Damaged for Him Read online

  “Men. Four men.” His voice was strangled, and I struggled to hear him over the alarm.

  So that was five against one, counting the guy in the headlock. The numbers weren’t in my favor, but I wasn’t going to let that hold me back. Catalina was practically within touching distance, and I would die before I lost her again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After she’d stabbed Torres in the neck, Kimmie stared down at her own hands in horror and then burst into tears.

  The room had fallen into a momentary shocked silence, but then the black guy on the other side of the table yelled, “Holy fuck!” and jumped to his feet, pushing Grace off his lap as he did so.

  I twisted my head, catching Deanna’s eye. I gave her the nod. It might not have happened exactly as we planned, but now was our chance.

  She launched herself at the dining table, grabbing one of the champagne glasses. She brought the flute of the glass down onto the table, smashing it so she was left with a lethal dagger of glass in her hand. With a primal scream of fury, she lunged for the man in glasses.

  Just as we’d planned, all the men were in various stages of undress—exposed and vulnerable. The room erupted into chaos. Deanna attacked the spectacle guy with the shard of glass, stabbing him over and over, her eyes wild.

  Grace had crawled under the table, hiding with her arms wrapped around her legs. Kimmie was in shock, staring at her hands as though she couldn’t believe they belonged to her.

  The alarm continued to wail. Had Kimmie somehow set it off when she’d stabbed Torres? I couldn’t see how that was possible, but right now it was the only explanation I had.

  I focused my attention on Torres. He was still alive, his hand pressed to the stab wound in his throat, trying to stem the spurt of blood. His mouth opened and closed as though he was trying to say something but couldn’t speak. I turned back to the table and scoured it for something else I could use as a weapon.

  I needed to end this.

  I reached for a different knife, but as I did so, the dining room door slammed open and Coyle stood in the doorway, his gun pointed directly at me.

  “Freeze, bitch,” he spat.

  Bartow appeared beside him, stepping into the room. “Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened in here?” He took another couple of steps in, as though he was going to try to help Torres, but then a spurt of blood hit him, and he stopped, his face paling.

  Coyle jerked his chin. “Go and see what set off the alarm. It came from the pool.”

  Bartow nodded, apparently relieved to have an option to avoid the carnage, and turned and ran from the room.

  My gaze darted between Coyle with the gun aimed at me, and Torres, who was still alive. I remembered my promise to myself. I’d said I would put an end to Torres even if it meant giving up my own life. He wouldn’t hurt any more innocent girls.

  The black guy was on his feet now, a gun in his hand. He waved the weapon wildly, unsure, I guessed, who he was even supposed to be shooting. He finally set his sights on Deanna, who was now covered in the spectacled guy’s blood. The other man was clearly dead.

  “Fuck, bitch!” he cried, and he squeezed the trigger.

  “No!” I screamed as the bullet hit Deanna directly in the chest and she fell backward onto the floor. The man who’d shot her stared in horror, and the gun dropped from his hand.

  “Don’t you fucking move,” Coyle yelled at me from the doorway.

  I wasn’t going to stop now. I grabbed the knife and lunged for Torres.

  “No!” Kimmie screamed at me, and she threw herself against me, hitting me squarely on the back, covering my body with hers.

  A second gunshot cracked through the room, and I felt Kimmie jerk against me, hot wetness hitting the back of my neck. Her body went limp and she fell to the floor. It only took one glimpse of her to know she was dead. The bullet had hit her in the back of her neck and burst from the front of her throat.

  The entire time, meathead had sat pinned in his chair, rooted to the spot with horror. He might have looked tough, but he didn’t have the balls to act.

  This was all going horribly wrong. I searched for Grace. She was still hiding under the table, her hands over her head as though she could pretend she was somewhere else.

  I looked over at Deanna and let out a sob, covering my mouth with my hand. Sightlessly, she stared up at the ceiling, beside the man she had killed.

  “No, no, no, no.”

  Torres was still alive. All of this was going to be for nothing. Then I saw Coyle turn to his right, something catching his attention.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded of someone in the corridor—someone who was out of my line of sight.

  “Drop the gun,” a familiar voice commanded.

  I didn’t believe what I was hearing, not trusting my own instincts.

  “Drop the gun,” the same voice said again, “or I’ll shoot him in the head.”

  Angelo? Could it really be him?

  I heard a gunshot, and Coyle folded to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A bloom of red spread across the front of his shirt.

  There was a second gunshot, and I just caught sight of Bartow as he crumpled on top of his colleague.

  Realizing I had a distraction, I grabbed the knife and spun back around. I would have liked to cut off Torres’s cock, the way he was sprawled out, his pants open, his dick at half-mast, but I didn’t have time for that.

  He was still conscious, but unable to speak due to the blood in his throat. But I saw the understanding in his eyes as his gaze flicked between my face and the knife. He tried to get to his feet, but he’d lost too much blood.

  “Fuck you, Elliot Torres,” I spat.

  I barely felt anything as I plunged the knife deep into his left eye, penetrating his sick, twisted brain beyond. His body jerked and shuddered, and then fell still. I released my hold on the knife and staggered back.

