Luca (Hunting Her) Page 8

  Winks. At. Me.

  I struggle to understand the taunt. Then, like a light bulb, my awareness switches on to expose the meaning behind her tactics.

  She’s created this drama in an attempt to prove me wrong about the burden I’ve placed on his shoulders. She doesn’t want to take me away. She wants me to feel at home.

  “Penny?” Luca takes another step.

  “I don’t know.” I swallow, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I don’t know what I want.”

  The corners of his mouth lift in a sad smile. His head inclines the slightest inch in acknowledgement. Then he turns to Sarah, his height increasing as he straightens. “You did this. You messed with her fucking head. You made her question being here.”

  “Me?” She places a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with feigned offense. “Why would I do that?”

  “Get the fuck out.” He stalks for the bedroom door, jabbing a finger toward the hall. “And don’t come back. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Everyone knows I’ll protect her with my life. I’m done trying to prove it.”

  Sarah remains in place, her attention on me, one brow raised as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

  I guess she did.

  I knew Luca would be kind enough to deny wanting me to leave. I never imagined he’d be passionate about me staying. Or furious at anyone attempting to take me away.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” she drawls. “You don’t have to stay under this psycho’s roof.”

  “Get. The fuck. Out,” he snarls. “Now.”

  She rolls her eyes and gives another wink. “Okay. Okay. I’m leaving.”

  9

  Luca

  I lead Sarah to the front door, waiting until she’s got one foot outside before I slam it on her ass, then lock the deadbolt while she mouths off.

  I’m angry. Unjustifiably livid. And entirely fucking blindsided.

  One minute, I thought she was helping. The next, she was attempting to steal Penny away.

  I lean against the door, my head hung, a pulse ticking beneath my left eye.

  Maybe if I hadn’t interrupted when I did, Sarah would’ve been successful. It’s not like she doesn’t have a point about being better equipped to look after a woman. I don’t know how to be the person Penny needs. But I’ll be damned if I trust someone else to protect her.

  There’s no way in hell.

  If she leaves, I’ll follow.

  I shove from the door, needing to get back to her. To stop her from questioning our sanctuary.

  She’s still standing near the window in her bedroom, her arms around her middle. Every muscle is pulled taut. Despite her stiffness, sorrow seeps from her. Her heartache escapes with every breath even though there are no tears.

  She continues to trap her emotions inside. Caging them.

  It’s time to break them free.

  “I’m sorry.” I’m drawn to her side, my fingers itching to touch. “I know I keep sayin’ that, but I’ve got nothing else.”

  She doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

  “You’re going to get through this.” I reach for her, stealing the physical connection I crave, my palm sweeping over her shoulder. “I’ll get you all the help you need.”

  “Please don’t.” She flinches away. “I just want to be left alone.”

  No.

  No more isolation. No more hiding from grief.

  My limbs throb with the urge to grab her. Shake her.

  She needs to let go. To cry. Not only for Abi, but the parts of her own life that died. Why can’t she see that?

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” I calmly demand.

  “That it’s not true. That Abi didn’t kill herself.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I spoke to my sisters and they agree.” She turns to me, her eyes filled with conviction. “They said she’d never do this. That she was excited to get back to her family.”

  “Okay. So maybe her death was an accident.” I reach for her again, her violent shrug away stinging my pride. “But she’s gone, shorty. That part you can’t deny.”

  She winces. “Don’t.”

  “I know you loved her. You two went through hell together. She was everything to you, which means there’s no way you can get around grieving for her. No matter how hard you try.”

  She retreats a step. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I can’t imagine how hard it is to lose her. You left Greece thinking the nightmare would end, only to have it follow.” I inch closer as she backtracks. “And you’re too scared to let down your guard to start healing. You’re clinging to what you know—the sterility, the anger. You think you need to act the same way you did with Luther in an effort to protect yourself. To fight when you should crumple.”

  Her lips part as if in shock before a mask of annoyance settles into place. “Stop.”

  “I’m sorry, shorty, but I can’t. It’s time for this to sink in. For you to acknowledge what you went through. For you to break down the walls you’ve built out of fear. There’s no peace in denial.”

  “There’s no peace?” she asks. “What peace could I possibly obtain, Luca? What peace have I ever had?”

  “Peace is on the other side of acceptance. You need to face what’s happened.”

  “I said, ‘stop.’” She makes for the door.

  I follow, unable to let this go. “We’re not running anymore. Maybe it was suicide. Maybe it was an accident. It doesn’t change the fact she’s gone.”

  “Stop.” She plants her feet and swings around to shove at my chest. “Stop it.” Her eyes blink with unshed tears. “Just stop.”

  Her agony punches into me, my words injuring us both. But she’s so close. The slightest crack forms in her defenses. “Luther’s not here anymore. You don’t have to keep fighting. Abi’s dead, shorty. It’s time to grieve.”

  The tears build, her dark eyes an endless pool of heartache bursting to break free. She shoves me again and again, harder and harder.

  “She’s not suffering anymore. She’s free.” I snatch her wrists. Tight. They tremor under my grasp.

