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I can’t figure him out.

My brothers don’t know I’m in a bed, finally.

The thought makes my chest ache. I was close to Lorenzo. Giuseppe, not so much. And yet I miss them both.

I do not miss my father. But for reasons I don’t want to examine right now, I’d be willing to bet that he’s just as eager to find me as my brothers are.

I don’t expect to sleep. I haven’t been sleeping—I’ve been losing consciousness, then clawing my way back out of it. Sleep requires a basic level of comfort and trust so you can let yourself go.

I tell myself he’s on the couch.

The front door is closed.

Everything is locked.

If anyone tried to come after me now, I have a distinct feeling he would protect me. He’s obviously possessive like that. He snapped that man’s wrist at the auction without breaking a sweat.

I finally lie on my side, ignoring my throbbing ass, and stare at the wide expanse of his broad, muscled back, covered in ink.

Torin Ciaran McCarthy. I know your name. You don’t know that I do. And in this room with no exits, no leverage, and nothing but what I can take and hold, this is everything.

I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of a muffled scream. I sit up in bed, disoriented. I haven’t slept so deeply in so long that it takes me a minute to realize I’m not in a cell anymore. I’m in a hotel room, in a nice bed, and someone’s in distress.

Is someone here?

When my eyes adjust to the dark, I see a tangle of blankets in the living room.

Torin is wrestling with his blanket. It's him. There’s no one else here.

Will he wake up if I go to him?

Should I?

I lie here for a few more minutes, hoping he’ll settle back to sleep, but it only gets worse.

Once, when I was little in Italy, my father was having problems with rodents destroying his garden, so he set snap traps. Old-fashioned traps with metal teeth that would bite the leg off an animal and hold it there. One day, I woke to the scream of a rabbit caught in a trap, a haunting sound I never forgot.

The sound he makes is heartbreaking.

His cries remind me of that now.

I stare at Torin. He grabs a fistful of the blanket and tries to yank it down.

With my heart pounding, I turn on the lamp and wait for my eyes to adjust to the light.

Maybe I should wake him.

Finally, I convince myself I have to get some sleep tonight, so I push to my feet and throw the heavy blanket to the side. “Hello? Hey, wake up.” I walk over to him, afraid to get between him and whatever he's fighting. “Hey, you have to wake up. Hello, you're having a dream.”

He's having a very vivid dream, from what I can tell, and he doesn't even look my way. So I get down on one knee and reach my shaking hand out to him.

Instantly, he snaps into action. His huge hand encircles my wrist and tightens. His other hand comes to my throat and grasps, squeezing. I beat uselessly at his hand. “Stop it!” Maybe if I use his name, he'll wake up. “Torin, Torin.” I’m gasping for breath but keep saying it, pulling at his hand, kicking uselessly.

When his eyes open, his gaze is murderous. “Jaysus—what the fuck?” he growls, then blinks as if coming to.

He drops me unceremoniously to the floor. I clutch my neck, gasping for breath, swallowing fresh air, panting.

Jesus. For fuck's sake.