  I caught the eye of the black guy who’d killed Deanna. His gaze flicked from me to the gun he’d dropped, and he darted forward to snatch it back up. There was no possibility of me getting there first, and I braced myself, expecting to be shot at any moment. But instead, another gunshot sounded from the doorway, and the man fell forward, landing on top of his weapon but no longer able to use it.

  I gasped and turned to see who’d fired the shot that had saved me.

  “Catalina?” Angelo stepped into the room.

  I stared at him, unable to believe what I was seeing. I’d forgotten how beautiful he was. He seemed to stand out among the carnage. My avenging angel, with his intense, dark eyes and sharp cheekbones.

  “Angelo?”

  The remaining man—the meathead—must have decided to cut his losses, as he ran from the room, jumping over the bodies of Coyle and Bartow as he went. He obviously didn’t want to get tied to all the deaths either. A part of me wished he’d died too, but I realized I didn’t have any more fight left in me. He didn’t deserve to live, not when Deanna and Kimmie had both died, but there had already been too much death. I wasn’t going to risk anyone else’s lives by going after him.

  “Catalina. Thank fuck you’re okay.” Angelo stepped toward me, and I ran over to him, throwing myself into his arms. He wrapped them tight around me, kissing the top of my head.

  “We have to get out of here. Someone will have reported all the gunshots and the alarm going off.”

  I nodded. “Wait one second.” I crouched down and put a hand out to Grace. “Come on. We’re leaving.” Grace looked to Deanna and then back to me and burst into tears. But there was nothing more we could do for the other girls now.

  With Angelo’s hand in one of mine, and Grace’s in the other, we ran out of the room and toward the back of the house.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  My mind was reeling from the scene I’d walked in on.

  I wished I could stop and smooth Catalina’s bloodied hair away from her face, and kiss her and hold her, and tell her how much I’d m
issed her, but there wasn’t time for all of that now. I wasn’t going to rescue her only for us all to end up locked behind bars for multiple homicide.

  We left the property the same way I’d gotten in—through the pool area. I didn’t miss Catalina’s wide-eyed glance toward the pool, or the way she stayed as far away from it as possible as we ran past.

  Together, we all climbed through the broken glass pane. I caught up Catalina’s hand and dragged her across the back yard. She had hold of a young blonde girl’s hand and was pulling her along behind her. We reached the back wall where I’d climbed over, using the tree’s overhanging branches as cover.

  Both Catalina and I helped the blonde girl over, and then I gave Catalina a boost and followed her. I was expecting someone to start shooting at us, or for the sound of police sirens to cut through the air, but none did.

  Jumping down onto the sidewalk, I jerked my head to where the car was parked farther down the street.

  “This way.”

  Neither of the women gave me an argument, and we hurried toward the car, not quite running so we didn’t draw unwanted attention but moving much faster than a walk. We reached the car, and I threw open the doors, the blonde climbing in the back, while Catalina took the passenger seat.

  I ran around to the other side of the vehicle and climbed behind the wheel. I hadn’t been planning on going back to the motel, but then I hadn’t planned on us having someone else with us either. I couldn’t just drive with no destination when we had a complete stranger in the car.

  I’d chosen the closest motel, so we didn’t have far to go. I pulled up into the lot, checked the rear-view mirror to make sure no one had followed us, and then climbed out. Catalina followed, but the girl stayed where she was.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Catalina said to her, opening the car door. “This is Angelo—the man I told you about. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s one of the good guys.”

  We had to get out of sight. We were all splattered with blood.

  “We need to go inside,” I said.

  “I know.” Catalina caught me in her gaze. “She’s coming.”

  She put her hand out to the blonde, who hesitated then took it. Catalina helped her from the back seat, and I went to the motel room door and opened it and ushered everyone inside.

  The moment the door slammed shut and I locked it, Catalina and I turned to one another, stepping into each other’s arms. She hugged me hard, and I returned her embrace, barely able to believe she was really here.

  She released me and turned to the girl. They fell together, both women crying.

  “Deanna’s dead,” the blonde cried. “Kimmie, too.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was. I should never have suggested we attacked the men.”

  The blonde shook her head. “It was Kimmie who started it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Catalina sniffed and nodded, swiping away at tears. She released the other girl and stepped back, looking at me.

  “We need to contact the police. Grace has family. They’ll be missing her.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Grace can go,” I said, assuming that was the girl’s name, “but we can’t. We can’t risk being implicated in the deaths, Catalina.” There was more, too, I wanted to tell her, but not in front of the blonde. I wanted to tell her how I’d killed Silas Cassidy, and how the other women were free, and the compound was gone.

  She seemed to read some of my thoughts on my face. “Your father?” she prompted.

  “Dead as well. We don’t need to worry about him or Torres any longer.”

  The faintest ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Good.”

  “I’ll fill you in on the details later, but we can’t allow ourselves to be anywhere within the radar of any officials.”

  “It’s okay,” Grace interrupted. “I’ve got people I can call. Family. They can take care of me.”

  Catalina and I didn’t have any family. Not anymore. We only had each other.

