SANTIAGO
While waiting for the water to warm up in the shower, I take my phone out of my pocket and check the device for water damage. When I see it’s still working, I quickly grab the hand towel by the sink and dry it.
After setting the phone down on the counter, I strip out of my wet clothes and step beneath the warm spray.
My thoughts turn to the incident on the veranda. The second Ciara saw Pedro, she ran, but she didn’t try to flee from the women.
I keep alternating between the person who held her captive being a woman or man. My men still haven’t found any leads, so we’re fucked on that front.
It’s been two weeks, and I still only know her first name. Maybe I’ll be able to get some information out of her during lunch.
I quickly wash my body before rinsing the suds off. Shutting the faucets, I grab a towel, and while I dry myself, my thoughts are filled with Ciara.
My movements still as I stare at nothing specific.
With every passing day, I feel increasingly protective of her. I already care a fuck ton about her. The moment I saw her, I knew she was the one. Every time she lifts her baby blue eyes and looks at me with fear, I just want to grab her to me and make her feel safe.
I’ve always been affected by the women I save. I felt for every single one, but with Ciara, it cuts deep, knowing she suffered because I didn’t find her sooner.
It was pure fucking luck that I saw her running through the field. If we had left earlier or later, I would have missed her, and God only knows what would’ve become of her.
I shake my head and drop the towel before heading to my closet. I step into my boxers, then grabbing a pair of black silk pants and a matching shirt, I put them on.
When I’m dressed, I don’t bother with shoes as I don’t plan to go anywhere for the rest of the day.
I head back to the bathroom and style my hair before putting on some cologne. When I’m satisfied with my appearance, I pick up my phone and leave my suite.
Walking down the hallway, I notice the floor has been mopped already, the trail of water we left gone.
I knock on Ciara’s door and wait a moment. When there’s no answer, I open the door. She’s standing by the window, still dressed in her wet clothes.
So much for making progress.
“Come,” I order, walking to her bathroom. I turn on the faucets and wait for her to join me, then say, “Shower, Ciara.”
I step around her and head to the closet, where I grab a pair of leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and underwear. When I get back to the bathroom, she’s standing with her head bowed.
I set the clothes down on the counter, and moving slowly so I don’t startle her, I place my finger beneath her chin and nudge her face up so she’ll look at me.
The moment our eyes meet, I say, “I want you to shower and get dressed in the clothes I’ve put on the counter. I’m waiting in your bedroom.” Her lips tremble at the corners, and it has me adding, “Please, mi pequeño sol. You’ll get sick in the wet clothes, and that’s the last thing I want.”
When I let go of her chin, she keeps looking at me as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle, and feeling that she needs to hear it, I say, “You are safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
There’s a flicker of hope on her face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.
Resisting the urge to press a kiss to her forehead, I step around her again and walk out of the bathroom, praying to everything holy she’ll shower.
Noticing the French doors are open, I go and stand out on the balcony and glance over the backyard. When I see all the guards, I let out a sigh. Ciara must’ve seen them, and she’s probably wondering why there are so many armed men on my property. I’ll address the subject as soon as she comes out of the bathroom.
When it sounds like she’s showering, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I glance around the bedroom before sitting down on the window seat.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs. Unlocking my phone, I see a message from Dominik and open it. There’s another photo of Kristian. This time, he’s lying on a fluffy blanket, his gray eyes wide.
I quickly type out a message.
Santiago: So cute. He must take after Grace.
I hear the water shut off and quickly lock my phone before shoving it into my pocket. My eyes are glued to the doorway, but it takes ten more minutes before Ciara comes back into the bedroom.
My eyes lock on her wet hair. “Dry your hair.”
She glances back into the bathroom, then tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.
Hoping I get an answer, I ask, “Did the person who held you captive control everything you did?”
Her gaze swings back to me, then she surprises me by nodding.
“You’re allowed to do anything you want, Ciara. You won’t get in trouble, and you don’t need permission.”
Again, she looks at me as if she’s trying to figure me out.
Tilting my head, I ask, “Do you want me to dry your hair for you?”
Her features tighten, and she lowers her head again.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” I assure her. “Please go dry your hair.”
She quickly rushes back into the bathroom, and a moment later, I hear the hairdryer.
When Ciara’s done, and she comes back into the bedroom, I give her a pleased smile. “That’s much better. Let’s get something to eat out on the veranda.”
Wanting to see what she’ll do, I stand up and don’t tell her to follow me as I walk out into the hallway.
Her soft footfall sounds up behind me, and it has another smile tugging at my mouth.
We head downstairs, but as we near the sliding doors that lead to the veranda, I see Marc and Pedro talking outside by the front door that’s straight ahead of us.
I quickly glance over my shoulder, and when Ciara’s eyes widen on the men, I say, “Don’t run. They won’t hurt you.”
Her body tenses, and she fists her hands at her side, but then I’m surprised again as she moves closer to hide herself behind me.
“Pedro, close the front door,” I order, my attention focused on Ciara. When I hear the door shut, I say, “They’re gone. Okay? Let’s go outside to the veranda so we can get some sun.”
Her body doesn’t relax, but she follows me onto the veranda. I gesture at the chair near mine. “Take a seat.”
I wait for her to sit down before I sink down on my favorite chair.
Instead of staring off into the distance like I’ve done so many times while I was waiting for Ciara to come into my life, my gaze rests on her beautiful face.
