His She-wolf

by Amy Redwood

  “This is the last time, Seth,” he said. “You know I risk my ass by helping you.”

  “Your ass would be pushing up daisies if not for me,” Seth reminded him quietly. “Besides, do you really mind if you need to look for a new employer?”

  Drake swore and gave him the combination.

  Seth punched in the numbers and the elevator whisked up. Unbidden, Gabrielle’s ashen face turned up in his mind, how she had clutched at the gun wound in her stomach. He had come too late that night.

  The same night he first met Candace.

  The phone call had reached him too late to prevent the hit on his brother-in-law—and then they had shot his sister instead. Inside sources—not worth a damn most of the time.

  When Simon arrived just a few minutes after him, he had found his bleeding and passed out wife on the kitchen floor. With Seth at her side, gun in hand. Of course Simon had drawn the wrong conclusions…as always.

  And Seth had known if he wanted justice, he couldn’t rely on Simon and his straitlaced ways. So, he had run from Simon and his useless procedures and questions, and sworn he would bring down whoever ordered the hit.

  That was almost a month ago.

  The elevator stopped, and when he stepped out on the top floor, his steps quieted by the deep carpet, he immediately heard Candace’s voice. He advanced to the ajar door and paused to listen while he fitted the silencer to his gun.

  “Thank you for your help, Candace. If I may have my book back please.”

  “Of course,” Candy answered with a rasp in her voice.

  Seth curled his lip, pushing away the friendly feelings he had for her. If she worked for the Scribe, she wasn’t a woman he’d ever touch again. But did she work for him? It just didn’t seem to add up. He quietly nudged the door wider with his knee, creeping inside the suite, and his gaze fell on them sitting at a table, paperwork scattered across the polished wood.

  Lifting the gun, he aimed.

  Chapter Six

  Again, I sensed that peculiar scent I associated with Seth and glanced over my shoulder. For the second time that day, I stared at him holding a gun. Next to me, Angelo let out a surprised yell. And I knew that in my next intake of breath, he would shoot my last chance at a secure future.

  “This is for Gabrielle,” Seth said.

  Reflexes taking over because my brain was too slow to compute, I jumped up. A scream shot from my mouth, ringing in my ears, and something punched me, hard. Coming down on my knees, I clutched at my shoulder. The fabric of my blouse was torn and my fingers became slippery. Confused, I lifted my hand to my face, and then grimaced.

  Seth gripped my chin and turned up my head. He stared with hard eyes down at me, his face ghostly white. “Can you get up?” he asked, and then his gaze shifted on something behind me.

  I turned, the movement making me catch my breath. Fuck, my shoulder hurt like hell. Blood rushed into my head, making me dizzy, as I found Mr. Fuentes lying on the thick carpet, a hole punctured in his chest. Blood bloomed like a flower on his white dress shirt.

  Dead.

  Then I caught the faint sound of his heartbeat, weak but steady. The metallic scent of blood seeped into my nostrils.

  A phone rang in the silence, and then I heard Seth saying, “Thanks, Drake.”

  “Who is Drake?”

  Strong fingers dug into the flesh of my forearm, making me wince.

  “Did you work for the Scribe?”

  “Who is the Scribe?”

  He yanked me to my feet, grabbing the book from the table with his other hand, and dragged me after him. “Move, you can’t stay here.”

  Anger crawled its way to the surface of my mind, numbing the throbbing pain in my shoulder. “You shot me!”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said so dismissively I bristled.

  Of course I’d be fine, but until then, my shoulder damn well hurt. “He needs an ambulance,” I said, grounding my heels into the floor.

  “He needs a coffin,” he replied, and gave me a slap against my shoulder. “Walk.”

  The soft slap almost made me faint but also set my legs in motion. When we left the room and entered the hall, I jabbed my elbow into the glass of the fire alarm enclosure and pulled the lever. A siren broke the silence, making me want to cover my ears.

  “That was stupid,” he pressed through his teeth, pulling me close to his face, and for the first time since I met him he scared me. He pushed me against the wall, making me see stars. “Do you want to get us killed?”

  Blinking away tears of pain, I pushed against his chest. “I want an explanation.” I wouldn’t let him drag me off as if I had done something wrong.

