Page 35 of Diamond in the Rough (The Diamond Trilogy 1)
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“I wasn’t sure whether Elijah had really bonded to you, whether you meant something or you were just another pussy. He would not usually hesitate to put a woman into the line of fire, would he?” Without waiting for an answer, he says, “But you’re different.”
“I’m not different,” I say because I’m the boring one. The plain one. The one who looks dull and flat behind my gorgeous sister. Elijah hadn’t looked at her all those years ago. He looked at me, but that was only because he needed someone convenient to steal the diamond.
“Ah, ma petite,” Adam says, shaking his head sadly. “You are more beautiful than you know. But you won’t be for very long. I’m afraid that’s the only way this works. I must hurt you to get the information I need.”
“Bastard,” Elijah mutters from behind me.
He sounds pissed but not… especially concerned. As if he knows the torture is about to happen. As if it’s unstoppable. My insides grow cold. “Please,” I whisper. “No.”
“You beg so pretty,” Adam says, looking regretful.
Something silver flashes by my eyes.
Red spills from Adam’s throat. His eyes stare at me, shocked, before turning glassy. He slumps to the floor. His pistol falls to the ground. I let out a shocked scream before Elijah covers my mouth with his hand. “Shhhh,” he says against my ear. “There are still men here.”
“What just happened?” I mouth the words, soundless against Elijah’s palm.
“Peter kept a knife in his boot. I threw it at Adam’s throat.”
A whimper escapes me.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking.” He picks up Adam’s pistol and does something with the chamber. “Hell,” he says. “Damn. Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
He tosses the pistol onto Adam’s slumped body. “It was empty.”
“All this time?”
“We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” He leans down and grasps the knife. When he pulls, Adam’s eyes open slightly. He looks confused, like he doesn’t remember the past few minutes. Elijah grasps the knife differently, and I realize he plans to finish Adam off.
“Wait.”
Elijah looks back, incredulous. “He was going to torture you.”
“He also saved me from Peter.”
“Which wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t kidnap you.”
I know that Adam Bisset is not a good man. He should be taken to prison—a real prison, not one in the basement of a church. But killing a defenseless man doesn’t feel right. The shock of realizing the gun was empty the whole time makes me uneasy. He isn’t hurting us right now. This isn’t self-defense. This would be murder. “No,” I whisper.
“Holly.” Elijah’s voice is rough. “This bastard is the reason I touched you. The reason I… violated you. He should die for what he did to you.”
“What he did to us,” I say, my hand on Elijah’s arm. “He violated you, too.”
A dark laugh. “He wasn’t so wrong. It was a good time for me.”
I’m not sure about that. No one wants to be forced. Even knowing Adam’s sins, I can’t stand here and witness him be killed. “Let’s just leave him.”
Elijah wants to argue. He almost does. His mouth opens. And closes.
Then he turns and leads me away. I glance into Adam’s dark eyes. There’s gratitude. That’s the last bit of shadow I see before Elijah leads me into the blinding light.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Holly
He leads me through a different way than before, a more circuitous route that lets us out directly into a dark copse of trees. Without a word he begins to push through the foliage, and I follow him with silent determination, ignoring the sting of branches and the pull of leaves.
It’s day when we emerge from the church.
Day turns into night.
The sun bleeds over the horizon in red-purple rays by the time we stop for a break. The forest has changed in the hours that passed. It’s become less damp, more sparse. There are no buildings in sight. He points to a flat rock, where I gratefully collapse. The coming sun casts only enough light to be eerie, without illuminating more than a few feet ahead of us.
“We’ll rest for a few minutes,” he says. “I want to find some shelter before the heat of midday.”
My lips are already parched. How long will I last in the elements without food or water?
In the bright dawning sun it’s clear he’s strong. Broad shoulders. Muscled legs. He’s wearing only jeans and a torn gray T-shirt. The bruises that cover his arms don’t detract from his ability. Tendrils of red light illuminate a network of cuts.
They only show that he can survive anything. Everything.
“No,” I say softly.
He turns back to me, green eyes flashing dangerously. “No?”
This is the first time I’ve been able to really see him. I’ve spent hours in a locked cell with him, but like the church, he was shrouded from view.
