Redeemed

by Becca Jameson

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Damon set his binoculars in his lap and chuckled to himself. Stupid women. How on earth did that asshole, Evan, think he could protect Ashley with another woman? They were weak creatures, all of them. This would be too easy.

  It was all planned. Damon had only been waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and take Ashley. She was useless to him. Disobedient and sterile. But he wouldn’t stand for her thinking she’d outsmarted him in the end. The bitch would pay. First he’d kidnap her from her mock-safe environment and then he’d toy with her for days before he killed her, painfully. He was completely rogue now. It didn’t matter if he added murder to his repertoire.

  Weeks he’d waited for this day.

  He left his car two doors down and got out. In moments he approached Evan’s home from the side. Before either woman inside knew what was happening, he kicked the back door in and stepped into the kitchen.

  Some friend of Ashley’s was at the sink and she screamed when the alarm sounded, dropping the mug she was holding on the tile and shattering it into a million pieces. It must have been empty because there was no splash of scalding coffee. Shame. He’d have been more gratified if she’d gotten burned.

  Damon had his arm around her neck and dragged her to the alarm panel before she could get away. “Turn it off,” he commanded. He didn’t care that the police had already been informed. He didn’t intend to be there long enough for it to matter. Let them come. He’d be long gone by then.

  The woman reached with a trembling finger and typed in four numbers. He was sure they were a distress call, but it didn’t matter as long as he moved fast and didn’t have to listen to that blaring noise any longer.

  In the renewed silence, Damon dragged the woman down the hall.

  A loud clatter inside the first door on the left told him where Ashley was located. Sure enough, when he kicked the door open with his foot, he found her scrambling away from an overturned easel. She sat on her ass amidst splattering paint, blue and green drops dripping from her hair. “Leave Samantha out of this, Damon.” She scuffed her tennis shoes across the floor, trying to get purchase. Finally she pulled herself upright and flattened herself against the wall. “She has nothing to do with us, Damon.” Her voice shook as she spoke.

  Damon chuckled. “Really? That’s so sweet, Ash. But I think her presence is perfect for what I have in mind. Samantha, is it? What a nice name.” He squeezed her tighter, knowing he was cutting off her airway. Her feet barely reached the ground in front of him and she held on to his forearm with both hands to keep from choking. Wheezing breaths were all he heard from her. Good. He didn’t have to listen to the bitch whine.

  “What do you want, Damon?” Ashley’s face turned white. Her eyes remained glued to her friend.

  “Look at me, bitch.”

  She jerked her gaze to his.

  “Here’s how this is going to work.” He held Samantha with one arm and pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt with the other. God how he loved the fear he saw in Ashley’s face, her eyes wide, her mouth open. He almost wished she would scream. Instead she swallowed around her fear and stared at him in disbelief. He watched her long lean throat working.

  Damon lifted the knife to Samantha’s throat. He nicked her neck with the serrated edges, intentionally increasing the fear in Ashley’s eyes. When he glanced at Samantha, he found her neck bleeding in several places and almost kissed the bone handle of his favorite hunting knife. “You come with me nicely and I’ll let the bitch live. You put up a fight and I’ll kill her in an instant. Which is it?”

  Ashley shuffled forward two steps. “Let her go, Damon.”

  Damon squeezed harder, glancing at Samantha’s face and noting how long she could go like this before she passed out.

  He tugged her forward, enjoying seeing the life ebb out of her face.

  “Fine. Damon. Put her down. I’ll go with you.” Ashley’s voice creaked as she spoke. He narrowed his gaze. It didn’t matter to him whether Samantha lived or died today, as long as he took Ashley with him alive.

  “You’re my mate. What made you think you could fuck another man?” Don’t let your emotions get in the way of this task, Damon.

  “I… I’m sorry, Damon. You’re right. I was…confused. I shouldn’t have left you.” Ashley inched toward him.