  “Later.” He wound his fingers into my hair, the expression in his eyes changing, making me wonder if he was about to hit me, when he leaned closer still and brushed his mouth over my lips. “In a few moments, this place will be swarming with his thugs. What do you think they’ll do to you when they find you here?”

  I bit my lip, feeling every hard ridge of him pressing into me while my shoulder was throbbing, and remembered Mr. Fuentes cold-eyed bodyguard. What would he do if he found me next to the shot hotel owner?

  Seth gave me a small shake. “I don’t want anything happening to you, but you’re holding me up.” The metal of his gun pressed hard against my rib cage. “So, honey, I’m going to get your sweet ass safely out of this hotel now, understood?”

  A fool would have understood the threat in his hushed voice. I certainly understood it. He’d already shot me once, how high where the odds he would do so again? I didn’t care for more pain tonight. I palmed my shoulder and flexed my muscles. Already the pain was subdued and no fresh blood showed between my fingers. He accepted my silence as agreement and wound his fingers through mine, mindless of the blood that clung to my fingers. He pulled me toward the fire exit and through two heavy steel doors.

  Above the sound of the siren, I heard voices and footsteps as hotel guests, mindful not to use the elevator, filed into the concrete staircase leading out of the hotel.

  Seth shrugged out of his leather jacket and cloaked me in it as a lover would do so I wouldn’t feel cold. He did it so no one would notice the blood on my clothes. By the time we reached the first floor, I was in a group of morose-looking people who clearly thought they were caught up in an unexpected fire drill.

  Taking a deep breath as I stepped into the alley behind the main entrance of the hotel, I heard fire trucks liven up the night with their horns. Seth wrapped his arm around me but didn’t put any pressure on my injured shoulder, and led me away, making slow steps that nevertheless ate a lot of ground.

  “Who’s the guy in the picture on your desk?” he asked suddenly, startling me. He kept his gaze trained upward, as if he expected an attack out of the night sky.

  “That’s Tim,” I said quietly.

  “Sibling?”

  I snorted. “I’m an only child. He was my boyfriend.”

  “You have a picture of an ex on your desk?” He sounded mortified.

  If only, I thought.

  “He died two years ago in a car accident. I survived. I’d prefer him to be alive as my ex any day.”

  He was silent.

  “Sorry,” he said finally.

  The back alley grew narrow and deserted, dumpsters lining the house walls to our left and right, the perfect playground for rats and drug dealers. When he stopped, I realized that he wasn’t looking out for an attack, but for a fire escape ladder.

  “Up,” he said, letting me lead the way onto the first metal mesh landing.

  “What are we doing here?” I followed him up two more flights, wondering if he lived here.

  “We need to get off the street tonight.”

  When he pulled open a half-closed window and disappeared inside, curiosity won and I followed. As soon as I stepped inside, lavender wallpaper greeted my gaze. Clothes littered the floor around the bed and the kitchen was well-stocked with cereal boxes. A faint smell of perfume lay in th
e air. He took a chair from a desk and crammed it under the door handle.

  Not his apartment.

  “In case the woman returns, we have enough time to leave,” he said with a nod to the open window. “But I need to stay put, at least for a few hours.” He walked up and down the small apartment, five long strides and he’d covered the expanse. He looked just like he had in my store a couple of hours earlier. It was as if he was checking for booby traps.

  I leaned against the wall closest to the open window, trying to make sense of what had happened and came up short. His jacket emitted his earthy scent, making me too hot for comfort. Shrugging out of it, the pale face of Mr. Fuentes floated up in my mind, the scent of his blood. My stomach heaved and I clasped my hands to prevent them from shaking. Seth’s heavy jacket hit the floor with a dull thud.

  He’d killed my future, tried to take a life.

  I glanced up, trying to see the cold-blooded killer in him, but then again, how did a killer look? Fearing he’d see the look of despair on my face, I rubbed my eyes.

  Slowly, he came closer and braced his hand against the wall next to my head. “Take off your blouse.”

  “Certainly not.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Who helped you take off the ropes?”

  He snorted softly and leaned into me, opening the buttons on my blouse. “Why did you do that? Why protect him?”

  “Why shoot him?” Hands clenched to fists, I gave him a hard shove. He tumbled back two arm lengths and fell on his ass, wearing a satisfyingly stupid expression.

  He rubbed his chest, his eyes two dark slits.

