Her eyes shut, and her head lolled. No control. How much blood had she lost? Internal bleeding? Head injury? Combat mode took over. He saw no one, nothing but the end goal: the doctor's office. It was the only way she'd survive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Caterina cringed as she drifted awake. Her memory was fuzzy. The film on her tongue made nausea roll. Instinctively, her body lurched to vomit. Bile and nothingness came up as she twisted on her side. Her limbs twitched and spasmed. Her abdominal muscles ached like she'd thrown up for days. Pain between her legs throbbed. Her abdomen was sore, bruised. Her insides- The memory of El Mateperros above her, forcing himself in her- Her stomach cramped. She dry heaved. Once, twice. Again and again. The memory made her retch. Relief seemed almost impossible. Her body disgusted her. She needed a shower. Needed to scrub and purge. Needed help...

Grunts and El Mateperros's voice. No. Tears fell again.

Her head spun, worsening with every remembered syllable of the disgusting memory. A headache panged her temples. Reality was awful. Hatred and misery took over. Why had this happened? Why couldn't she stop it? Strength and tenacity, impervious and impassable. That was how she would have described herself. Not pathetic.

Friction-burned flesh was raw between her legs. How had she-oh... a cool cloth pressed against her forehead. Ah. Relief. Only a small flicker.

But one ounce of it was enough to keep the maddening pain at bay for a microsecond. Disheveled strands of hair were tucked behind her ear, and again, the cool cloth. On her forehead. Her cheeks. Her neck. Opening her eyes was too much. Strong and stable warmth patted her hair, repositioning the cloth.

"I think she's waking up." An echoing, distantly familiar voice tugged her awake-Rocco.

The caress of his voice drew her eyes open. His chiseled face was furrowed. Soft caramel eyes had darkened and dulled. Her stomach twisted again, and her headache quadrupled, stomach roiling as the memories came back in jolting chunks, like flipping channels on the TV. A gap in memory, El Mateperros's face. Another gap, the ice bath. A gap, her sickening attack and-Rocco arrived. She hadn't seen him, but she heard him. All American-cartoon-style. Bow. Bam. Pop. The brute force. The sounds of the room being destroyed had screamed in her ears. Rocco had wanted to save her life, her dignity. One out of two at least...She gagged, wallowing until she boxed up the self-pity, hiding it from herself, and re-prioritized her feelings. Rage. That was better. If nothing else, it would make this survivable. Caterina would have El Mateperros's balls if it killed her. She'd castrate him with a toothbrush. Or a toothpick. Whichever one was slower and more painful. Soon as her body healed.

Hushed voices brought her from planning the Dog Killer's dismembering. A doctor. He shooed Rocco out of the room and gave her a onceover, asking questions and providing information. She didn't speak or listen, only kept her eyes partly open. There was nothing other than the obvious wrong with her, and she didn't want to talk about it to a stranger, even if he was a doctor. As soon as the exam was over, she curled back onto the bed and tried to sleep again.

"Kitten?" Rocco stepped back in, pulled a chair back to the bed, and his thumb smoothed over her cheek.

She blinked. Focused. Tried to swallow. Didn't work so much.

"Hello." Her whisper barely made a sound, cracking and aching in her raw throat.

His forehead bunched, and she saw a flicker of a smile, but then stress lines reappeared. "Hi."

Her eyelids burned as though she'd cried for days. They were swollen, and her eyes scratched with each blink. The cool cloth pressed on her temple again, and he smoothed it across her skin.

"How do you feel?"

She nodded. "Okay enough."

Rocco put the cloth down and took her hand. His dwarfed hers, and dropping down, he hunched over in a chair pulled close to the bed. Silence wrapped around them. The room was so quiet. Too quiet to be a hospital. Medical equipment lined the walls. A cross on the wall. Cabinets and medical supplies.

"Doc's been taking care of you..." He squeezed her hand as if trying to impart strength and brought it to his cheek. "Titan did a job for his medical charity out in-hell, it doesn't matter. Just know the doc here is good."

"Where is here?"

"Private residence, not too far from the hotel."

