A reckless feeling to find some excitement has been growing inside me for months. An urge to experience something different. I want to flirt with some handsome Italian men and see where it takes me.
Searching a little more desperately, I frown when I can’t find the print out. Shit. I know I put it in here. It was one of the last things I’d done before my parents had dropped me off at the airport.
They’d been thrilled I was going on my own. Happy I was finally doing something for myself. There was no way I was going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. It’s the first real vacation I’ve allowed myself to take. My first trip abroad.
Glancing up distractedly, I note the guy stepping out of the hotel. Dark hair, handsome, piercing brown eyes. It’s just a fleeting peak but enough to send my heart rate spiking.
He’s not the first good-looking man I’ve seen since leaving the airport, but he’s right at the top of hot and sexy.
Flustered, I shift in my seat.
I don’t need the distraction right now. Without the piece of paper I’m looking for, confirming I’m the winner, it might make everything more difficult. I’m already here. The thought of having to turn around and fly back home is depressing.
Shoulders slumping, I take a deep breath.
It’s been a long day. After finishing my shift at the surgery, I’d had to dash home to grab my case and head to the airport. Although the flight had only taken a few hours, I’m tired and hungry. The thought of relaxing in an expensive hotel suite with room service has a sigh of longing leaving my lips. God, I need this. A week of being pampered and taking in the sights of this beautiful ancient city. Soaking in the culture and sampling the food.
Carefully and methodically, I go through my bag one more time, praying that what I need isn’t still sitting on my kitchen counter. I can’t let this adventure end before it’s even started.
There’s a click to my right. Pausing in my task, the wash of cold air rushing in around me has me freezing in confusion.
Kay
Opening the door, I slip quickly into the passenger seat. Gun already out, I nudge it into the ribs of the driver.
“Vai, guida!”
Startled, her chin jerks up at my barked demand. “I…I don’t speak Italian.”
English.
Young, beautiful, her features are exquisite. A natural beauty. Long, silky chestnut hair frames her youthful face. She’s nothing like the whores I usually bed. There’s a touch of innocence to her. It’s her eyes that hold me captive. The alarm I see bright in the blue depths. Horror.
Fear of me.
Her gaze drops disbelievingly to the weapon, still pressed dangerously to her side. Pouty lips parting in a gasp, she’s frozen as she stares at it.
“Drive, go!”
My holler sets her moving. Slamming her foot down on the accelerator, she sends us speeding into the traffic. Car horns blare around us, insults and hand gestures rise from the other drivers.
“Slow the fuck down,” I snap, my hand grabbing the steering wheel. Is she fucking crazy? I’m trying to avoid unwanted attention, not draw it to us. My fingers brush hers. A jolt of electricity zips through my nerve endings. She must have felt it too, because she shoots me an uneasy look.
“There’s money in my purse if that’s what you’re after,” she whispers, voice soft and sweet. “Please, just let me go. I…I won’t make a fuss, I promise. I can just get out, and you can have the car.”
I don’t answer. My attention is on the rear-view mirror. I’m more concerned with the bastards chasing me. There’s no sign of anyone suspicious. That doesn’t mean we weren’t being watched. Paranoia is riding me hard. They’ve picked the wrong city to mess with me in. Brought up on the streets of Rome, I know this decadent metropolis like the back of my hand.
“You’re bleeding.” She’s noticed the blood on my larger hand still resting on the wheel next to her smaller delicate one.
“Keep going to the end of the road, then turn right,” I direct. Jiggling the muzzle of my gun, I remind my hostage where it’s positioned. She flinches in response but keeps her eyes locked on the road. My captive obeys without questions. Feeding her instructions, I send her around the winding streets, just in case we’re being followed. After thirty minutes, I’m satisfied that’s not the case.
My side throbs as adrenaline ebbs. I need to see to it soon and get cleaned up. After that, I’ll dig up the answers on who was dumb enough to set me up for a hit.
“Is this your car?” I question. With a quick searching glance, I make a note of the small suitcase in the back seat before checking the road one more time.
