Page 28 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
My gaze drops to the crumpled body. Nevaeh’s cradling her wrist, tears shining on her cheeks.
“What is this? What has happened?”
Comprehension dawns. The hot, liquified metal in my blood heats up to untold levels. I charge forward like a bull gone rogue and spear into Enrico at my full strength. He groans, cracking into the wall and making a dent with his head.
“What the fuck is this?!” I howl. “What have you done to her?”
He opens his mouth to answer only to be pummeled by my fist. Blood spurts and teeth shatter. My fist collides with his face again. Many, many more times ’til he’s dropping unconscious to the floor, and I’m roaring at Ms. Poitier to alert the other guards and take him away.
“I’ll finish him later,” I snarl as more of my men show up. I round on Nevaeh, who’s scooted off and curled up into a ball against the opposite wall.
Terror’s frozen on her face, she’s still clutching her bent wrist. She’s gaping at me like she expects to receive my wrath next. Doesn’t she understand why I’m so fucking angry?
That I’m protecting her, not seeking to hurt her?
“Come here,bella!” I roar in my blinding fury.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head before she scrambles to her feet and then takes off down the hall.
Far away from me, the brute she believes will bring her harm.
TEN
Caelian
“Nevaeh,”I say from outside her locked door. “I’m coming inside.”
It’s my house. I have every key to every door. The lock on hers is more of an illusion for her reassurance than anything. A false sense of security and privacy that doesn’t really exist. That’s without even addressing the matter of the surveillance cameras I have set up in her room.
Or the fact that a man of my size can easily break such doors down.
But it’s better if she opens it on her own. If I let her know beforehand that I’m coming inside. I’m hardly the type to bother thinking about these trivialities; the only reason it’s any different is because of the injury she’s sustained.
Fucking Enrico could’ve snapped her in half if he’d hit her any harder. What the hell was he thinking?
The girl’s barely five feet tall, and judging by the commotion, he must’ve slammed into her like a linebacker during a football game.
“Nevaeh,” I say when silence answers me. I rap my knuckles harder against the door. “If you won’t answer, I’m coming in.”
Why does this girl have to be so damn stubborn? Why must she make me so angry, then act so afraid?
My blood’s hot, my features twisted into a scowl, as I wrap my hand around the brass knob and jam the key into the lock. The door scrapes open to the immediate surprise of Nevaeh. She’s on her bed with her legs crisscrossed. Her face goes slack from the shock I could enter so easily.
I let the door drift shut behind me. The air thickens with unspoken tension between us. Darkens with the energy I naturally carry at any given time. My rough and callous presence effortlessly dominates the space.
She feels it too. Her body stiffens, though she makes no attempt at escape. Likely because she recognizes there isn’t one.
We’re trapped in this room together.
I stalk toward the bed. “Let me see.”
She’s nursing her wrist, resting it in her lap. At my order, her brows bend together, and she merely blinks at me.
“I said, let me see,” I say more coldly, grabbing her by the arm perhaps rougher than I should.
Restraint is difficult when I’m used to behaving as viciously as my natural instincts call for. She doesn’t put up a fight, letting me seize hold of her by the arm and assess the damage done to her wrist.
It’s not broken. Though it is a nasty sprain. The swelling’s already started. When I touch the area with my fingers, even attempting to be gentle, she winces.