“Another man took her?”

“Yes! He said—” Nora’s voice catches on a sob. “He said he was going to take his turn in the car. There were two of them here, and one took Rosa!”

I stare at her, a new fury building inside me. I may not be close to Rosa, but I like the girl and she’s under my protection. The idea that someone dared to do this, to assault her and Nora this way—

“Hurry!” Nora implores, frantically tugging on the arm I’m holding to pull me toward the door. “Come on, Julian, we have to hurry! He just dragged her out that way, so we can still catch up!”

Fuck. I grit my teeth, every muscle in my body vibrating with tension. I’ve never been so torn in my life. Nora is hurt, and everything inside me screams that she’s my first priority, that I should grab her and rush her to safety as quickly as possible. But if what she says is true, then the only way to save Rosa is to act immediately—and it’ll take my men at least a few minutes to get to where we are.

“Please, Julian!” Nora begs, sobbing, and the panic in her eyes decides it for me.

“Stay here.” My voice is cold and sharp as I release her arm and step back. “Do not move.”

“I’m coming with you—”

“Like hell you are.” Pulling out my gun, I thrust it into her hands. “Wait for me here, and shoot anyone you don’t recognize.”

And before she can argue with me, I stride swiftly toward the back door, messaging Lucas about the situation on the way.

Chapter 25

Nora

As soon as Julian disappears through the door, I sink to the floor, clutching the gun he gave me. My legs are trembling and my head is spinning, waves of nausea rolling through me. I feel like I’m hanging on to my sanity by a thread. Only the knowledge that Julian is on his way to rescue Rosa keeps me from slipping into complete hysteria. Drawing in a shuddering breath, I wipe at the moisture on my face with the back of my hand, and as I lower my arm, a streak of red catches my attention.

Blood.

There’s blood on me.

I stare at it, repulsed yet fascinated. It has to be from the man Julian killed. Julian was covered in blood when he touched me, and it’s all over me now, the streaks of red on my arms and chest reminiscent of one of my paintings. Strangely, the analogy calms me a bit. Drawing in another breath, I look up, turning my attention to the dead man lying a few feet away.

Now that he’s not attacking me, I realize with shock that I recognize him. He’s one of the two young men Rosa was dancing with. Does that mean that the second attacker is the other man? I frown, trying to remember the second man’s features, but he’s just a blur in my mind. I also don’t recall ever seeing the teenage guy who was guarding the entrance to this room. Was he with Rosa’s dancing companions? If so, why? None of this makes any sense. Even if the three of them are serial rapists, how could they have thought they’d get away with such a brutal assault in a club?

Of course, the motivations of the dead man don’t matter anymore. I know he’s dead because his body is no longer twitching. His eyes are open and his mouth is slack, a trickle of blood running down his cheek. He stinks of death too, I realize—of blood, feces, and fear. As the sickening smell registers, I scoot away, crawling a few feet to huddle closer to the couch.

Another man was killed in front of me. I wait for horror and disgust, but they don’t come. Instead, all I feel is a kind of vicious joy. As if on a movie screen, I see Julian’s knife rising and falling, sinking into the man’s side again and again, and all I can think is that I’m glad the man is dead.

I’m glad Julian gutted him.

It’s odd, but my lack of empathy doesn’t bother me this time. I can still feel the man’s hands on my body, his nails scraping my skin as he ripped at my clothes. He’d managed to pin me down while I was dazed from his blow, and even though I struggled as hard as I could, I knew I was losing. If Julian hadn’t come when he did—

No. I shut that down mid-thought. Julian did come, so there’s no need to dwell on the worst. All things considered, I’ve gotten off with minimal damage. My split lip throbs and my back feels like one giant bruise, but it’s nothing irreparable. My body will heal. I’ve been hit before and survived.

The real question is: will Rosa?

The thought of her hurt, broken and violated, fills me with rage. I want Julian to slaughter the other man as savagely as he killed this one. In fact, I want to do it myself. I would’ve insisted on coming along, but arguing with Julian would’ve only slowed down Rosa’s rescue.

For now, all I can do is wait and hope that Julian brings her back.

Spotting my little purse on the floor, I crawl over to pick it up. Every movement hurts, but I want that purse with me. It has my phone, which means I can reach Julian. And that’s important—because it suddenly dawns on me that Rosa is not the only one in danger at the moment.

So is my husband.

No. I push that thought away too. I know what Julian is capable of. If anyone is equipped to handle this, it’s the man who kidnapped me. Julian’s life has been steeped in violence from childhood; killing a scumbag or two must be like cutting grass for him.

Unless said scumbag is armed or has buddies.

No. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to entertain such thoughts. Julian will return with Rosa, and all will be well. It has to be. We’re going to be a family, build a life together . . .

A family.