  She slipped back against my side, and I pulled her in for another hug. I didn’t think I’d ever let her go again.

  “You never gave up on me,” she said, gazing up at me.

  “Never,” I told her, and I covered her mouth with a kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Four Months Later

  “CATALINA, COME AND look at this.”

  She came up behind me and slid both her arms around my neck, pressing her chin into my shoulder. “What are we looking at?”

  “This news article I came across on the internet.”

  She craned her head forward to get a better look at the screen of the cheap laptop we’d purchased, and I glanced over at her, waiting to see her expression when she realized who she was looking at.

  Things hadn’t quite gone to plan for us in the months that followed her rescue. We’d been living off the money I’d taken from my father’s office, but it wasn’t much, and we’d been forced to eke it out. Catalina still didn’t have any form of identification, and I was worried that my ties with what had happened at the compound might mean my name would flash up on some system or another if I used it, and I didn’t want to get pulled in for questioning by the Feds. We’d moved around, from motel room to motel room, each of us picking up cash-in-hand work where we could—me with some laboring, and Catalina doing the odd bit of cleaning. It was enough to get by—barely—but we had each other, and that was all that mattered.

  Suddenly, she gasped and straightened. She dropped her arms from my neck and moved around in front of me, perching her ass on my thigh. “Oh, my God. Is that Yolanda?”

  “If it isn’t, then she has a twin out there somewhere.”

  The headline, ‘Local Woman Wins Award for Helping Disadvantaged Girls Get Off the Street,’ was written across the top of the screen.

  The news story told of a woman who’d set up a drop-in center for young girls who were living on the street. She offered them a bed, showers, a change of clothes, and further help, should they need it. There was a counselor located at the center, together with a health clinic, all run by volunteers. They even had computers there to allow the girls to apply for jobs or permanent housing, using the address of the center as their current residence. The article applauded Yolanda—who now went by the name Margarite Tanur—for rehabilitating hundreds of young women and giving them a second chance in life.

  Catalina put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Do you think she used the money you gave her to get all this started?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe.”

  Catalina leaned toward the computer screen again. “The drop-in center is only a few hours away. Do you think it would be dangerous if we tried to see her?”

  “Would you like that?”

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “More than anything. She was like a mother to me, and I’ve missed her horribly. It’s not as though I’d change anything—I mean, I’m so happy that we’re all free now, and we’re getting to live our lives—but I can’t pretend like I don’t miss the others.”

  I wasn’t going to admit to her that I felt the same way. I was a tough guy, and there were some things I wouldn’t wear my heart on my sleeve about. Admitting I missed a woman who I’d wished had been my mother, too, was one of them.

  “I think it would be all right. I doubt anyone else out there would recognize Yolanda, and even if they did, she wouldn’t mean anything to them.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “I just don’t want to feel like we might be inviting trouble to her door. Especially when she’s doing so well.”

  I wrapped my arms around Catalina, loving that she was so protective of the other woman, even though she was probably desperate to see her.

  “My father is dead. Torres is dead. We don’t have anything to fear anymore, Catalina. We’re safe.”

  She nodded. “I know. I’m just still trying to get my head around it. Should we call and tel
l her we’re coming?”

  “I don’t think we can. It would mean using our real names.”

  “She might recognize our voices?” she said hopefully.

  “Possibly, but she’ll definitely recognize our faces.”

  Catalina smiled. “Yes, that’s true.”

  I saw a new light in her eyes, a hope that had been missing since I’d managed to free her from Torres. This would be good for her. Healing. I couldn’t ever fully understand what she’d been through while she’d been his captive, and though I knew my love and attention helped, things were different between women. They understood each other better, and their shared pasts meant everything.

  I pulled her fully onto my lap, so she straddled me, and then I leaned in and kissed her. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning, okay?”

  She blinked back tears and nodded. “More than okay. I love you, Angelo. More than anything.”

  “I love you, too, Kitty. More than anything.”

  She pressed in against me, her arms winding around my neck. Our lips met again. We couldn’t get enough of each other now. My thoughts always crowded in, pressing images of her with Torres into my head, threatening to ruin everything, but I managed to push them away again. She couldn’t have helped what had happened, and I was in no way angry with her. But I was jealous, and jealousy was an evil emotion that could ruin us, if I let it. So many others had already tried to destroy us, and I refused to be the one who eventually succumbed. We were too good for that.

  She was too good for me to do that.

  I grabbed her ass and dragged her against me. My cock and balls tingled and tightened, and I felt myself growing longer. She smiled as she kissed me and tilted her hips, grinding down on me.

  All I wanted was to give her pleasure. I wanted to make her impossibly happy for the rest of her life. I wanted to worship her—body, heart, and soul.

  I pulled her t-shirt up over her head, and she did the same to me. Reaching around her back, I made quick work of undoing her bra, freeing her perfect tits. I ducked my head to one of her breasts, covering her nipple with my mouth and sucking it into a hardened nub. She arched her back and groaned as her head tipped backward, so the ends of her hair swept over my knees. I squeezed her other breast, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger until she squirmed and her breathing grew ragged.