He scrubbed his bruised jaw and ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn, Cat. I never should've left you alone. I can't explain how sorry I am." His throat bobbed, and tears laced it. "I'm so fucking sorry."

He brought her hand back to the bridge of his nose and bowed his head. They fell silent. His breaths were irregular. Every few minutes, he moved, motioned, acted as if he had something to say, but nothing more came.

Finally, Rocco shook his head. "I don't want to make this about me, but hell, holding you to me... like I was the one dying. And I was. Dying."

What to say to that? She had nothing. Helpless guilt choked her.

Rocco continued, quietly, maybe talking to himself, maybe talking to her. "I'm sure there are special words I should say. Hell, or shouldn't say. Caterina... goddamn. I'm sorry. It shouldn't be like this."

Tears blurred her vision. She wiped at them, angry that they kept falling. Her body ached, soreness a vicious reminder of the attack.

"I forget what normal feels like, and I was normal...yesterday. Even hours ago." She gulped a breath. "How do you forget that?"

His jaw flexed. "Do you need to, ya know, talk? Want me to get one of the girls on the phone? Mia, Nic, Sugar, Sarah... I trust them. Someone else?"

"No."

"Cat..." She could hear him breathe. Swallow. A clock ticked somewhere nearby. "You want to talk to me?"

She didn't know what she wanted. Talking seemed awful. Silence was so much better. But even in silence, she couldn't get away from her thoughts. They replayed everything over and over. Licking a raw lip, she tried to find the words. "I shouldn't have opened the door."

"What?" His face twisted.

Forcing herself up, she pulled her hand from his and sat up. Emotions swirled. Guilt. Embarrassment. Anger. Desperation. Sadness. She was all over the place. Rocco moved to adjust her pillows, and she flinched, shrinking back as if he came at her with a baseball bat. Holy God. Her cheeks heated. "I didn't mean to-I know... I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't apologize." He moved so slowly, adjusting her pillows and delicately touching her arm to help her move back against them. His deliberate actions made her feel even more foolish. "There you go."

"What if-"

Slowly, his head shook. "You can't torture yourself."

"I've tortured people most my life. This is karma. I deserved it. And I was stupid. I should've looked, should've pushed stronger, fought harder." She dissolved into a mess of tears. "I'm stronger than this. I shouldn't have let it happen."

He wrapped himself around her. She flinched again, reacting even though she knew better, but it didn't stop him from enveloping her in the safety of his arms. Thank God, because she needed him to hold her more than she'd realized. She needed him in so many ways.

"This is not your fault."

Nothing to say to that. It might have been her fault. It felt a hell of a lot like her fault.

"Caterina Cruz." He pulled back, stealing his fortifying embrace. "Look at me."

But she couldn't. How would he ever touch her again? The worst person she'd ever met, the most awful monster that walked the face of the earth, had been inside her. She was disgusting. Awful. Just completely, absolutely horrific. And that bastard... She needed to hurl.

"Kitten." Slowly, he reached over, taking her chin in his hand and redirected her. Barely a whisper. "Just look at me."

She closed her eyes tight then opened to his warm gaze. Reaching. Caring. Loving. And it was too much. "I can't."

With eyes sealed shut, he sucked a breath, then leveled a stare as calculating as she felt cold and empty. He let her chin go and found her hand again, stroking her knuckles. "I'll get El Mateperros for you. Don't worry about a thing."

"No." She moved too fast. The room spun. Tugging her hand back, she shook her head, doing bad things for her nausea. "No. You can't."

"Kitten."

"No."

"Cat. Caterina-"

El Mateperros was hers. Especially now. No white knight was going to steal her revenge. "No."

"Lie down-"

"No." Panic flowed. She tore into a tirade, a mix of Spanish and English. She didn't even know what she was saying. It was all El Mateperros is mine. You owe me. He owes me. Too much hurt in her chest. In her memory. Anger bubbled up at Rocco, and a cold sweat broke out over her body.

"Caterina," he tried to cut her off.

