Page 21 of Run to Me
His jaw clenches before he stands abruptly and roars, “Fuck!”
The action makes me jolt backwards and I sit still as he paces in front of me and murmurs to himself.
He stops his pacing suddenly and spins around to face me, determination written all over his handsome face.
“He isn’t getting anywhere near you, angel. I promise, he’ll have to go through me first.”
“You can’t know that,” I whisper in response.
“Let me put it in simpler terms for you, angel. I’m going to find out exactly who he is, then I'm going to find him and fucking rip his heart straight out of his chest for daring to lay a hand on you. No one gets to touch you, Robyn. No. One.” He hisses the last words and my breath hitches as I take in the reality of the situation.
Enzo isn’t just anyone issuing these threats. No, he’s part of the Mafia and won’t hesitate to kill someone on my behalf.
That thought should scare the living hell out of me.
I should be running for the hills and trying to get away from him.
So why does the thought of him killing someone who would hurt me make me want to runtohim rather than away? Why does it send a thrill through my veins and a lightning bolt of lust straight to my center? Why does it make me want him to wrap me back up in his arms and never let me go?
I guess I’m just as crazy as he is.
The past two days have been strange to say the least.
After the whole meltdown in the middle of the store thing on Friday, Enzo invited himself up to my apartment and made me sit and tell him everything that happened that night, right down to the very last detail.
I remember being so worn out from recalling the details and breaking down earlier in the day that my body ended up crashing.
I woke up in bed with no recollection of how I got there and the whirring sounds of a drill filling the apartment. After I’d used the bathroom and gotten washed and dressed, I walked out into the hall to find Enzo standing on a ladder drilling a hole into my wall.
Enzo stands on a ladder, his black jeans hugging his legs and his shirt nowhere to be seen.
Black swirls of ink cover his back in what looks like… is that wings?
The man has a huge tattoo of angel wings covering his back.
“What are you doing?” I ask, announcing my presence.
“Installing cameras,” he says nonchalantly, like the answer was obvious.
“What the hell do you mean you’re installing cameras? You can’t just let yourself in here and start messing with things. And you can’t just install cameras inside my apartment so you can watch me whenever you want. I know you have this whole creepy stalker vibe going for you, but this is too far, it’s not cute.”
He steps down from the ladder and turns to smirk at me.
God, he’s infuriating.
“Firstly, I didn’t let myself in here. I just never left.” He must see my eyes widen because he points to the couch where a blanket and pillow lay haphazardly on the arm.
So he slept on my couch? He didn’t try to get in bed with me?
What sort of obsessed stalker is he?
Andwhy am I hurt that he didn’t want to share my bed?
Jesus, I’m fucking losing it.
“Secondly, I’m installing cameras because I want you to be safe and I need to be able to see if anyone comes by here. I won’t have access to them, only you will. They’re purely for precaution, nothing else.”
Okay, that makes sense, I guess.