Skin of a Sinner: A Dark Childhood Best Friends Romance(97)

Bile rises in my throat. I lunge for the asshole, only to be held back. “You better not have fucking touched her!”

“Shut the fuck up and go find her,” Damien growls.

Vargas just laughs. Laughs.

My chest tightens. My blood is no longer red and hot; it’s black and electrified. There’s one thing on my mind, and it has everything to do with Bella.

Damien—the useless fucker—is right. Attacking Vargas will do nothing. It won’t help me find her, and I’ll have to get through his men to get to him.

One of his men walks toward me, but Damien steps in front of me before I can rip his head clean from his fucking body. “Call off your dogs, Vargas.”

The cartel boss just laughs, as if this is all a fun game to him. He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn and start running without listening to the words. He’s stalling me.

Someone’s hot on my heels, but I don’t care to see who. Because if it’s one of Vargas’ men, there would be no running; I’d be fighting like my life depends on it—because her life depends on it.

I don’t know my way around this place. I shouldn’t have brought her. I shouldn’t have thought she’d be safe if she came.

Damien yanks me in a different direction from where I’m going. “Not there, I’ve checked.” He points to another corridor. “There’s an exit over there.”

I check inside every door I pass, yelling her name over and over again. Energy that didn’t exist during the fight rages through my veins, and I sprint for the stairs. I don’t know how long ago someone got to her, or if she’s even still in the building. How many men did Vargas bring? How many were sitting with him? When did he get the balls to pull something like this off?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Bella!” I yell when my feet hit the first step of the stairs.

This hurts more than being shot in the chest. I’d rather take a bullet a thousand times than for Bella to get hurt. In my head, I keep hearing the same thing, over and over again.

Bella is going to get hurt, and it’s all my fault.

I knew Vargas was there, and I still brought her. I knew Vargas’s base is Chicago, and I still came. I underestimated them. I knew Vargas could be a threat, and I did nothing. I practically handed Bella over to him.

I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.

I didn’t even tell the cops about Bella, just so they wouldn’t bother her, and twenty minutes ago, I claimed her in front of Vargas and every other fucker in the warehouse. How stupid can I be?

The emergency exit door swings open. I don’t feel the cold, or the glass digging into my bare feet, or my pounding heart. My entire body is attuned to her and the sound of her muffled screams in the distance.

But I can’t figure out which direction it’s coming from. “Bella!” I roar.

Then she lets out another scream.

Damien isn’t behind me anymore. We’re both racing through the empty streets toward the noise, using her blood-curdling screams and moonlight to guide us. I push myself harder, and so does he. The closer we get, the clearer the sounds become.

Grunting. Scuffling. Crying.

Then she comes into view, body half dragged along the ground by the fist in her hair toward the rugged van. She isn’t making this bastard’s job easy, clawing his arms, kicking at his feet to trip him, mouth snapping against the gag to try to bite him.

Then he hits her.

And I explode.

I fucking lose it.

“Bella!” I roar.

The asshole hurting Bella snaps his attention to me. He throws her to the side, and she lands with a scream, just as someone else comes running out of the van. My heart rattles in its cage when she looks at me with tears streaming down her face, a concoction of emotions swirling behind her red eyes. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. I want to put a bullet in myself for it.

The fucking cunt who hurt Bella snarls as he charges forward. I meet him halfway. I need this asshole to pay. For a split second, pride blooms at the sight of Bella’s art on his skin. Three bloody slashes run diagonally along his cheek.

He’s bulkier than the guy in the ring, faster too. I don’t dodge his first hit in time. He doesn’t miss my throw either.

Behind me, Damien grunts as he exchanges blows with the driver while a gun lays abandoned on the street.

Then the light from the streetlamp glints against metal, flashing through the air and onto my forearm. I snarl from the pain that thunders across my flesh as I collide my own fist against his jaw. We dance around a couple more hits, but there’s nothing that will save him from me.

He’s fighting to stay alive. I’m fighting for Bella.

There’s no strategy or tact in my punches as I knock the knife out of his hand. My muscles move in pure rage. I can’t feel the pain in my arm anymore. Every hit lacks its usual thrill, and it doesn’t matter how many times I kick him or feel his bones crack, the surging, white-hot anger doesn’t dissipate.

He made Bella bleed.

He tried to take her away from me.

He hurt her.

The driver pulls me off him, but someone tackles him a second later, leaving me to continue with my assault on the man who hurt her. He reaches for the gun, but Rico grabs it before he can, going to help his brother.

I yank the man back to me by the collar of his shirt and descend my fists on any part of him I can reach. The fire isn’t doused when he’s on the ground, and I’m seconds away from killing him with my fists alone.