8: You will not run

My eyes widened. “What?”

His hand tightened on mine, iron wrapped in silk. “If I drop you off tonight, Wiktor’s men will follow – and knowing Wiktor, he will try to hurt me any way he can.” The way he said the words sent a shiver down my spine. “So, until I decide how to deal with him, you’re not out of my sight.”

“Santiago,” I started, panic and anger clashing in my chest. “You can’t just decide that.”

His gaze locked on mine, molten and unyielding. “I can when your life depends on it.”

Julián stepped closer then, murmuring rapid Spanish under his breath. I couldn’t follow the words, but I saw the way Santiago’s jaw flexed before he nodded once.

Then his attention returned to me.

Santiago brushed a strand of hair from my face with unexpected gentleness, and somehow that was worse than if he had ordered me outright.

My throat closed. “And if I refuse?”

Santiago leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice a low growl that made my skin prickle. “Then I’ll carry you out of here over my shoulder. And no one in this room will stop me.”

My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break my ribs. A part of me wanted to slap him. Another part, traitorous and terrified, believed every word.

Santiago nodded once to Julián, who was already moving, signaling to someone outside. I caught the flicker of a shadow past the windows – another man on watch, armed, waiting.

My knees wobbled. “Where are you taking me?” I hated how small my voice sounded.

Santiago bent, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

“Somewhere Wiktor’s men can’t reach you. My house.”

He tugged his jacket tighter around me before we stepped into the night.

The SUV waited outside, engine running. Santiago guided me out with his hand at my back. Julián went ahead, scanning the street with a predator’s precision. The night air was cool, but I felt feverish. Trapped. Caught between fear of Wiktor’s men and the fire of Santiago’s touch, steering me toward a place I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. A place I might not escape.

When the door shut behind us and the SUV pulled away from the curb, I knew it. I could sense it, hanging in the air like a storm. There was no going back.

The SUV slid smoothly into the night, city lights blurring past the tinted windows. The hum of the engine was steady, but inside, the silence was sharp and oppressive – like the calm before a thunder.

I sat pressed against the cool, white leather, Santiago’s jacket draped around me, his warmth clinging to it. In my head, his words echoed: My house.

His house.

His world.

His rules.

I hugged myself tighter, staring out the window, half-expecting to see scarred men in black sedans following us.

“Breathe, mi ángel.” Santiago’s voice wrapped around me like velvet and smoke. He sat right beside me, lounging against the seat like this was just another ride home. But his eyes never stopped watching me. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not.” The denial was weak, breaking in my throat.

His lips curved, boyish and wicked. “Liar.”

I turned on him, anger rising because fear had nowhere else to go. “You can’t just decide where I sleep, what I do, who I’m allowed to speak to. You can’t just wrap it in protection and pretend that makes it less controlling.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then his hand slid over mine, pinning it gently against the leather seat.

Not hard.

Not painful.

Just immovable.

“I am not pretending,” he said quietly. “I know exactly what I am doing.”

My breath caught.

I tried to pull my hand free.

His thumb pressed once against my wrist, firm enough to stop me, not enough to hurt.

“Listen to me carefully, Valería. Wiktor’s men followed us from the café. That means they want to know where you go when I let you leave. Who you call. Where you sleep. Whether you have neighbors. Whether your door has a chain. Whether you scream loud enough for anyone to care.”

My blood turned cold.

His voice lowered.

“I will not give them that information.”

The anger in me faltered.

Only for a second.

I hated that he saw it.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, then returned to my eyes. “You may hate me tonight. You may accuse me of every terrible thing you can think of. But you will do it from a place where Wiktor cannot reach you.”

“And what if I don’t feel safe with you either?”

His expression changed.

Something flickered there. Not guilt exactly. Not hurt. Something darker and quieter.

“Then be afraid of me,” he said softly. “If that keeps you alive, I can live with it.”

The words stole the air from my lungs.

I looked away first.

The SUV turned down a quieter street, headlights sweeping over shuttered shops and sleeping apartments. Somewhere, ordinary people were closing curtains, washing dishes, crawling into bed beside people who didn’t come with armed guards and whispered orders.

My life had been ordinary yesterday.

Now I was in a black SUV beside a man who had claimed my safety like territory.

A warm hand settled on my thigh.

I turned my head sharply.

Santiago’s eyes were on me, dark and unreadable.

His touch was not wandering. Not yet. It was simply there, heavy with warning and possession, a reminder that he noticed every tremor, every breath, every thought I failed to hide.

“Santiago.”

His name came out half warning, half plea.

His thumb brushed once over the fabric of my dress.

“You were very brave in the restaurant,” he murmured.

I swallowed. “Is that what you call it?”

“Defiant. Reckless. Tempting.” His smile curved slowly. “Brave.”

My pulse betrayed me, thudding hard beneath my ribs.

“I’m still angry with you.”

“I know.”

“I still think this is wrong.”

“I know.”

His fingers tightened slightly, and his voice dipped into something velvet-dark. “But you will stay beside me tonight. You will not run. You will not test Julián’s patience, or mine. You will not try to prove your independence by walking into the hands of men who would carve it out of you.”

A chill slid through me.

The threat outside the car suddenly felt more real than the threat inside it.

I stared at him, my throat tight.

“And if I do?”

His smile faded.

For one terrifying second, the playful lion vanished completely.

Only the predator remained.

“Then I will catch you.”

The words were soft.

Certain.

Worse than a shout.

He leaned closer, cedar and wine warming the air between us.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten, cariño,” he murmured, his voice a promise wrapped in fire and silk. “We still have rules to discuss.”

My breath caught.

His smile returned, slow and devastating.

“And consequences.”