She screams again, but Rafa hauls her up and I shift my grip to the edge of the well and hoist myself up and over.
I go to her, ignoring the burn of the rope on the palms of my hands. I take hold of her shoulders, pull her to me once more before taking the hood off. Relief floods through me at seeing her bruised, tear-stained face again.
She blinks, squints. It was black where she was, and the sunshine is bright.
I move her into the shade of the house. After a few moments, her eyes adjust and when they focus and she sees me, she breaks down into a sob and clings to me and I think how scared she must have been. How terrified.
And I know I’m going to kill these men. I’m going to kill them slowly.
“I want the men lined up outside. On their knees,” I tell Rafa, cupping the back of her head, keeping her close.
“On it.”
Without a word, I lift Gabriela in my arms and carry her out. One of our men opens the back door of the first SUV and I set her inside it.
“I need water,” I tell him.
He nods, goes to the trunk and returns with a bottle. I take it from him, open it. I haven’t taken my eyes off her once as I brush matted, dirty hair back from her face. I hold the bottle to her lips, and she takes a sip.
“Make sure none of those tourists get close,” I tell the soldier. “Station men on either side of the street.”
“Yes, sir.”
I pet the tangle of her hair, look at the dark spot on her temple. Notice the old one on her forehead and remember the damage to Rafa’s car.
But that’s a question for another time.
With my thumb, I wipe away a tear. I rub her skull, feeling for bumps, but I don’t find any. I note each bruise on her neck.
Where her top is ripped, I see the bruise on her side, and another near her belly button. I can make out the print of a shoe and rage boils inside me.
I touch each mark softly, making a mental note, shifting my gaze to her thighs, to the marks there, and down to her feet. She’s wearing one running shoe. The other foot is bare.
I meet her gaze again, tilt her face to mine. “Did they touch you?” I force myself to ask and I can see the effort it takes for her to shake her head.
Her gaze widens when it moves over my shoulder and I know the men are ready.
She pulls me to her when I draw back.
“I want to go. I want to get away from here,” she manages.
I nod. “We will. I need to take care of this first. Do you know which ones put the bruises on you?” The others will have a swifter death.
She glances over my shoulder and I follow her gaze when it focuses on one man in particular.
“Him?”
Before she looks back at me, I see her exchange a look with Rafa.
My muscles tense and my eyes narrow when I look back at my cousin and he quickly shifts his gaze.
“I don’t know,” Gabriela says. “When I woke up, I was in a van and they never took the hood off.”
“Did they give you any food? Water?”
“Water once.”
“Okay. You’ll wait down the hill for me.”
She shakes her head, wraps her hands desperately around my shoulders. She opens her mouth to protest.
“Shh,” I say, again cupping her face. I kiss the first tear that falls, taste the salt of it. Then kiss her forehead. “I don’t want you to see this.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“You’ll do as you’re told now. The driver and another soldier will be with you. You’re safe. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She looks over at the kneeling men again. At the dead one still flopped out of the upstairs window. He got off easy.
“You’re going to hurt them?” she finally asks.
“Yeah. I am. For every mark on you, they’ll have twice that from me.” Before I throw them into that well to rot.
I leave that part out.
She studies me, those sad sea-foam eyes understanding I won’t let this go. Is that because she’s a Marchese? Would someone outside of our world understand?
“Okay,” she says.
I nod, but before I let her go, I need to say one more thing. “I didn’t hurt Alex, Gabriela. What happened to him, it wasn’t me. I swear it.”
She freezes and it’s like she just remembered. A moment later, her face crumples. I take her in my arms, and she sobs again, silent sobs that wrack her shoulders. I hold her, cup the back of her head. Feel her like this, feel her giving herself to me in her grief.
“Go on now, let’s get this done and go home, okay?” I whisper in her ear.
I feel her nod as I draw back. The driver and another of our men get into the car after I give them instructions and once the SUV is out of sight, I turn to the kneeling men awaiting their sentence.
2
Gabriela
I shiver in the backseat of the SUV as we wait for Stefan and the others. We’re parked just outside of the town and tourists pass by on foot, laughing with each other, waving fans to cool themselves in the stifling heat, children playing as they run up ahead of their parents.
And all I can do is sit here and think about what’s happening up there. What Stefan is doing.
How was this going on just blocks from where I was trapped?
The driver looks at me. “Too cold?”
I drop my arms, shake my head no, even though I am.
I think about Stefan, how he came for me even though I was the one who ran away. How he risked himself to carry me out of that well. I have no doubt he didn’t remove the hood because what I would have seen down there would have terrified me.
I think about how gentle he was. Like the other night when I’d cut myself breaking his bottle of whiskey. Gentle and caring. Like I mattered. Like he actually cared about me being hurt.
My mind wanders back up the hill again. He’s not being gentle now of that I have no doubt.
If I strain to hear, is that a bullet being fired or is it my imagination? Will Stefan really kill all those men?
Don’t I know the answer even as I ask the question?
I am a Marchese, after all. My father may not appear to be as brutal as Stefan, but I know him. I’ve seen first-hand what crossing my father can do.
My thoughts move to Alex and the thought of his death, of his vicious murder, makes my stomach hurt. He didn’t deserve to die. And he didn’t deserve to die like that.
How am I going to tell Gabe? How will I explain it?
And do I believe Stefan?
I remember Alex’s text and realize that my iPod is gone. It’s at the bottom of the ocean with the dead man.
I’ll never be able to go back and reread old texts, revisit old stories. The fact that I’ll never see him again hits then. Even though I know he’s dead, it’s like I’m only now realizing what that means.
I will never see Alex again.
I will never talk to him again. Never hear his voice.
If it wasn’t Stefan, if I believe him, then who?
But why would Stefan do it? What would he have to gain? Especially after talking to him, he knew Alex was no threat, not in any way. In fact, if he does care about me even a little bit, he’d know that it would hurt me to hurt Alex.
Is that why whoever did it, did it?
Guilt knots my stomach but I’m distracted by the cavalcade of black SUVs with their dark tinted windows coming our way.