Page 23 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

My schedule was fit to burst. First, a meeting with a representative of the German federal financial supervisory authority for an expansion of DV Banks into Germany.

Next, a call with the CEO and CFO of FinTech, a German tech company I meant to acquire.

Lastly, there was an Armenian shipment of contraband Russian weapons docking in port tonight.

Still, I made time to watch Tessa that afternoon through the cameras the technicians installed along with the television.

Her smile lit up the screen as she twirled in new dresses and faked a catwalk to Marie’s tutoring in different styles. There was a brightness to her that only seemed to grow each day.

With her walking around in nothing but lacy underthings, I was riveted. I even ended a video call mid-meeting to take my cock in hand at the sight of her. I was only human. There was only so much tension a man could take.

Once my sister entered the picture and ruined the mood, I was finally able to get some work done.

At least until I realized Tessa discovered the braille board.

She was a sight to behold as she applied singular focus to learning braille.

When she got a grouping of letters correct, she threw her fists out above her head and gave a little excited squeal.

I suppressed the urge to grin like a mad fool each time, ready to slap some sense into myself.

My reactions to her were getting out of control.

Sweet, sassy, captivating little Tessa. A breath of fresh air. And that mouth on her. I didn’t know whether I’d prefer to kiss her, strangle her, or fill that mouth up with my cock. My captive. My little survivor. She was addicting.

Maybe after tonight, I would leave her door unlocked. Let her roam the house and gardens. See what she would get up to.

“You’re smiling,” Erel commented with a frown as he entered my office.

“Mouths do that on occasion.”

“Not yours.”

“You’re paying too much attention to my face.” I closed out the security video. “Everything ready for tonight?”

We finalized the night’s plan and backup for the consignment of the weapons shipment, the position of my men, and the best routes in case of police interference.

This was France, one of the strictest countries in Europe on gun control and acquisition.

Like everything, there were always ways around it.

I was in her room again in that same chair, which I carried right next to her bed.

A semi-automatic handgun lay on the nightstand, one of my newest acquisitions and my weapon of choice for the night.

Beneath the lamp light, its shadow stretched tauntingly toward the armrest, a silent plea for me to pick it up.

One bullet. No more conflictions. No more procrastination.

No more defiance from her. No more flares of relief from my agony. No more light to my dark.

A storm rattled the windows. Rain battered against them as thunder pounded.

Tessa shook her head from side to side in her sleep. She muttered words. Her fists clenched the blanket draped above her. Her voice quivered and pitched with muffled words. She gasped, tossing and turning with more agitation. If she kept this up, she’d hurt herself.

“Tessa.”

My hand hovered over her face. There was a line drawn before us. A single touch right now would cross it. I was her warden until death, and she was my prey. Neither allowed for comfort and sympathy.

Her body trembled. In this moment, she was as frail and breakable as that day she climbed onto my boat, the quintessential victim.

Instead of taking that gun and ending her misery, I had this profound need to bundle her up in my arms and carry her away.

My little survivor. My odd little thing.

Mine to kill. Mine to protect. Mine to make sense of because I was quickly realizing I couldn’t do this.

“Tessa, you have to wake up.”

Her distress only grew, her movements jerkier by the second.

“No. No,” she croaked. “Don’t…”

“You’re having a bad dream.” I cupped her cheek, grazing my thumb along the soft expanse of her skin.

“Don’t…” She whimpered and sobbed. “No…”

“You’re safe.”

My lips pressed lightly to her forehead like last night. It was instinctive. There was this need to take her pain into myself, as if that one light touch could pry the darkness out of her and back into me. It wasn’t enough.

The hospital bed I purchased for her creaked under my added weight as I lay down beside her. Her forehead was creased, and I brushed my thumb down the lines to smooth them out.

“You’re safe,” I whispered again. Ironic that they were words I had said more to her, a target, than anyone else in years.

“Adrien?” She groaned, turning into me. The sheets rustled around us.

“I’m here.”

I swiped a tendril of hair behind her ear. Her breath caught, as if too innocent and pure for that little contact. I wanted to place my hands all over her and gather as many guileless reactions as possible.

“What…what are you doing?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

I kissed her cheek, her nose, her forehead once more, taking pleasure in the way she shivered with each one.

“So you thought you’d climb up here with me?”

I grinned at the feigned outrage in her voice. At least the panic was gone.

“It is much more comfortable than my chair.”

She snorted and tapped my chest. “Uh-huh, sure there, big guy. Snug as a bug in this single bed.”

Warmth radiated where she patted. No pain. No sparking agony. I wanted to haul her against me for more, for that warmth to spread everywhere and erase every unwelcome touch I’d ever felt.

She deserved better than what life had thrown at her, better than Bogdani and the horrors he must have put her through, and definitely better than the hole in her side from my bullet and the constant threats I threw at her.

“If it bothers you that much…” I made to rise.

Her dainty fingers latched onto my bicep, her nails digging in.

“Wait. Don’t leave me. Please. Not yet.”

The anguish in her voice gutted me. It settled heavy in my chest as I lay back down and cradled her head in the crux of my shoulder.

