He didn’t reply, keeping her hand against his thigh and pulling her across the open area fast. He didn’t say a word to Drake as he passed.

Once in the house, she tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her and turned her away from the great room. She protested, trying to come to a stop. “We have company, Elijah. I need to check on everyone.”

“You need to do what I say, Siena,” he growled. “I want you in our room where I know you’re safe.”

“But . . .”

He didn’t listen to her, all but dragging her right through the house straight to the master bedroom.

“Take a shower and get dressed.” His voice was clipped.

“Elijah,” she protested.

“You’re shivering, Siena.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “I promised you safety. You didn’t feel fucking safe. I want to know why, and by God, I’m going to find out what the hell happened and who shot at you.”

He dropped his hands and stalked from the room, leaving her standing there with her mouth open, a little shocked at the abrupt way he left her. She stood there a long time, shaking, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, as panic took her. She didn’t even know why she was suddenly so scared, but she was.

The hot water didn’t drive the cold from her belly. That cold was like a snake, slithering through her, leaving devastation in its wake. She knew she was living in a dream world of her own making. She didn’t want to process anything Elijah said because she’d have to face the reality of his life. Of what and who he might be. There was no escaping it now, and it wasn’t the rifle firing bullets at them or their guests—it was the look on Elijah’s face.

He had gone so distant. So remote. So deadly. The sweet man she had come to rely on had disappeared altogether and a stranger was there. His eyes had gone diamond hard, as cold as ice, yet there was such a gathered fury there, as if all of it was concentrated deep in his soul. If his eyes revealed what was inside the man, she knew she was looking at hell. She saw the real Elijah Lospostos, the man born and bred to rule a world of violence. He lived outside the law because he was his own law. The man she saw in her bedroom was capable of extreme violence, and he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if he decided he needed—or wanted to.