious in my discomfort, he returned to me with a tall glass of milk.

“Sorry,” he offered when he pressed it into my hand. “I forgot how hot that stuff is.”

I tried and failed to stifle a moan as the cool milk soothed my scorched mouth. In an attempt to gloss over my unspoken distaste for the meal he’d prepared for me, I gestured at the bottle of thick green sauce. “Where did you find this stuff? It’s really, um, intense.” There wasn’t a label, so I’d had no warning that it contained what could only be described as masochist chilies.

His chest expanded, and he seemed to grow a few inches taller. “I make it myself. I have a hard time finding any that’s hot enough for me.”

It took concerted effort to stop myself from rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t entirely contain the small smirk that played around my lips.

I shouldn’t have been remotely surprised that a beast of a man like Raúl would express his machismo even in his culinary preferences. But it was such a silly trait. I wouldn’t have imagined my taciturn captor capable of expressing pride in his ability to endure pain with his food choices. There was something pure and almost childish about it. I could imagine him sitting around a table with his buddies, proving his superior manliness by guzzling gradually hotter and hotter options until he arose victorious; the most manly of all men with the highest pain tolerance for food that he ostensibly enjoyed.

“Is something funny?” he drawled, but he seemed to be suppressing a smile, too.

“I just didn’t picture you as the type to make your own hot sauce.”

He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “I might be a shitty cook, but I’m not entirely useless.”

“I don’t think you’re useless,” I clarified, my tone light and teasing, even though I meant every word. Raúl had proven many times over that he was a very capable man in other ways. “You keep me safe,” I added more softly, the truth leaving my lips without thought.

He stepped closer, entering my personal space. All levity left his expression, his features settling into serious, stony planes. “That’s right. I keep you safe.”

His huge hand settled atop mine on the counter. The warm weight trapped my much smaller hand, but the firm, unyielding pressure pushed a gentle wave of calm through my body.

Light flashed through his intense, forest green stare, and his square jaw took on a commanding tilt. “You’re staying here with me, Marisol. I want to make sure you understand that. You’re not my hostage anymore—the cartel has no hold over you. But I do.” He leaned in slowly, so his body heat pulsed against my skin. “You will not run from me again.”

Instantly, the comforting weight of his hand became confining. I tried to pull free, but he held me fast, his face hardening to granite.

“I will not let you go.” Each word was enunciated with the weight of an oath.

My breath caught in my throat.

This is the price. This is how he expects me to repay the luxuries he’s offered me.

I was the payment. My freedom. My body.

Nausea churned my stomach, and I turned my face away. “You promised you wouldn’t.” The whispered plea was roughened by pain. For a few, blissful hours, I’d believed that he wouldn’t violate me. I’d known this was too good to be true.

But the crumbling sensation in my chest served as a cruel rebuke for my foolish delusion. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to hope for even one second that I’d be completely safe with Raúl. He was a vicious drug lord without morals or empathy. How could I have expected anything different?

His thick fingers curled beneath my chin. I flinched at his touch, but he persisted, cradling my jaw to forcibly redirect my gaze to his. He still handled me as carefully as if I was made of porcelain, but his firm refusal to permit my evasion was enough to coerce my compliance.

“I meant what I said. I will never hurt you like that. I will never rape you.” He growled the fierce declaration, but