The woman beside me shakes her head. “No, it’s a rental.”
“Stop and park over there.”
Long slender fingers curl around the steering wheel tightly, she slides the vehicle into the spot I indicated. Silence stretches for a beat. Sitting tensely, she stares out of the windshield, her breathing ragged as she remains frozen. I can tell her mind is tumbling with what I might do to her. Plans to run but terror keeps her rooted. Emotions and dread knotting up her insides. It’s obvious she’s never been in this situation before. She’s just the unlucky tourist who’d been sitting in her car a little too long. Another casualty of crime in the city.
“Leave the keys where they are,” I snap, nudging the barrel of the gun into her side to remind her I’m not playing games.
Jerking, she drops her hands limply to her lap. “No.”
“Do as your told.”
We can’t linger in the car. I need to be off the street and out of view. The car won’t be here for long. There’s plenty of street crime, and with it sitting here, it will be a temptation someone won’t be able to pass up.
“You’re going to slip across the seats and exit through my door,” I tell her, keeping my weapon trained on her body as I open the passenger door moving out slowly. “Then you’ll get your suitcase from the back. Understand?”
Her eyes find mine. “Yes...alright.”
She’s trembling. Shock setting in. Scooting across, she angles herself toward my door. The plain jeans she’s wearing hug the length of her legs and rounded hips. They whisper promises of pleasure that has images of tangled limbs and sweat soaked skin dancing through my head. Shaking off the fantasy, I step clear as her feet meet the pavement. Weapon hidden within the depths of my jacket, I watch as she recovers her suitcase.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I grunt as my injury presses against her. The hotel is seedy and cheap, in a part of town most tourists avoid. A place where married men bring prostitutes, their mistresses, or other men’s wives to bang, offering promises they can’t keep.
“We’re just a couple walking into a hotel. If you call out or make a scene, I will shoot you. Keep your mouth shut, and do as you’re told,” I growl in her ear. “I will not warn you a second time.”
Her breath hitches in response, and she gives me a jerky nod.
The lobby is scarce on the usual ornate details, cream walls cheerless and the air heavy with stale perfume. Behind the desk, the unkept receptionist glances up from the book he’s reading with disinterest. My captive’s steps falter, but I keep her moving toward the dingy lift. The soft rumble of her suitcase, as she rolls it behind her, mingles with our footsteps. Moving to the elevator, I tap the button. Our observer’s gaze remains trained on us a moment more before he returns to his book.
The movements of the woman beside me are tight. I want to know what’s going on in her head. Shock only lasts so long before it wears off. If she’s going to do something stupid, I’ll be ready for it.
I watch the doors ping open. She resists when I push her into the confines. Crowding her with my body, I force her in, my expression unforgiving when she gives me a frightened look.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” she whispers meekly. Knee coming up swiftly, she tries to catch me off guard in the groin. Blocking her move, I growl in response.
Meeting her gaze, I star
e down into two huge terror-filled, bright blue pools. The color had leached out of her face the second we left the car. She’s so pale without the healthy pink to her cheeks she looks almost ethereal and haunted.
Awareness of how smooth her skin feels under my touch remains. Soft as a flower petal.
The lift grinds to a halt. Dragging her smaller struggling frame out and along, I don’t stop until we hit my hotel room door. The place is sleazy enough for people not to look twice. A hooker and her client. Maybe we’ll pass as a businessman and his woman on the side. She’s wise enough not to call out although she fights me.
Using my key, I get the door open before thrusting her in. Sparse, practical, it’s nothing fancy just a place to sleep. Directing her toward the mattress, I push her easily until she’s sitting on the edge. The girl’s fight dissipates. Instead, she deflates, hugging her waist making herself as small as possible.
Stripping off my leather jacket, I toss it over a chair. Unbuttoning my bloodied shirt, I use it to dab at the slash in my side. It’s not as serious as it could have been but will still require stiches. Naked from the waist up, I find the medical kit I keep handy. In my line of business, you need to be prepared for such eventualities.