  Perfect. In a minute she’d be close enough for him to drop Samantha and grab Ashley. In two minutes he’d have her hogtied, run and get the car, pull it in the garage, and stuff her in the trunk. If she suffocated in there, so be it.

  His fingers grew stiff from holding the knife and he flexed them individually to release the tension. His other arm strained in the stronghold he had around Samantha’s neck.

  Suddenly Ashley tripped over the easel and fell forward into a gallon of white paint sitting on a stool. The paint went flying and slashed all over Samantha and Damon. He fumed, narrowing his gaze at her. “You did that on purpose.”

  •●•

  Ashley could only pray her actions would prove helpful in some way. She was desperate. Slippery paint couldn’t hurt the situation. She’d hoped the paint would slosh up higher than it had and cause Damon to release Samantha. Unfortunately, it hadn’t.

  What she needed was time. She knew the police had been notified and were on their way. They would have called Evan too. But how long would it take? How long could she stall?

  Ashley took a step back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I’d left the lid off that paint.”

  Damon looked around. “You’re painting again.”

  “Yes,” Ashley muttered. She didn’t want to antagonize him any more than necessary. She had no idea how he might react to her work. He hadn’t permitted her to paint often while she’d been under his thumb. He’d used it as a reward for good behavior.

  Samantha picked that moment while Damon was distracted to kick him hard in the shin. It had to be difficult since her entire body was supported by his grip on her neck.

  “You bitch,” he bellowed. When he twisted to get a better grip, he stepped in the paint and slipped.

  Ashley watched as though in slow motion as both of them went down. Damon, unwilling to let go of his victim, skidded across the floor until he couldn’t keep his balance. He released Samantha with a shove, pushing her toward the far wall. But Samantha couldn’t get purchase either on the thick paint and she flailed her arms to keep from losing traction when her feet hit the ground. Her face was pale, almost blue, and the lack of oxygen didn’t help.

  In horror, Ashley reached out too late to keep Samantha from slamming head first into the ground. She hit with a loud thump and went completely limp.

  Oh my God! Ashley stared at her brother’s mate, panic setting in. Was she dead? She couldn’t tell if her chest was rising and falling or not. Samantha didn’t move a muscle. So still.

  Ashley dashed toward Samantha, determined to help save her friend…her family…her sister-in-law. But before she could reach her, Damon grabbed her by the leg and pulled her down hard. She hit the floor chin first, her jaw slamming shut and her teeth clanking together. Her entire head exploded with pain and she screamed louder than she’d ever screamed in her life.

  If she let him take her, she’d never see Evan again. She’d never live to see tomorrow. No. She either had to get away or die trying. She would not be taken alive by this bastard to be tortured yet again.

  Damon pulled her ankle, dragging her toward him until he held her thigh. She couldn’t get purchase on anything on the floor. Her hands were slick with paint, her entire body now covered in the white mess. Even her face was splattered from hitting the floor.

  Her head swam, her vision clouded from the impact. She squirmed to get away, but he was stronger. She kicked at him, hitting his face hard with her shoe, but that only made him angrier.

  “Stop fighting me, bitch. You’re half my size. You won’t win. You’re mine and you’ll do as I say or suffer the repercussions.”

  Rep
ercussion? Like being tortured, raped, and locked up for days on end? No, thanks.

  Ashley kicked harder, trying to free her leg. She found herself being dragged across the floor and she flattened her palms on the hardwood in an effort to gain some sort of traction.

  Nothing. There was nothing to grab onto. Panic. Fear seized her and she shook her head to clear the fog. Her vision still blurry, she couldn’t get her bearings straight.

  She got caught up on the legs of the easel that had collapsed before he’d entered the room. She’d tripped over it when the alarm had sounded and it had crashed with a loud bang.

  Shit. Ashley flailed her arms around her, sweeping them across the floor. Maybe she could grab a leg of the easel and swing it around to hit him.

