Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 7999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 40(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 7999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 40(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
He holds up his keycard and the door closes, leaving only silence. I look down at his pants which are staining crimson red fast. But when I look back up, he’s staring right back at me, and it catches me off-guard.
The doors open and I pull him along with me towards the third door on the third floor, room 333, the dean’s office.
We go inside, and I kick the door closed as he struggles to get to his chair, where he takes a breath, and then places his gun on the desk. I stare at the metal that just ended someone’s life with ease. The man who pulled the trigger is sitting right across from me.
But am I afraid … or intrigued?
He points at his desk. “There’s a first-aid kit in there. Bottom drawer. Can you grab it for me … please?”
The way he says please has my knees trembling.
I approach the desk and sift through the drawer until I find what he wants and open it. There’s gauze and alcohol pads in there, a few bits and pieces I can use, but not much.
I walk to him and go to my knees in front of him.
“What are you doing?” he mutters.
I look between his legs at the wound protruding through his clothes, but his index finger lifts my chin and forces me to look into his eyes.
God, those eyes. They never manage to break my gaze. They’re so bright and yet … deeply haunting.
“I need to look at the wound,” I say.
“You don’t have to—”
“Let me do this.”
I gently nudge his legs open to take a better look.
“I can’t put on the gauze like this, Mr. Rivera.”
His eyes narrow as I lean forward and grab his belt buckle, and his hand immediately stops me. His eyes home in on me, slowly draping down my body in this dark blue top and leggings, his top teeth drawing in his bottom lip for just a second. But I noticed.
“Call me Salvator.”
A shiver runs up and down my spine.
He releases my hand.
I stay frozen for a second, not sure if I should continue or if I’m overstepping.
I am. I know I am.
But this man … I can feel the yearning from miles away, for months on end, and yet … nothing.
Nothing happens because he won’t let it happen.
Until tonight.
I swallow away the lump in my throat and gently tug at his zipper and button, pulling it all away so I can peel down his pants slowly just below the wound. But the second it pulls over his ample package, it bobs up and down so much my eyes can’t help but zoom in on it.
Good God. He’s packing.
Fucking focus, Kayla.
I avert my eyes and grab the kit, dabbing cotton into the alcohol before I bring it to his skin. “This might hurt a little.”
I clean up the wound, but it doesn’t even seem to faze him. Not an inch of pain mars his face, as though all the suffering has already consumed his soul years ago, and all that’s left is a man impervious to agony, except for one… simple … ache.
“I’m sorry you had to witness me kill someone,” he says all of the sudden. “I hadn’t anticipated anyone being there.”
I breathe out a sigh. “I wasn’t following you, Mr. Rive—Salvatore. I was just taking a jog.”
He grabs my other hand. “I know.” A soft smile briefly forms on his face, and it makes my body heat up.
“I’d like to know the truth now,” I say. “Why did you kill him?”
He tilts his head. “He was an assassin from the Bones Brotherhood.”
“Assassin?” I frown.
“They’ve been trespassing this campus to hunt my daughter Lana after she got into a fight with them.”
I pause after I’ve put the gauze on his wound.
“Wow.”
I didn’t know they were involved in this kind of stuff. His daughter, being hunted by a known drug dealing and trafficking gang? No wonder he pulled the trigger on that guy without a second thought. This must be kept off-the books completely.
“I couldn’t risk them finding her,” he adds, clearing his throat, as I continue tending to his wound.
“I understand.”
When I’m done, I put a piece of gauze on top and try to tape it down.
“Suture it.” He gazes down at me.
“Don’t you want the hospital—”
“I can’t risk this going public,” he says. “Please.”
God. The way this strict-looking, domineering man begs could make a woman want to offer up her entire life on a silver platter.
I nod and grab the needle and thread, then carefully pierce his skin. “This will hurt.”
“I can take it,” he answers, clenching his jaw as I go to work.
I’ve never seen a man hold his shit together as well as Mr. Rivera does. It’s like he must remain in control at all cost, even at the expense of his own sanity … his own life.