He nods. “You want to shake on it. Sure.”
“Excellent.”
He’s a dead man the second he extends his arm to me.
Clearing my throat, I tell myself I’m doing this for Rose. And to honor Dawn. And for my buddy, Bridges to have some fucking justice. I take Murphy’s hand in a solid grip, and on the second shake, the tip of my hypodermic needle is already buried in his upper arm.
His eyes widen at the realization, and for the next few minutes, I put all of my military training and everything I learned from my former employer to good fucking use. I become the predator again, not their prey. And as I do, everything seems to move in slow motion. Every detail is intricately planned, but they’re checked off a mental list as short as the instructions the company used to issue to me.
Disable the guards.
Find my alternate exit.
Watch as a team sent by my former employer closes in on the mansion by helicopter, thanks to the reactivated GPS tracker on my bike.
Ensure that the timer rigged to my bike counts down to zero and ignites the fuel in the engine.
Observe the explosion from a safe distance.
Drive away in a rusty old pickup truck hidden in the nearby woods.
I let out a breath of relief as I leave, switching cars three times and staying away from Rose and the cottage for another two days, to ensure I’m not followed. I was up all night and couldn’t give Rose the details. Trust doesn’t come easily for her. This plan to use her as bait in name only was so half-baked, ambitious and reckless, it could’ve easily gotten me killed in the process.
But at least Rose would’ve been out ahead.
This was the best possible play. Murphy is dead now. The company will capitalize on their visit to the mansion and ambush Murphy’s remaining men. By this time next week, Rose and I will disappear in the melee.
Together.
I can’t think of a more fitting escape.
19
Rose
I’ve been stuck inside these four walls for so long that they’ve become a prison. When Thorne walks in the door, he’s stepped into my cage. I’m the wild animal and he’s the meat presented to me to help tame me.
I’m on him, inches from the front door, rubbing my scent onto him, ready to perform any trick he asks, as long as he fills me up at some point along the way.
Dropping to my knees doesn’t feel like I’m submitting to him. It’s powerful and liberating. My gaze up into his eyes is calm and even, my fingers scrambling as I feverishly unbuckle his belt. He sees the unbridled need in my eyes, how raw and open and exposed I am for him. And he smiles down at me. The wolf has tamed me.
I told him three days ago that I hated that I needed him. That was the fear talking. The truth is that needing him, trusting him, letting him in, it freed me.
My tongue runs over my bottom lip, and I slowly slide down his zipper, allowing my fingers to trace the hard bulge lurking on the other side of the sturdy fabric. I search his face. Reaching into the opening, I free his erection and rub my cheek along the tip as though greeting it. I love the velvety feel of it, and the musky masculine scent that curls up my nostrils makes my core tighten in anticipation. I grip the rigid veined shaft with one hand. My fingers don’t quite make it all the way around, he’s so thick and swollen. When I see precum at the tip, I don’t fight the urge to lick it off, to taste it and smear some across my cheeks. I moan at the salty taste without intending to, loving the taste of him.
He groans as he watches my mouth part wider. His hips jerk when my tongue circles his tip before sliding up the underside of his length, all the way to his balls. I see his eyes roll back into his head for a second, and I’m filled with satisfaction. Maybe I was meant to give head. He seems to like what I’m doing, and as for me, I’m soaking wet with need, my clit is throbbing, and he hasn’t touched me yet.
Moving down to the velvety bulb again, I hold on to his waistband and suck him between my lips, taking as much of him as I can. His cockhead hits the back of my throat and I moan again, picturing how hard he’ll hit the deepest walls in my core the next time he fucks me.
I want to keep going. To suck and lick and tease him until I draw out his climax and taste his come. But he doesn’t let me. His hands go under my arms. He picks me up off the floor and lifts me over his shoulder, one hand smacking my bare ass cheek under my t-shirt as he strides over to the bed.
We haven’t said a word to each other, but they’re not needed at all, not when our bodies can just as easily do the talking, with skin touching skin. The same way I can read people by listening, and with my eyes, I can talk to Thorne with my body.
He deposits me into bed, flipping me onto my stomach. I’m on my hands and knees without him asking. Maybe I’m a natural in the bedroom. Perhaps all the naughtiness I saw on stage at the Speak-Easy has soaked into my skill set by osmosis. I don’t know, but Thorne seems to like it. I look back at him, impatient for his touch while he takes off his boots and strips his clothes off.
He’s behind me and in position a second later, grinding along my opening, lubing his cockhead with my juices. I lower my head to the bed and raise my ass in the air, pressing hard against him when I feel him thrust into me, filling me to overflowing.
I cry my pleasure into the sheets as his hands tighten on my waist. He pumps in and out of me, deeper, rougher each time, pushing me closer each time he slams against what I think must be my g-spot. My legs are the first to go limp. Then I grip the sheets into my fist, and just as the first wave of my peak hits me, one hand grabs a fistful of my hair.
The red heat of a heavy hand lands on the flesh of my ass, and I shake through the explosive orgasm that I’ve only read about in romance books. Every cell in my body comes.