“What’s your name?” I spare my prisoner a glance, moving to the coffee table where my liquid dinner sits waiting. Lucky for me, I left the bottle ready. Laying the box down, I flip the lid open. It’s always a bitch sewing myself up. Not something I’ve ever enjoyed. Everything’s already sterilized, although there’s no guarantee it will stop an infection.
“Evelyn.” She murmurs. “Evelyn Thornton.”
Silently, she watches as I pour out a glass of jack before offering it to her. She takes it nervously, with a trembling hand.
Snatching the bottle, I take a long swig as I sink down into a chair. The right thing I should have done was just take her car. Left her on the street outside the fancy hotel. Yet here I am, sitting here with a knife wound and a beautiful hostage.
I must be losing my mind or my touch.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she begs softly, not meeting my intense stare. “I’ll forget about what I’ve seen, I promise.”
I can’t take that chance. One fuck up could cost me everything. She’s seen my face. With the Russians on my trail, I don’t need the Italian police added to the mix. If I intend to survive this, I need to remain as low key as possible.
“Are you here with friends? Traveling through?” I question before taking another gulp of alcohol. It takes the edge off the pain. The gash in my side won’t wait, and I can’t lose any more blood and risk passing out.
Evelyn hesitates. Tip of her tongue darting out, she leaves a thin sheen of salvia over her once dry lips.
“Don’t lie. I’ll know if you do,” I warn.
“I’m alone. On holiday for a few days.” Raising her glass, she finally takes a shaky sip. I’m guessing for courage. After all, she’s sitting before a killer. Her life is in my hands, and she’s just admitted she won’t be missed for at least a few days.
Evelyn
Striking brown eyes bore into my own. Hair short and black, his sharp angular jaw is sprinkled with stubble. Coupled with slashing cheek bones, it makes my captor arrestingly handsome. He’s older than me. Mid-thirties at a guess. He’s like a wounded animal. Vicious and untrusting. Dangerously beautiful.
The alcohol scorches my throat sliding down to warm my stomach. I shouldn’t be here. I’m supposed to be checked into my fancy hotel. If I hadn’t lingered in my car looking for my printed form, I would have already been inside the building enjoying a cocktail, not the hostage of some maniac with a gun. Winning the luxury holiday has become less of a dream come true and more like a nightmare. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my gaze falls to the weapon. Hanging from his seat, it’s sitting snuggly in its holster. My attention skips to his large hand, the red soaked material bunched at his side.
He’s hurt.
I realized that the second I saw the blood in the car, but how badly? Compassion surges through me. A need to help.
“I can stitch that up for you,” I offer, gesturing at his injury. “Or drive you to the hospital.”
It’s a tiny hope that he might let me go. That whatever I’ve been abducted into will end in me getting out of here without getting hurt or worse.
Discarding the bottle in his hand, the stranger checks the wound he’s staunched with his balled-up shirt. “You’re a doctor?”
“Veterinarian,” I correct him.
He chuckles as if that amuses him, dark eyes rising to mine. The look in them makes me shiver. They're so void of empathy. Kindness. He wouldn’t have a problem in using his gun on me. I see that in an instant.
“I may not have human patients, but I know my way around a needle and thread,” I continue quickly. Stay useful. Maybe he won’t hurt me if I am. Snagging onto that thought, I cling to it like a life line.
A circular scar mars his left shoulder, another low on his stomach. Bullet wounds?
Silvery thin knife cuts are scattered here and there over his muscular torso. One brutal looking burn mark covers one hip. I didn’t miss the tattoo on his back. Permanently etched in black and covering the expanse of his skin, a grim reaper, scythe raised, is leering. Its laughing skeletal face mocks me. Flowing from his wide set shoulders, the intimidating artwork disappears beneath the waist band of his trousers with tendrils of the apparition’s robes.
Death.
There’s no doubt in my mind this man has no qualms in exacting it.
“As long as you know what you’re doing, I couldn’t care less. I’ve had enough knife wounds to know it’s not that serious, but it has to be seen to.” Not moving from his chair, he motions at the medical box.
