The man who Mateo had only struck once in the face scrounged himself into a sitting position. His nose was running like an open faucet, face already starting to swell enough that it made Gabriella’s eyes water just to look at him.
The man pulled the pistol from his belt. Both men stared at one another. Mateo didn’t flinch.
“Do it,” he snarled. “See how fast this camp burns.”
For a long moment, no one breathed. Only the sound of one man wheezing and another gurgling broke the tense silence.
Eventually, the men limped away. Afraid. Terrified. One of them had jumped into the spring to pull out the youngest so he wouldn’t drown. No one looked at Gabriella as their footsteps receded. After a time, all that was left was the insistent buzzing of insects and howler monkeys.
Mateo dropped to his knees beside her, shrugging off his ebony shirt and wrapping it around her shoulders. His hands were firm but gentle.
“You’re safe,” he said harshly, like he was convincing himself. His lips were split, crimson sliding down his chin and dripping onto her splayed legs. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
When did he even get hit, she found herself wondering. It had all happened so fast.
She clutched the fabric, breath shuddering, tears finally breaking free.
CHAPTER 18
GABRIELLA
Mateo didn't let go of her.
Not when her shaking started. Not when her breath hitched so hard her ribs hurt. He stayed on his knees in the dirt beside the spring, one strong arm wrapped fully around her back, the other cradling her head against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The jungle hummed around them, indifferent and alive, a thousand unseen creatures carrying on with the business of existing while her world sat in pieces at her feet. The air smelled of wet earth and sulphur from the spring, of crushed leaves and the faint copper tang of his blood, and beneath it all—beneath everything—the warm, steady scent of him. Moss and stone. Something solid in a world that had proven it could dissolve without warning.
“Breathe, Gabriella,” he murmured, low and steady. His voice pitched beneath the chirp of frogs and the distant hum of the camp. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I've got you.”
She tried. God, how she tried. But her body didn't seem to care what her brain wanted. Her hands were locked into hisjacket, knuckles white, as if letting go would send her straight back into the water. Back into hands and laughter and fear.
Don't think about their laughter. Don't think about the water. Don't think about his hands on your ankle.
But she wasalreadythinking about it. The way the spring had turned cold the moment she'd felt eyes on her. The way the warmth had been ripped away so completely, as if the water itself had betrayed her. She pulled her face away from Mateo's chest, her breath coming in shallow, fractured pulls.
“Let me go, please,” she pleaded. Her skin felt too tight over bones she feared would break. Every nerve ending screamed at the press of contact, even as some deeper, more desperate part of her yearned for the opposite.Don't go. You are the only solid thing left I want to trust.
Images of Justin flashed through the dark behind her eyes, uninvited and merciless. His hands on her when she would refuse him. The particular quality of his silence before things turned. She had spent so many therapy sessions learning to name what he had done to her, learning to separate his cruelty from her worth, and she had believed—truly believed—she’d put enough distance between herself and that version of her past life.
And then four men stepped out of the dark and reminded you exactly how small and weak you are.
She hated those men for that. Almost as much as she hated herself for letting it cut so deep.
Mateo shifted, angling his body so he blocked her from every direction as he released her. His hands hovered above her skin—close enough she felt the heat radiating off his palms, yet far enough she understood the choice to be touched was entirely hers. Her body protested at the absence of his touch, torn between feeling safe with him and the memories from her past.
Blood from his split lip still ran down his chin, but he hadn't once moved to wipe it away. He was too busy watching her,as if she were the only thing in the jungle—in the world—that mattered.
“I won't touch you until you are ready,” he rumbled softly. He sat there, painfully close, and studied her with his imperceptibly dark eyes. “I will wait until the stars burn out if I have to. You are safe with me.” Blood continued to drip down both his chin and knuckles, yet he remained her stoic sentinel. Patient. Immovable.
He's bleeding because of me.The thought slid between the static of her panicked anxiety.He came running to protect me, and now he's bleeding because of me.
She found the strength to curl her naked form against him, and he wrapped his arms around her. Restrained strength radiated from his every pore, muscular lines tense with unspent tension as she laid her head back against his chest that bore his erratic heart.This is my choice. She wasallowinghim to hold her, and he was respecting her right to be touched or not. He had waited for her consent with a preternatural stillness as well as the understanding of exactly what that consent meant to her.
She felt the damp ground between her toes, gritty with soil and leaf litter, and the rough roots of a nearby tree pressing into her knee. Every sensation was dialed up to almost unbearable. Her breathing shuddered.
“I am so sorry,” he said. Andhowhe apologized carried with it a sonorous pain that told her he meant far beyond this one moment. “None of this should have ever happened to you.”
Her head shook against his chest. “I—I didn't think … if you hadn't shown up …”