  Those eyes flare, her panic and fear slam into me.

  But I can’t let her go.

  After all the days of sitting on my ass and letting her find her own way, it’s clear I should’ve acted differently. She needs to be pushed to face reality. I feel it deep down in my bones. She can’t move on until she acknowledges her past. Until she lets go of the hold Luther had on her.

  “You’re safe,” I murmur. “He’s not here anymore. He can’t hurt you.”

  “Don’t do this.” She thrashes, attempting to break my hold. “Let me go.”

  I pull her into my chest, releasing her wrists to wrap my arms around her back. “I’m not hurting you. I never will.” I cage her against me as she bucks and pushes, doing her best to escape.

  “Stop,” she screams. Her loose hair whips my face. Her knee jabs me in the thigh.

  She’s a wild cat. Sharp movements. Feral ferocity.

  I hope I’m not fucking this up.

  No.

  This is the right thing to do.

  The only thing.

  I hold tighter, increasing her struggle. “I’ve got you.”

  “You’re a monster,” she shrieks, wiggling one arm free. She thumps my chest. Slaps my face. Scratches my cheek.

  “No, he was—Luther.” I take her fury, not letting her hatred penetrate. “He hurt you. He was the monster. I’d never raise a hand to you, Penny. I’d never do the things he did. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

  She has to let it all out. Every ounce of the pain and suffering. I won’t let her go through another day clinging to her abuse.

  “Let me have your worst.” I loosen my arms, allowing her space to whack harder into me.

  “Let me go,” she wails, raising her face, her mouth a breath from mine. So pretty. So tortured. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  “No.”

&
nbsp; She strengthens her fight. Beating. Clawing. Bashing. “You fucking bastard.” The first tear escapes, the glistening path trekking down her cheek like a break in the most arid drought. “I hate you.”

  “Hate me all you like. I’m not letting you go until you get this out of your system.”

  “I can’t get it out of my system,” she screams. “This is me. This is who I am.”

  “No, Pen, this is who you needed to be when you were around him. You needed to fight. You needed to attack and protect. You don’t need to do that now. Not anymore.”

  “Let me go.” She uses both forearms to push at my chest, her unyielding strength fucking admirable. “Please, let me go.”

  “I will, baby. I promise. Once you give in.”

  “I can’t.” More tears escape, both eyes drenched in sorrow. She’s still fighting, still feral. But her aggression tapers. Her hits lose their ferocity. The clawing and scratching packs less of a sting as she begins to sob. “Please, Luca. I can’t be weak. I can’t be vulnerable.”

  My pulse spikes at her fragility, and there’s no restraint that could stop me grabbing her chin to force her gaze to mine. “You could never be weak. You hear me? You’re stronger than you know. But you need to let your guard down, shorty. It’s time to let me help you.”

  She blinks back at me, one tear following the next, her eyes unfocused as if she’s no longer listening.

  If only it were that easy for me to switch off to her suffering.

  I’ve been through combat. Killed more men than I can count. I’ve seen dead children and war zones that resemble nothing but blood and broken limbs. And through it all I detached, needing the sterility to work autonomously.

  But not now.

  Not with her.

  She’s stripped me bare. Made me the fucking weak one.

  “Why?” she wails, the moisture trail on her cheek becoming the backdrop to a waterfall. “Why couldn’t you leave me alone? You should’ve just left me in that house.”

  And there it is—her agonizing truth.

  It’s worse than I thought.

  Deeper.

  Darker.

  This breathtakingly beautiful woman, with her warrior strength and harrowing selflessness, wishes she was back with Luther. Because there’s comfort in routine, even in the worst of conditions.

  “I should’ve died in Greece.” She hiccups. “Those women should’ve killed me. They thought I protected them, but I caused them more pain. He punished them because of me. He made me untouchable and in return made them targets.” She rambles. Cries. Blubbers. “It’s all my fault. I hurt them. I’m responsible.”

  “No, sweetheart. That was him. All him.” I tighten my hold as she crumples. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

  “I should’ve died.” She snatches at my shirt, her nails digging into the material. “Why didn’t I die?”

  I wish I had the answers. I’d give anything to snap my fingers and have this all be over—her suffering, her anguish. I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat. God, how I wish I could. “Thank fuck you didn’t. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Her knees weaken, her tears running rampant. She shakes with ragged breaths. Gasps. Fucking shudders as I hold her against me.

  “I’ve got you.” I rest my cheek on hers, murmuring in her ear. “I promise I’ve got you.” I vow it on my life. No matter what happens, what she faces, I’ll be there for her. “You can trust me.”

  Her suffering multiplies. Her legs give out. She collapses into me. Weary limbs and malleable flesh. The most perfect surrender.

  I cling to her, keeping her against me as her tears soak my shirt.

  “W-why would she do this?” she stammers. “Why would Abi give up?”

  My heart breaks, a million sharp shards embedding into my ribs. “I don’t know.”

  I haul her into my arms and step around the broken mess on the floor to take her to the bed, sit on the mattress and cradle her in my lap. There’s never been a more satisfying feeling than having her settle into me, her head nestled against my shoulder, her fractured breathing teasing my skin.

