Page 37 of Ruthless

“Did you find what you were searching for?” I almost regret asking, but when he doesn’t pull his hand away, I press on, needing to understand this version of Dante better. “The guy in the blue hoodie. We were following him, right?”

His eyes narrow. “Why do you say that?”

My answering laugh is strained. “I mean, it was kind of hard not to notice something was going on after you tied me to a tree. So, did you talk with him, or?—”

When Dante tries to extract himself, I squeeze his wrist, urging him to stay put.

A heavy sigh deflates his chest. “No.” The admission seems reluctant, almost as if he’s holding information back, so I perform a quick scan and freeze when I notice blood beneath his nails. What sort of life has he been living that this kind ofviolence is just par for the course? Just another day? His upper lip lifts in a snarl. “Fucker just coughed up a bunch of shit I already know.”

My brow creases. “You hurt him, didn’t you?” I don’t realize that I’m stroking his arm like he’s a cat until Dante’s head inclines toward me.

“Obviously.” He turns back to the road with a guarded air, and I realize with a start that he’s waiting for me to cast judgment.

Warning lights flash in my head. I need to proceed with caution. “Maybe there’s more to it?” I ask carefully. “If I were in his shoes, if someone were hurting me, I’d provide whatever information they wanted if it meant they’d stop.”

I’m so tempted to ask about the night the men with guns invaded our apartment, but I’m scared of losing what little ground I’ve gained.

I wonder if he’d even care about how scared I was, or how, despite everything, I wished he’d been there to protect us. A ludicrous notion, given those goons’ claims that Dante sent them…unless they lied. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but the story isn’t adding up. Since day one of our reunion, Dante’s behaved like the injured party, but how does that compute if he’s the one who had me chased out of town?

Part of me wants to broach the topic, but caution prevails. I can’t afford to alienate him and interrogating him about the past carries a high risk of doing just that.

Dante opens his mouth and then closes is again, speechless. I lift his arm to entwine his fingers with mine. Giving in to at least one foolish urge, I press my lips to the worst of the raised scratches, and a shudder passes through his massive frame. The car veers dangerously before he rights it, and someone behind us honks angrily over the close call.

A long, weighty silence stretches between us after that, but he doesn’t reclaim his hand. Such a tiny gesture, and yet my heart already wants to fan that spark of hope into flame. “That’d never happen, you know.” The reassurance comes out of nowhere, but he keeps his tone clipped, almost harsh.

I frown, confused. “What wouldn’t happen?”

Dante shakes his head. “Nobody would hurt you. No one would dare.”

He issues the statement like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and I don’t bother reminding him that my example was hypothetical. “Why not?”

“Because you'remine.” He slows to a stop at a red light, and the crimson glow casts eerie shadows across his face in the summer sun’s dying light. “Nobody’s stupid enough to hurt what’s mine.”

My chest aches, but I force myself to breathe normally.They already have!I want to scream this, but I can’t summon the strength.You’re mine.How many times in the past did he say those words to me? Too many to count. I never believed I’d hear them again, and a shock of recognition and desire jolts through me. That fierce longing reverberates through my entire body.

“Is that why you helped me back there?” The raspiness of my question might be due to hope. “Because I’m yours?”

Dante scowls. “Of course. I’d do the same if someone fucked with my car or harassed my dog.”

When I draw in a sharp breath, he glances over at me, his gaze calculating as he drinks in my pain. “What did you think I meant, Sara?”

“Nothing.”

Sick to my stomach, I release his hand, and we spend the rest of the drive in strained quiet. He didn’t bother blindfolding me on our way out today, and I’m not an idiot. I know that meanshe no longer cares if I figure out where he’s keeping me because he doesn’t plan on letting me live much longer.

In the face of that revelation, my resolve solidifies. I understood from the beginning that Dante intended on killing me, and this small act just confirms it. Yet tonight, I also witnessed more. Even if I’m nothing but a possession to him, that reality’s still an upgrade from when I first arrived. I need to keep finding ways to dig under his skin and crawl into his head.

I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get out of here.

He still reacts to my touch. Will even allow my advances if I’m careful. It’s all I have to go on, so it’ll have to be enough.

As the car slows in front of Dante’s house, I nearly break my neck trying to soak in the sight of the place as we wait for the garage door to lift. It’s five stories of light brown brick adorned with wall sconces and a terrace at the top. Every level has massive floor-to-ceiling windows that must give the most incredible view of Manhattan money could buy.

The townhouse screams old-world elegance, but mostly it just reminds me ofGossip Girl. My reflection in the glass, featuring baggy eyes and tangled blond hair, tells me loud and clear that I don’t belong here.

Running my nails along the material of the jumpsuit, I sit back as he swings his car into the garage and kills the ignition. As soon as I’m released from the passenger side, he navigates me to an elevator on the opposite end of the space and pushes the button for the floor below this one. My heart drops when I realize he’s leading me back to my cell in the basement of his home.

He pushes my face into the wall before tapping in the code to unlock the door. A new chill radiates from him, along with a sharpness that slices away all the progress I made in the car. He returns me to my prison, and the slamming door and snick of the lock serve as two more nails in my coffin.