Oh God, it burns and feels so fucking good too. He spanks me again and again, then alternates, pistoning his cock into me. And each time, my pleasure grows. He continues to fuck then punish me for what feels like a long time, but I love every second of it. I don’t want him to stop.
Until he comes. We collapse into bed, his body covering mine like the warmest blanket while we recover. I think I fall a little harder when his lips graze my neck and his tongue traces around my earring. I feel like he has the question at the tip of his tongue. Whenever he decides to ask, I’ll tell him everything about the earring, the memory I have of my parents, how important the piece of engraved metal is to me.
He can ask me anything, because he is everything I could ask for.
A while later, we neaten up and start to dress. Now that I’ve had a dose of him, I can set aside my lust and deal with the priority. Like what he’s done, where he’s been, and how much he’s learned.
“Can you tell me about your progress with Murphy?”
20
Rose
“It’s over. You’re free.”
I hear Thorne’s words. I see his lips move. I can’t believe them, though. They don’t seem real. The only man with an interest in wiping me off the map is now dead, by Thorne’s hands. Seems fitting. He and his family have ended many lives and destroyed so many good families, not just mine. It makes sense that eventually, someone could walk right into his home and do to him as he has done to others. Thorne walks me through each play, explaining the trail he left, the one suggesting that someone in Murphy’s own camp can just as easily have killed him. Although, inside man theories have their own holes. Anyone could’ve done it.
At that thought, my eyes drift over to Thorne.
The Hunter.
“Inside man, huh?” I ask.
He shrugs but meets my level gaze with his own. “As long as there’s enough doubt, it doesn’t matter. What I did was to buy us time.”
The first thing I do with my unused second burner phone is make a call to Grams at her brother’s place.
She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
My eyes well up with tears I’ve been holding since this ordeal began. I can’t believe how much I needed to h
ear her voice. “Grams,” I greet her. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”
She lets out her characteristic chuckle. “Love, I missed you too. How are you doing? Is it safe now?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“Not right away. But the biggest clue was finding your mom’s family album at the bottom of my suitcase.”
“You know I couldn’t leave it behind,” I admit.
“I’m glad you didn’t. So, how’s the house? Can we go back? My garden must be dying for some tending to.”
“Hmmm. Hang on a second.” I cover the phone and nod over at Thorne. “Can Grams go back home?” I know the answer, but even now, I still want to hear that I can go back to my old life. He shakes his head.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea right now,” I say, recalling the image of all that carnage and destruction we left behind. Though, I’m sure whoever sent those men to kill me must have cleaned up their injured and dead.
“How’s Great Uncle Charles?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Not tired of me yet,” she says lightly. “He wants to know when he’ll see you.”
“Soon, I hope.” I notice some concern appear on Thorne’s face and follow his gaze, but don’t quite see what’s the cause for alarm. Still, to be safe, I end the call, promising Grams that I’d call her back in a day or two.
“Thorne?”
The late evening light hits his face at an angle that highlights his eyes and chiseled features hidden behind all that beard. Like the deep dimples that I’ve seen once or twice. He doesn’t smile much, but then again, neither do I. Today, he looks weary and worn out. Whatever he had to do to get to Murphy, it’s taken its toll.
“Everything okay?” I ask again.
“I’m not sure. Grab the rest of your things.” He turns to pick up a bag beside the door and straightens up to full height, pulling the door open. “We should leave as soon as—”
“No, get down!” I shout, cutting him off when my eyes catch the red light of a laser sight pointed right between his sternum. But it’s too late.
Bang!
“Thorne!” I scream.
His body slams back into the cottage. His hand is on the gun at his side in an instant, but nothing can undo the damage that’s already been done. I drop to the floor beside him and use my feet to kick the door closed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The gunman fires off two or three more rounds between the gap before the door slams shut and my left shoulder spins on my body’s axis until I’m facing away from Thorne. I’ve been hit, but it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me.
“Stay down,” Thorne shouts. He rolls onto one side to support the gun’s weight in his injured state.
“You stay down. Don’t try to move,” I tell him. “You’ve been shot.”
“We’ve both been hit.”
“I thought it was over!”
“Murphy’s dead,” he explains through labored breath. “He can’t call off any hits he might have ordered before that time. A contract’s a contract.”
“Jeez, will this ever end?”
“Shh.” His breathing is slower with every word. “Let’s deal with this shooter, then we can talk about it. How badly are you hurt?”
“My shoulder feels like it’s on fire. I can’t move my left arm.”
He looks up, wincing through his pain. “Can you see through the space in the curtains at the window?”
I fight the overwhelming urge to close my eyes, and tilt my head to one side, checking the curtain. “Yes, I can see out there.”
“Keep your eyes on the bug catcher hanging down from the roof.” He pants out. “There’s some reflective tape on it. Do you see it?”
I can’t focus, not when I see Thorne’s eyes droop closed. Not when it seems like every breath he inhales takes an immense amount of effort. There’s a pool of blood around his torso that spreads out and is soaking into everything, including my clothes. I don’t want to deal with what’s coming. I want to call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance to tend to him. My heart pumps hard as I remember seeing chest wounds like that. People don’t recover from dead hits like that, but I can’t think this way. He has to come back from this.