  “Luca?” Her voice is weary, the delicate murmur filling my chest.

  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  She sighs, the heave of breath long and punishing. “I’m so tired.”

  “I know, shorty.” Our heads rub as I nod. “I know.”

  “I just want it all to be over.”

  I stiffen. Her words are a hint to a clearly defined escape plan that follows where Abi led. And I get it. I understand the impatience to end the hardship. But understanding doesn’t mean my throat doesn’t tighten at the thought of her following through.

  I feel for her. Not only possessive or protective. There’s more. So much more that it’s clear there’s no going back. I’ve fallen for this woman, with her compiling scars. Her triggers innumerable. Her suffering lifelong.

  I want her. I despise myself for even thinking it. But I want her with blinding need.

  Mentally.

  Emotionally.

  Physically.

  The instinct to heal her suffering with sex is overwhelming.

  It takes all my restraint not to tilt my face into hers and kiss the misery from her lips. To turn her cries into moans. To increase her breathing for reasons of pleasure not more fucking pain.

  For a woman who’s been violated and tortured, the desire pumping through me is downright repulsive. And still I can’t shut it out.

  I want her beneath me. Our limbs intertwined. Our skin covered in sweat.

  I need to taste every inch of her. To lick and bite and suck.

  Fuck.

  I grind my teeth through the building lust, my battle continuing for what feels like hours, the silence only breached by infrequent sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

  Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a monster.

  10

  Luca

  I held her for hours.

  She spoke every now and then, giving brief whispers of insight into her past.

  She told me more about Abi. Reflected on what she wished she would’ve done better during her time held prisoner. She even admitted it felt good to cry.

  And later that night as I laid in bed, I’d been pleased with myself. Like a stupid fucking chump over my so-called achievement.

  I’d thought pushing her into facing her grief was a great idea. I’d convinced myself she would heal afterward.

  But days later, there’s still no sign of improvement.

  Instead, she no longer pretends to be happy. Those fake smiles that used to annoy me would be a breath of fresh fucking air in comparison to the overwhelming despair continuously plastered on her face.

  Puffy red bags are now tattooed under her eyes. She barely eats. And those intermittent moments where she hid in her destruction-filled room have become one long stretch of isolation in between bouts of obsessive cleaning and cooking.

  She continues to cry.

  Fucking rivers.

  Every morning.

  I hear her in the shower, the gentle sobs echoing from the bathroom to punish me for what I’ve done.

  I fucked up. I shouldn’t have pushed.

  I tried making amends with a flower delivery, disguising the offering as a tribute to her grief. In reality, it was a sign of guilt. I’ve asked, no, demanded she watch a movie with me. Exercise with me. Fucking talk to me.

  All I get are tears.

  From a drought to flash flooding, the deluge still in full flow as Sarah pushes by me at the front door, granting herself access to my house.

  “Have you forgotten how to wait for an invitation?” I scowl, locking the deadbolt behind her.

  “Have you forgotten how to be polite?” She leads us to the kitchen and makes herself a mug of coffee. “I came when you called. Usually, that requires a thank you.”

  “Thanks,” I grate, not feeling appreciative in the slightest. I wanted her advice, not her company. But beggars can’t be choose
rs.

  “Before we do a deep dive on this,” she purrs, “I think we should put it in writing that you pleaded for my superior knowledge like a little bitch.” She settles into one of the stools at my kitchen counter, sipping from my favorite coffee mug with smug satisfaction.

  “Don’t start.”

  She grins. “So we’re just going to ignore my superiority?”

  I glare, thankful Penny is outside on the deck and not bearing witness to my castration.

  “Okay. Fine.” Sarah waves me away. “Tell me what’s happened since you aggressively forced me from your house the other day.”

  I clench my molars, breathing deep until I’m no longer tempted to throw her back out the front door. “She hasn’t stopped crying,” I grate. “I thought forcing her to grieve would help. But this is just a different level of hell.”

  “It was necessary. You know that.”

  “Maybe. The question is—where the fuck do I go from here?”

  “You need to tell her it’s time to move on.”

  I scoff and slump back against the far counter. “Yeah, okay. No fucking problem. I’ll just tell her to get over herself, will I?”

  “Yes.” She takes another superior sip of coffee. “Normal people have the luxury of grieving for months. Even years. But we’re not normal. With our lifestyle, it’s not safe to let down our guard for too long. She needs to be aware of that.”

  “Problem is, she didn’t choose this lifestyle, Sarah. It was forced on her.”

  “It was forced on all of us,” she drawls. “Nobody chooses to be here. That’s just the way the cards fall. The sooner she gets used to it the better.”

  I don’t want Penny to get used to it. I want her to be saved from it. Sheltered.

  “You need to take charge.” Sarah lowers her voice. “Push her.”

  “Pushing her is what led to this mess. Look what the fuck happened.”

  “You broke her down, soldier. It’s time to build her back up.”

  I wipe a rough hand over my face, not wanting any of this. Not the breaking or the building. I’m not the man for that job. But she’s right. I made Penny this way; I can’t leave her now.