Ruthless Savior - Julia Sykes Page 0,75

slowly prowled toward me.

He paused at the nightstand, opening the drawer to retrieve something.

My pussy clenched at the prospect of another devious toy, but my excitement was drowned in dread when he pulled out a syringe.

I tensed, but I resisted the urge to scramble away. I trusted Raúl.

“What’s that?”

“A birth control shot.” His answer was little more than an offhand comment, and he didn’t even bother to meet my eye; he remained focused on the drug. “Sex will feel better for both of us without condoms.”

I jolted to my feet, whirling to face him. “Wait!”

He froze, and his blazing eyes snapped to mine. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want that.” My protest was immediate, my voice high and thin.

A vise tightened around my heart, crushing a piece of hope I didn’t know existed. I didn’t think this dream had survived the ravages of my long, torturous journey, but at some point during my time in Raúl’s protective custody, the spark had flickered back to life.

His heavy brows drew together, casting shadows over his luminous eyes. His jaw worked for several seconds, chewing over unspoken words.

“Surely, you don’t want to get pregnant.” The words were gravelly, barely intelligible.

The vise around my heart squeezed tighter, and the wrenching paid robbed my breath.

“I…I want a family.” My voice broke on the admission. “I’ve always wanted children. After leaving my own family behind…”

The shadows over his eyes deepened, transforming his stony face into a skull-like mask. “You cannot possibly want to have children with me. You can’t have children with me.”

This time, the increased pressure that wrapped around my heart in an iron band was for him. “Oh. I’m sorry, Raúl. I didn’t know. Are you—”

“Why the fuck would I be giving you a birth control shot if I was infertile?” His fists clenched at his sides, and he took a step toward me, syringe in hand.

I scrambled away, and something crumpled inside me. “You’re not… You’re not going to give me a choice?” I choked on the ashes in my mouth.

His massive body rocked back as though I’d punched him in the jaw. His chest heaved, and his arms flexed at his sides. Shadows still hid his eyes from me, and I hated the loss of their warming light on my face.

A snarl rent the air between us, and he flung the syringe to the ground. Without another word, he turned sharply and stalked away from me. He couldn’t slam the ruined bedroom door between us, but a few seconds later, I heard the door to his whiskey and cigars room rattle on its hinges with the force of his entry. The boom of the barrier dropping between us hit me like a physical force, and I flinched at the impact.

I hugged my arms tightly to my chest, as though I could prevent myself from shattering into a million pieces.

The rest of the day passed in long, achingly slow hours. I’d sat in the garden, but my hands did nothing useful. At some point, I’d simply given up and laid down on the grass, yearning for the sun to warm the chill from my bones.

I kept my dry, itching eyes closed—I’d long ago run out of tears.

At first, I’d cried because Raúl had intended to give me the birth control shot without even asking if I wanted it.

You cannot possibly want to have children with me. His flat edict played through my mind over and over again. With his eyes hidden in shadows, I hadn’t been able to read his emotions.

But the longer I considered the conversation, obsessively recalling his body language and intonations, the more my initial assessment shifted.

My sudden, crushing grief over my personal loss had shocked me. The unexpected pain had consumed me as I was forced to face everything I’d lost when I’d so recklessly chosen to be with Gehovany.

When I’d left my family behind, I’d known that the life I’d always imagined for myself was nothing more than a dead dream. I would never have my own too-small house in Comitán that was bursting at the seams with love and laughter. I would never take my children to visit their grandparents. My mother would never teach them how to cook her signature mole. My father would never nag them to work a shift at the florist, guilting them into compliance with a stern admonition about the importance of a hard work ethic.

The thought of having a different vision for my future hadn’t yet crossed my mind. I’d already decided to