“Do you see the tape?” he shouts, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Yes, I do.”
“When you see movement along that tape, squeeze my arm.”
“Okay.” I look over at him as he slides a burner phone from his pocket and hits two buttons.
“Don’t say another word.”
We lie there, perfectly still, completely silent, waiting as our attacker closes in. I hear heavy feet taking tentative steps as they climb the front steps, then crossing the porch toward the front door. Toward us.
The distorted reflection of a person with short blond hair appears in the bug catcher tape, and I squeeze Thorne’s left arm with my right hand. He empties his clip dead center through the wooden door, and before the last bullet rings out, there’s a loud thud as the person falls.
I don’t know how long we wait. Maybe a few seconds. There’s no way to tell whether or not the man outside is dead, or if he came alone.
“Is it over now?” I ask, groaning as the pain in my shoulder expands. My left arm has gone completely limp. I can’t move it.
“You tell me.”
“What?”
“Check the tape.”
I look at the spot again. Part of the blond guy’s body is visible. He’s on the ground in a pool of blood around his head and neck. He’s not moving. Not even a little. Thorne’s shots at that upward angle must’ve hit the man in his neck or face.
“I think it’s over.” I find the burner phone in my pocket and pull it out. “I’m calling 9-1-1 now.”
“No,” he breathes painfully. “Help’s on the way.”
I let my head drop to the floor, holding Thorne’s hand as I close my eyes.
“Good.” I say, weak from the blinding pain. “How soon?”
I wait for an answer that doesn’t come.
“Thorne? Oh my God, Thorne.”
The deafening sound of an approaching chopper blocks out my cries as I try to wake him up.
It can’t be over. He can’t be gone. Not like this.
The pain in my shoulder radiates through my chest and neck, making me lightheaded. I try to fight it, but my eyelids become too heavy to keep open. I really try, but my vision slowly fades, and goes black.
21
Thorne
This is all wrong.
I wake up the next day in the recovery room to find out that Rose is in serious condition. I ask the nurses, and my doctor. There were complications. They aren’t explaining much to me. They want me to rest. How can she still be under for a shoulder wound? I was shot in my chest and above my collarbone, and I’m the one who’s already in the recovery ward?
For hours and hours, I stare up at a spot on the ceiling above me. The monitoring equipment I’m connected to threatens to lull me back to unconsciousness as I wait for word on whether her condition has improved.
Nobody’s talking. Not the nurses, not the physicians, not even the fucking orderlies here in the private hospital I checked us into.
I quickly grow tired of the lying around. A day of rest and recovery is double what I’ve had on the field for worse injuries. Turning off the power to the monitors, I remove the IV needle in my arm, and rip off the leads tracking my vitals. It takes some effort, but I put on my clothes and slip out of the room.
Rose has to be somewhere around here.
After checking for a while, I find her in one of the small recovery rooms at the end of the hall. Her red hair is unmistakable.
I wait a few minutes for the nurse that’s with her to leave, then I go inside. I’m winded as I take a seat, dropping heavily into the guest chair beside her hospital bed. Some of this heaviness is from the anchor of guilt weighing me down. That last attack at the cottage wasn’t for he
r. It was meant for me. She was fine in the cottage for seventy-two hours. I’m the one who got sloppy and led that company man right to us. She was almost collateral damage because of my carelessness.
My chest is throbbing with pain as my meds wear out, but it’s nothing compared to what’s clenched around my heart. I look at the vitals on the monitor. They’re up and down, refusing to stabilize. I know Rose is strong. If anyone can pull through from an injury and complications, it’s her. But that knowledge does nothing to console me. I should be in that bed. If I could change places with her, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
I take her small, lifeless hand in mine.
“Don’t stop fighting, Little Red,” I whisper. Her skin is so cool to the touch that I keep looking back at the monitors. My heart races when her pulse drops, and eases when hers is in the normal range. I want to pour what’s left of my strength into her, but I can’t. All I can do is sit here, holding her hand, hoping she hears me cheering her on, hoping her body and mind hold on. I won’t rest until she opens her eyes.
“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” I say more firmly. “I just found you, Rose. Don’t you dare give up.”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and hold my head up with one hand. Every time my eyes close, I force them back open again, fighting off the images of her getting shot, her body jerked to one side. The blood that spilled, the two of us on that dusty wooden floor, teaming up to fight back. All of that was preventable. I caused this mess, and it fucking kills me that I can’t clean it up or fix it for her. Ending Murphy’s life felt like a victory at the time. His death will spare many other lives, but it won’t mean a damn thing if Rose can’t live one day without a fucking target on her back.
“Sir, you’re not supposed to be here,” says the nurse who returns to the room.
“We’re together,” I tell her.
“We can work through those details later, but you’re in no condition to be out of bed.” She presses the call button and comes to my side, then points down at my chest. “See what I mean? Your bandages are soaked with blood. If you keep this up, the doctor will have to remove those sutures and open you up again.”
Wolf (Tall, Dark and Dangerous Book 2) Page 10