  She found the end of one leg, but it wouldn’t budge. It was still attached to the frame. Useless.

  And then her other hand swiped at something under the paint. Something cold and firm…and sharp. The knife. He must have dropped it when he slipped and fell.

  She wrapped her hand around the handle, thankful she hadn’t cut herself. She knew it was sharp. It had snagged Samantha’s skin in several places.

  Now she prayed she’d have the opportunity to use it before Damon realized she had it.

  Damon continued to tow her in and she squealed and kept striving for something to hold on to with her free hand. Until she had the right moment, she would keep her treasure to herself.

  “You’re only making things worse for yourself, Ash. This flailing isn’t helping your case. Your friend is already dead. You’re next. You want this to go the hard way or the easy way?”

  Was there an easy way to die? Hell, if she had to, she’d stab herself in the chest before she’d leave with him.

  Ashley had an idea. She stopped fighting and relaxed her legs, hoping he would loosen his grip.

  “Ah, so finally you come to your senses, bitch.” He let go and stood carefully amidst the paint. “Why do you need so damn much paint for canvases?” He glanced around the room, wiping paint from his hands onto his equally sticky pants.

  Good. Conversation. She could do this. Buy more time. “It covers the canvas before I start to work.” Stupid asshole. Still on her belly, she twisted her face around to see him. Judge his state of mind.

  He whipped his gaze toward her and narrowed his eyes. “Get up.”

  Not a chance in hell.

  “Now, bitch. You’ve caused me enough trouble for one day. We’re getting out of here before your fuck buddy returns.”

  She flinched at the terminology but didn’t let her face change. Instead she carefully turned over onto her back. She had to release the knife at her side to do so, but she quickly found it with her other hand, her dominant hand.

  She gripped the handle once again and stared up at the face of a demon. He reached for her. “I said, get up,” he shouted.

  Come to me instead, you bastard.

  She didn’t move. If he wanted her, he was going to have to come and get her. And she could only hope she would be able to stab him and do enough damage to get away. If only she could get out of the house. She could scream for help. Surely someone would hear her.

  Damon stepped between her legs. The moment he leaned forward to grab her himself, she whipped one leg out, causing him to fall forward. In a flash, he was crashing toward her. She only had a second, but that’s all she needed.

  Ashley yanked the long serrated blade up in front of her, the tip pointing straight out.

  Damon never saw it coming. He could have done nothing to stop his own demise anyway. It was too late. He fell straight onto the blade, his chest crashing over the knife until it was completely embedded inside him.

  His eyes opened wide for an instant, his mouth parted, words that would never be spoken on the tip of his tongue.

  Before he completely collapsed on top of her, Ashley scrambled to get out from under him. She heaved at his chest with all her strength to flip him off her. He landed on his back beside her and she kicked away from him, her feet fighting against the slippery mess of paint and blood. The knife remained in her hand though she had no idea how she’d managed to dislodge it. She wasn’t willing to let go. What if he jumped back up?

  As soon as she was a few feet away she heaved for air, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. She scampered to stand and looked down at Damon’s body for a moment. His eyes were open, never to blink again.

  A moan caught her attention. Samantha. She whipped her gaze to her friend on the other side of the room and struggled to slide across the floor with as much care as she could to avoid falling.

  She knelt beside Samantha and wiped the paint and hair from her face, not wanting to hurt her any more than she already was by moving her. But Samantha surprised her by pulling herself to a sitting position.

  “God, Sam. You’re okay.” Ashley grabbed her friend’s arm to assure herself she was indeed alive.

  “My head hurts like a motherfucker.” She glanced to the side and gasped. “Not as bad as his though.” She lifted her gaze back to Ashley and smiled. “You did it. You fucking killed the bastard.” Her voice was rough.

  Ashley stood and backed up a few paces. “I’ll go to jail, won’t I?” She shook her head. “I’m a murderer.”