“I’ll need to wash my hands, first, to limit the chance of infection.”
“Bathroom’s over there.” He gestures toward an open door.
Every movement I make, I can feel him watching me. Assessing. A predator weighing up his prey. Watching for weakness and ready to strike.
Sliding clumsily from the bed, I move to the room. Windowless, narrow, the white porcelain sink, bath, and toilet can barely fit in the small space. Washing my hands thoroughly, I dry them on a clean towel. Should I chance making a run for it? Distractedly, I peek toward the exit. It’s not far. Five meters. How long would it take me to fiddle with the lock before he’d catch me?
“Are you going to stand there staring at the door all day or fix me up?” he asks drily, legs spread apart in a deceptive position of relaxation.
Somehow, I know he’s just ready to pounce. The threat of being shot has me complying. Cautiously, I take the seat beside him. With a quick glance, I note his first aid box is extensive. Setting out the things I need, the latex gloves snap easily over my hands. Finding a bandage and a bottle of alcohol, I pour it liberally onto the white cotton strip. Fighting the nerves threatening to swamp me, I take the shirt, guiding him to lower it. My fingers sweep his firm, warm skin. Crimson stains the area, but the jagged cut is visible. It looks worse than it is, but he’s right. It needs stitches. Gingerly touching his side with the doused gauze, the smell of antiseptic is strong. He grunts, recoiling subtly, and I know it must be stinging.
“Do you have anything you can take for the pain?” I question while cleaning it up as best I can. “Or something I can use to numb the area?”
“I told you I’ve been through this before.” His voice is low and silky like velvet. Accent English, but there’s a slight American twang on a few of his words.
The suturing kit lays waiting on the table between us. Scooping up the needle driver, which looks similar to a pair of surgical scissors, I grab the needle clamping it in place between the jaws. Next, I pull out all the thread. I’m pleased to see my hand is steady even though I’m still afraid.
“Ready?” I ask my captor, rescuing a pair of tissue forceps from the box.
Taking a long swig from the bottle of whisky, he releases
a breath through his teeth. “Do it.”
Using the forceps, I line up the edges of the wound as much as I can, then push the needle through his skin.
“Son of a bitch,” he hisses, grip so tight around the bottle his knuckles turn white.
“I did ask you if you had something to numb it. My patients are usually unconscious when I sew them up.” My tone is edged with scolding. “You know this doesn’t make you macho.”
“Just get on with it.”
I weave the needle in and out of his flesh in silence, conscious of every flinch and jerk of the solid, muscular body before me. “You’re going to have a scar.”
“Another memento for my collection.” His breath dancing over my cheek, his closeness, sends my nerves jittering.
My gaze jumps up to the half circle on his shoulder. Whoever this man is he’s used to violence. With two simple loops, I make a knot when I’m satisfied I’m finished. Carefully, I cut away the access thread with a small pair of scissors. Hovering with them in my palm, my fingers seal around them with an instinctual need to survive. Could I hurt him after just giving him medical aid? Go against everything I believe in? Cause another being physical pain even if it’s in the process of saving my own life?
Nervously, I look up. His eyes, now jet black, hold a fierce amusement.
“Put them down, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.” Taking my wrist, his grip is bruising. With no effort at all, he disarms me, dumping them on the table.
My legs go weak, stomach lurching.
“You’ll need to keep an eye on your side,” I tell him automatically, my thoughts a tumbling mess on what might happen next. Peeling the gloves off, I stand, moving to discard them in the waste bin. “Make sure it doesn’t become infected.”
“Take your clothes off.”
Eyes snapping up, I meet the stranger’s bleak, remorseless stare. The beauty of his face is terrifyingly still and unfriendly just as his tone is.
“Why?” My voice is small, pathetic, as my heart threatens to burst from my chest in dread I know I can’t hide. I’m at his mercy, and I’m not sure he as any. He can do anything to me in this room, and no one would know.
His Salvation: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 2