“Astrid, my housekeeper, will bring the food out soon. Don’t be frightened.”
Ciara glances around her, and I get the feeling it’s because she’s on guard and not because she’s admiring my home.
My words aren’t even cold when Astrid pushes a cart out onto the veranda. Her eyes lock on Ciara, and a wide smile spreads over her face.
Astrid’s been with me for fifteen years. She’s one of the first women I saved, and she refuses to leave my side.
When she’s close enough, I say, “Ciara, this is Astrid. If you need anything, just ask her.”
“Yes,” Astrid agrees. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ciara. Welcome to our little slice of heaven.”
Ciara’s gaze lifts to Astrid for a second, then she murmurs, “Hi, Astrid.”
There’s a burst of pride and happiness in my chest because of the small step she just took.
“She does look like a sunrise. So beautiful,” Astrid practically coos while taking the silver domes off the plates. “I made lomo saltado. Enjoy.”
The dish is a type of stir-fry that consists of marinated sirloin strips, rice, onions, tomatoes, fries, and various other ingredients. It’s one of my favorites.
“Thank you, Astrid,” I say. I wait for her to head back into the house before I pick up a plate from the cart and put it down on the table so it’s near Ciara. “You can move your chair closer if you’d like to eat by the table.”
I place a knife and fork beside her plate before helping myself to the other plate and relaxing back in my chair.
Ciara watches as I hold the plate with my left hand while spearing a strip of sirloin with my fork. When I take the bite, she reaches for her plate and sets it down on her lap.
Struggling to keep from staring at Ciara, I eat half my food before I say, “I’m sure you’ve seen the armed guards.”
Ciara’s tongue darts out to lick her lips, and she keeps her gaze on her plate.
“I’ve attacked crime organizations and the cartels to free the people living in the village. The guards are here for everyone’s protection. They won’t hurt you, so please don’t run when you see one.”
She doesn’t give me any indication that she’s listening, but I keep going. “The man you saw yesterday is my second-in-command, Pedro. His wife, Ramona, manages the storage room where we keep all our food and supplies.”
Ciara’s features grow tense, and it has me asking, “Do you have any questions?”
She hesitates for a moment, but then the words fall soft over her lips. “Do I have to eat everything, or can I stop when I’ve had enough?”
“You can stop whenever you’re full.”
I watch as she carefully places the plate back on the cart before sitting tensely beside me.
I take a chance and ask, “Do you have any other questions?”
She grips her hands together on her lap, drawing my attention to them. They’re beautiful, but I notice her nails are all different lengths.
I’ll arrange a manicure for her.
“Where am I?”
Didn’t I tell her?
“You’re in Peru. South America.”
Her blue eyes dart to my face, shock filling them.
I wait, giving her a few minutes while one emotion after another plays out on her face. She lowers her head, and a few seconds later, a silent tear drops onto her hand. She quickly covers it with her other hand to hide it.
“Ciara.” I lean a little closer to her, but when she tenses even more, I pause, fighting the strong urge to comfort her.
She sucks in a quivering breath, and keeping her head bowed, she whispers, “Will I ever go home again?”
“Of course. Once you’ve healed and you’re better, we can travel to Ireland.”
Her head snaps up, and hope fills her eyes.
Seeing as we’re finally talking, I ask, “Do you have family in Ireland?”
Instantly, the hope vanishes, then she shakes her head. “No family. My father is dead.”
She wraps her arms around her middle in a defensive move, which tells me she’s not being completely honest.
Knowing I’m pushing my luck, I ask, “Who held you captive?”
Her chin quivers, and her shoulders curve forward as if she’s trying to make herself a smaller target. “Nolan.”
“A man?” I check to make sure.
She nods.
Now, I know not to waste time looking for a woman.
But my men didn’t find a man. The house by the trees was empty when they searched it. They found a chain bolted to a wall, but that’s all. The fucker must’ve made a run for it right after Ciara escaped.
My tone remains gentle as I continue with the questions. “Do you know for how long you were held captive?”
“I think nine months.”
I already know the answer, but still, I ask, “Was he sick with the flu? Is that how you managed to get away from him?”
When she nods, I close my eyes for a moment.
I had the fucker in my sights.
Pulling out my phone, I type a message for Pedro.
Santiago: The fucker who held Ciara captive is blonde/ginger. Freckles all over his face. Estimated 5.9ft. Probably mid-thirties. He drove a blue Ford Fiesta.
“Can you tell me more about him? His last name?” I ask
She turns her head slightly to me, then whispers, “Why?”
I contemplate lying to soften the blow, but decide against it and reply honestly, “So I can kill him to make sure you never cross paths with him again.”
Silence follows my words for a long while before she looks at me. I meet her gaze, and it feels like she’s trying to figure out if she can trust me with the information.
“Walsh.”
Santiago: Nolan Walsh. I want him brought to me alive.
Pedro: Notifying the team a.s.a.p
As I tuck the phone back into my pocket, I smile at Ciara. “Thank you, mi pequeño sol.” Her eyes narrow slightly, and it has me translating, “It means my little sunshine.”
Confusion flits over her features, but she keeps quiet.
Once again, silence falls between us, and while she stares at the lone tree on the hill, I take in every inch of her.
She looks healthier, and there’s color in her face.
One win at a time.