My fingers swept up and down her arms in what I hoped was a comforting gesture.

Goose bumps surged over her skin. Good. Bad.

No idea. Who was I kidding? I had no experience with this.

There was something addicting about being needed. It was a rush unlike any other. I couldn’t get enough of it. Did I feel bad about manipulating her like this? Not a single bit.

If anyone had told me even a week ago that I’d willingly hold a woman in my arms, I’d have latched a ball and chain to their ankle and shoved them into the sea just to end their miserable existence. Yet here I was, holding Tessa.

“Do you think anyone’s looking for me?” Her whispered voice vibrated against my shirt. “Is it stupid to hope for that?”

“It won’t change what will happen.”

“Guess not.” She yawned. “What is it tonight then? A garrote? A chopping knife? Drugs?”

I snorted. “You’re making me sound predictable.”

“You’re saying that like you’re usually not.”

“It’s never good to be in my profession.”

“Killing people?”

“That’s more of a…how do you say…side hustle.” I had to emphasize the last word so as not to trip over the odd English pronunciation.

“You mean you don’t kill people for a living?”

“More for the release it offers me.”

“I feel like I should be more worried about that than I am.”

“You should be.”

She shrugged. “Why? Like you said, it won’t change anything. At least I get someone to snuggle with in the meantime.”

A laugh caught in my throat. This woman.

She never ceased to surprise me. What started with the intent to kill became a twisted game of catch and release.

Each night, the mouse surprised the cat.

Each night, the cat let the mouse escape.

If I wasn’t careful, the cat might very well give up the chase entirely.

“So? What will it be?”

I sighed and rolled to my back, one leg in dress pants dangling off to the side. “A gun.”

No touching was needed to feel how she stiffened or how her inhales cut off.

“Just don’t aim for my stomach again.”

The reminder made my jaw tighten. I didn’t want her to be afraid of me, and that was a headfuck of its own.

“It’s not loaded,” I finally said.

The pillow rustled as she shifted her head. “Why?”

“Death by bullet would cause too much scrutiny.”

“I’m sure you’d find a way.”

“Not worth the hassle.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be offended by that.”

“This is France, not the US. There are no rights to bear arms. It takes a good deal of bribing and bartering to make officials look the other way from gunshot victims. It can be done, but I prefer to use that as a last resort only. It’s why I became proficient in other methods.”

“You talk about this as if it’s supposed to mean something to me.”

“Your English, it’s native. The accent suggests you come from the US. Somewhere on or near the West Coast, by my guess. Though your French has more of a European influence to it, probably because of your Italian fluency.”

“So that’s home then?”

The selfish beast within almost made me say no, that this was her home.

“Is it pretty there?”

“Some of it.”

She sighed. “Guess it doesn’t really matter,” she whispered into the night. “I’m not sure I’ll ever see again.”

“Does that trouble you?”

“Not really.” She snuggled against me. “You can’t miss what you don’t really know. One advantage to amnesia, I suppose.”

We lay silently for a moment. I could practically hear her thoughts churning.

“Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to kill me?”

“I will.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“Don’t,” I snarled.

“Is that really so bad?”

“Yes.”

The way that hopeful curve to her mouth fell only flared my anger. I shifted out of the bed so quickly, my head spun.

I could do this with my eyes closed. From within my suit jacket pocket, I retrieved the magazine I had neglected to load into the gun earlier. It clicked loudly into place. The gun rested against that same spot on her forehead I kissed.

“Let this make it clear. You’re nothing but a means to an end.”

“Then do it!” She lifted herself up on her elbows and pressed her head against the barrel. “I’m sick of your threats, Adrien, and feeling like I have to live on a knife’s edge. I’m not going to beg. I’ve got enough pride not to. But you either do it, or you get over it and move on.”

That was the second time she’d said my name tonight. The first hadn’t phased me, but this time, my anger rose.

“How do you know my name?”

“Really? Are you kidding me right now?” she asked, her lips parted. “Your sister called you by it.”

Oh. I deflated quickly, suddenly feeling the fool. I scratched the back of my head with my armed hand. “You’ve never used it.”

“No one does. Not the doctors, nurses, or maids. Didn’t feel appropriate before for me to use it either.”

“And now?”

“I know you better.” Those little soft-spoken words whisked away any lingering anger.

Her hand pressed softly to my cheek, and it took everything in me not to lean into it.

“Why is it so easy for me to talk to you?” she whispered again. “Why do I feel like I can trust you?”

“You can’t.”

“But I do.”

I tossed my head back and forth and jerked back from the bed. Her hand fell between us. “You’re confused. Go back to sleep.”

This time, when I left, I didn’t lock the door, but in the back of my mind, the truth taunted me.

Even if I found her rifling through the house and gathering information, I wasn’t sure that would be enough for me to snuff her life out.

If anything, I was enjoying our game too much, and that was dangerous.

My thumb lingered over Jerome’s contact on my phone. One call. One order, and our best hitman would come in, silent as a ghost, to tie up my loose end, no questions asked.

I pocketed my phone. I handled my own messes, always had, always would. Tessa was no different. This wasn’t hesitation. I was just being more patient than usual.