Ruby Fever (Hidden Legacy, #6)(84)

Tension built in me, a storm on the verge of breaking. I wanted more, I wanted it harder. It whipped me into a frenzied rush.

He growled, his voice raw with need.

The storm inside my body shattered into ecstasy. Its waves crashed into me, so potent they almost pulled me under. I leaned forward and gripped his shoulders. His eyes were open, and I stared into them, mesmerized. He was so beautiful, and he was locked on me.

I would never let anyone hurt him again.

We hurtled into our own private typhoon. There was nothing hesitant or tender about it. It was a mad hymn, a violent coupling, and every moment of it would be seared into me forever.

Another orgasm gripped me, reverberating through me in an intoxicating rush. I arched my back, melting into it. My wings snapped wide as if catching a storm gust, and I sang out, a long wordless note that was less sound and more magic.

He strained beneath me, his body hard as a rock, his hands grasping me, and came. I licked the blood off my lips, feeling him shudder once under me, and collapsed next to him, spent.





Chapter 15




I brushed my teeth and spat into the sink. It was morning. I had expected an attack in the middle of the night, but it never came. I got a blissful eight hours of sleep and now I was starving.

He should’ve attacked us. Why hadn’t he?

“This is screwed up,” I told Alessandro as we both pulled on clothes in the closet.

“What is?”

“I’m stressed out because he didn’t try to kill us last night.”

“He’ll come at us in the next twenty-four hours,” Alessandro said. “And he’ll throw everything he has into it.”

Keeping track of who Arkan had left was making my head hurt.

Our phones rang simultaneously. Argh. I stumbled back into the bathroom, grabbed my cell off the sink, and answered it, putting it on speaker. “Yes?”

“Christina Almeida is here,” Patricia reported.

“Perfect. Just what we need.”

“She’s waiting for you. Leon is with her.”

“You let her into the Compound? Why?”

“Because she brought a hostage,” Patricia said.

“Who?” he asked.

“Countess Sagredo.”

Cou—who?

“Where?” Alessandro squeezed through his teeth.

“I put them on the patio by the main house,” Patricia said. “Mrs. Baylor has a clear shot of Christina’s head, in case any issues arise. Please hurry.”



Countess Sagredo sat on a stone bench under a Mexican plum tree, an untouched glass of iced tea in front of her on a little table. This patio was the place we held family gatherings when the weather was good, and the heat was down. It was a beautiful, comfortable space, and Alessandro’s mother sat as if the floor was lava, and her bench would sink into it at any moment. Two men flanked her. Both had the look of seasoned veterans, the kind who do bad things with professional efficiency and are not squeamish about it.

Christina stood to the left of the countess and her honor guard. She was glaring at Leon who sat on the stone bench at the other end of the patio entrance, his eyes closed, his face turned to catch the morning sun.

The countess saw me. Her face paled. From the background checks, I knew she was taller than me, but she seemed smaller, thinner, and she wore her fragility like a cloak, as if afraid she would take up too much space. She was beautiful, but her face was pale, her makeup failing to add any color or life to her features. Her dark hair, likely dyed because it showed no traces of grey, framed her face in a kind of loose updo that made her seem slightly frazzled. Her expression only reinforced that feeling of being out of place. She looked like a woman who wasn’t sure exactly where she was or why she was there.

Christina, on the other hand, looked so pleased with herself, she was almost triumphant. She focused on Alessandro, slowly crossed her arms, and smirked at us as we approached. Alessandro marched to the patio so fast, I had to almost run to keep up. He stopped in front of his mother. The countess rose.

“Where are my sisters?” Alessandro asked. His voice chilled me to the proverbial bone.

His mother flinched.

“Is that any way to speak to your mother?” Christina asked.

“Be quiet.” He dropped each word like a brick on her head.

Countess Sagredo flinched again.

Alessandro pivoted to her. “The girls?”

“Back at the villa,” she said. There was a slight tremble to her voice.

“You left that old viper in charge of their safety, knowing he doesn’t give a damn about them because he can’t sell them yet.”

The goon on the left, a huge broad-shouldered brick of a man, cleared his throat and said in Italian, “Your grandfather says hello.”

Oh. So those were not Christina’s goons. They were the grandfather’s goons.

“Remember, Lilian,” Christina said, “we talked about this. This is what’s best for him. Stay strong.”

She had no idea what kind of volcano was about to erupt.

Alessandro stiffened for a fraction of a second and slowly turned toward Christina. His voice was permafrost. “I told you to be quiet. Did you not understand me? Don’t speak again.”

She glared at him. “You don’t have the authority to order me around. I didn’t come here to entertain your infantile notions. Our Houses have a business arrangement, one a grown man would honor without being cajoled like a child. Your refusal to accept facts forced me to bring your mother here. The least you could do is treat us both with courtesy.”