But she couldn't stop. Her mouth ran. Her hands, her legs moved. She'd escape. Chase down her nemesis. Rocco couldn't take this from her. He just couldn't. El Mateperros, more so than ever, was hers to destroy. Mind spinning, she tried to hop off the bed. Rocco held her in place, saying something, but she couldn't hear him.

"What are you saying?" He turned behind them, talking to someone she hadn't seen. "What's she saying? Doc, a little help in here."

She couldn't stop. El Mateperros was her obsession. Her will to live, breathe, and survive rested on taking out the terrorist. He took from her, and he would pay at her hands.

Rocco's fingers snapped at her, but she couldn't look at him. No stopping her now. She'd walk out of the doctor's and find her attacker on foot if she had to.

A loud smacking sound stunned her. Rocco's hands were still together, hanging inches from her face after he clapped. Whatever she'd been saying stopped. Her mind went blank. Then she dropped back onto the bed, shaking her head.

"He's mine." She calmed down, needing to convey how much Rocco had to understand. "That bastard owes me. If El Mateperros took that much from you, Rocco, I'd say go ahead. Go get him. Take him down, tear him apart. Take what you deserve. If he hurt you-"

"You don't get it, Caterina," he growled. "He did."

No, no. He couldn't use her feelings against her. He couldn't play like they were feeling the same thing, all in the name of keeping her safe, especially when she knew so much was going on with him.

Rocco's hands on hers were steadfast. "He almost took everything I-"

"Don't say finish. Don't." Her mind reeled. Being in love with him was one thing. Being loved by him, a completely different thing. "That's... scary. Impossible to survive. Take your confusions and know that-"

"Can't help who you fall for or when it happens."

"Damn it, Rocco. Don't say anything else." She shook her head, defensive, wanting to protect him and her heart. "Not today. Not after this happened. I won't believe it. I can't."

"But-"

"Not today. I'm so fucked in the head. Even before... this. You don't understand what it's like to lose your mind."

"That's not true. You just don't know it."

And there it was, the only mention of what she had known was happening. Relief let her take a deep breath. Something to talk about other than what had happened to her. She could talk about him. She'd rather talk about his freak outs. Her mind needed a break, and her heart needed to feel something other than fear and misery.

"Actually. I do, Roc." The night they'd met on the London park bench seemed so long ago. Somehow, she'd known they were supposed to run into each other. When it was time to force herself out of his hotel room that night, she couldn't resist leaving a note on the mirror. She'd thought he'd never see it, but she'd always know it was there.

She'd hoped maybe one day their paths would cross. Then they did. Immediately. She should've told him what happened. What she saw. What she knew. Or thought she knew. He needed to know whatever was happening to him was survivable.

His stare penetrated, wary. Its intensity burned into her. "You do? What?"

"I saw you when you left me."

Somewhere in the room, the clock continued to tick loudly. The slightest shift made her sheets swish.

"That was you." He didn't blink.

Caterina nodded.

"At our hotel?"

She nodded. "And..."

His head tilted, studying her. "The note in the mirror?"

"Yes."

His jaw gaped, and his eyes narrowed. "Somehow I thought it was."

Talking about this was so much better than talking about her. "I met you that night. You needed help, so I helped."

"I could've been on drugs, deranged. Just dangerous."

Her stomach dropped. Today had proven that she couldn't handle danger. When she'd looked at him, she'd known he wasn't. Both then and now. "You weren't, and I knew it. Down to my soul."

Rocco pressed his lips together, rolling the bottom one in for long seconds. "I thought you were an angel."

She thought back to that night. How vulnerable he was despite his size. Maybe she was his angel. Right now, he was hers.

"I thought I dreamt you. I..." He closed his eyes. Finally, they opened, darting around the room before landing back on her. "If anyone finds out-"

"They won't."

He rubbed his knuckles into the hollows of his eyes. "Remember that knife wound I told you about? The new scar?"

She nodded.

"I was dosed with some messed-up poison. I tripped my ass off when it first happened. Then I thought it flushed out of my system, but it keeps happening."

"For how long?"

"Weeks now."

"You should see a doctor."

He dropped his head back. "Yeah. True enough. Except I was worried about my job."

"Jared doesn't know?"