  “No. Sweetie…you’re not a murderer. He is. You won’t be responsible for any more than answering a few questions at the scene. He came here to kill you—and me, for that matter. You acted in self-defense. That’s different.”

  “Are you sure?” What if she never got to hold Evan again or feel his arms around her?

  “Absolutely.”

  Ashley shifted her gaze to the dead man on the floor. Blood. So much blood. Who knew the human body held so much blood? It pumped out of his chest where the knife had been and blended with the white paint to create a stream of pink across the floor.

  Ashley glanced down at the knife in her hand and suddenly released it as though it had the plague. If she never touched another knife in her life, it would be too soon. It clattered to the floor and she watched as it bounced into the paint.

  Sirens. She lifted her gaze and listened. The police were coming. The sirens grew louder by the moment and her chest began to pound. What if Samantha was wrong? What if they arrested her? She’d killed a man. Never mind he was a bad man.

  She looked back down at his body, memorizing this scene so she could replay it again in the future. She never wanted to forget his dead lifeless body splayed out on the floor. It would cut down on the nightmares and help her remember she was alive and he could never hurt her again. No matter what Fate lay in front of her.

  Ashley closed her eyes as she listened to the squeal of police vehicles screeching to a halt around her house.

  She took a deep breath. It’s going to be okay… It has to be.

  Epilogue

  Evan held his mate close. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and leaned in to breathe her in—a mixture of her shampoo, her girly soaps and her own personal scent.

  The warm breeze coming off the ocean whipped around them both, blowing her hair into his face. He didn’t care. His vision was blocked to the sunset she’d so badly wanted to see over the endless water. It had been her dream, not his. He didn’t care if he never saw another sunset as long as he had her with him.

  He’d insisted on a vacation after they’d finally worked through the red tape with the police department. She’d worried endlessly about being arrested and it had taken days to convince her no one was going to accuse her of murder.

  When she said she’d wanted to see the ocean, Evan had known immediately they would come to Florida and she could meet his parents. His mother had been ecstatic when Evan told her they were coming. She’d rolled out the red carpet and prepared the guest room as though he and Ashley were royalty.

  Ashley and his mom hit it off in minutes, sharing their love of art as Veronica had given Ashley a tour of the entire beach house. Evan’s father, Roland, was more reserved, but Ev
an had seen the twinkle in his father’s eye as he’d congratulated the two of them on their mating.

  The beach house was the perfect vacation spot. They could enjoy endless sun and warm water, while sleeping soundly in a home protected by Evan’s parents. He’d known Ashley would relax better with more people in the home. Eventually they would have their own place, but in the meantime, his little mate relaxed incrementally the more people she had surrounding her.

  As much as he wanted her all to himself, he enjoyed her calm and peace more.

  Evan still worried about whoever Damon’s supplier was. It niggled in the back of his mind that Damon hadn’t acted alone. Someone had to have been supplying him with the drug he’d used on Ashley. The evidence concerning other women was piling up. Any day now he knew a team of people were poised to advance and make a sweep in several cities at once.

  The only thing that calmed Evan was convincing himself the drug supplier had no motive to be interested in Ashley. She was a victim and no threat to the chain of command.

  Ashley had woken up screaming every night for the first several nights, sweat pouring off her body and soaking the sheets where they slept in her childhood room at her parents’ house.

  They’d never go back to the house he’d owned when he met her again. There were very few things they even wanted to salvage from the place that now held so many bad memories. Josh and Nathan had gone in to retrieve her artwork and several other items of importance. They’d packed up Evan’s office and moved everything to Ashley’s parents’. The rest would be sold along with the house.

  They would build another, design it together as soon as she was up to it.

  For now, they were taking a week to rest and recuperate.

  He closed his eyes and held her tighter until she squirmed. She giggled. “Evan, you’re going to break a rib. Not so tight.”

  He smiled into her neck and nibbled his way to the back of her ear. So sensitive. Her skin was so smooth. He dragged his tongue down the long muscle.