  Damn. Mustn’t use my strength, mustn’t use my strength, mustn’t use my—

  “You’re a strong gal,” he said quietly, and my heart sank. “So, you had no help after all carrying me up the stairs and into your bed.” He moved closer again, caution edged into his forehead. “Let me see the wound.”

  “Why?” I huffed. “Proud of your handiwork?”

  He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, which hit my face when he exhaled. “I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. “You jumped up so damn fast… I’m sorry, I hope you know that.”

  I raised my eyebrows at his lousy excuse. He’d shot me—feeling sorry was the least I could expect from him.

  “Let me have a look at it,” he said, nodding toward my shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” I said. One look at my naked shoulder and he would know what I’d held secret for most of my life. “But I’d like to hear your explanation now.”

  Again, a frown rippled over his forehead. “Do you work for him?”

  “Who’s him?”

  “The Scribe.”

  “If you mean Mr. Fuentes, I only just met him today.”

  He gave me a long, hard stare that seemed to go straight into my heart.

  After another second, he said, “Why give him the book?”

  “Why fucking shoot him!”

  He grimaced, shaking his head. “It’s not your concern, but you can’t return to your apartment. They know where you live.”

  “You know where I live,” I shot back. “And you’re the one shooting people. Mr. Fuentes was my only chance to save, to save—” My throat tightened and I choked on the words. “I was just curious about the book, about the drawings and the odd language and—”

  “Mr. Fuentes is called the Scribe,” he interrupted me. “The DEA has been watching him for months, compiling evidence. This little black book is like the inside of his mind.” He bent and picked up his jacket. He took the book from the pocket and flipped through it. “Recently, an agent took pictures of the pages and, after weeks, they were able to decipher the code. He’s the head of a large drug cartel and once the DEA has the book, they’ll be able to nail him. Well, he’s dead, which is actually the better scenario, but the book will help to bring down his associates.”

  I ran his words over in my head a couple of times to stomach his tale. “You’re DEA?” I finally asked, the disbelief in my voice audible even to my ears.

  “No, I’m a hit man.” He paused for a moment. “Retired.”

  “Ha!” I said, thrown off balance for a second, and then caught myself. “You suck at your job. Mr. Fuentes is not dead.”

  “Of course he is—”

  “No, hit man, I heard his heartbeat, and I’m sure someone got to him in time to help.”

  A puzzled frown crossed his face. “You heard his heartbeat? How did you—”

  “Never you mind,” I said, lifting my head, because he towered over me as if he were about to rip off my head. “And tomorrow, hit man, I’ll try to clear my name with him. If I’m not mistaken I saved his life by stepping in the way of the bullet and activating the fire alarm to call for help.”

  His palm hit the wall next to my head. “Silly woman,” he said, his warm breath hitting my face, and I licked my lips. “Didn’t you listen to what I just told you?”

  “You’re just full of shit.” He was messing with my head. If what he said was true, then I had no hope left to save my broke ass. And I couldn’t give up the hope, I just couldn’t. If I had to choose between a well-respected and world-renowned hotel owner and a self-proclaimed hit man, the choice was an easy one.

  “I don’t trust your little tale.” I had to get the book back. If only to find out if he spoke the truth. If the DEA was really looking for it, one inquiring phone call was all it took. And then I could return the book to Mr. Fuentes and hopefully he wouldn’t hold the incident against me. I poked my finger against his chest. “I don’t trust you. It was stupid that I came here.”

  “You’d be dead by now if you hadn’t.”

  “I want to leave.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  All I needed to do was bring up my knee and hit him where it hurts and I’d be out the window and gone in a flash. I took a deep breath, filling my senses with his scent. My chest brushed against him and it was difficult to keep a clear head. I shimmied against him, a pretend struggle to break free of his hold. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned harder against me, my shoulder blades pressing into the wall.

  “Does that turn you on?” I whispered, lifting my head to find his dark gaze. I slid my hand between us to stroke my index finger over the front of his jeans, the denim rough under my fingertips. I could feel him against me, hard everywhere. “Holding me against my will, fucking me against my will?” I laughed when his eyes turned darker, his erection pressing against my crotch. “Do you want to roughen me up, just a little?”

  He swore and took a step back. “Believe me, it’s only for your best intersts if you stay here with me. I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you fear.”

  He was flustered. I could tell by the way he dodged my gaze. I took a step after him, rising up to the tips of my feet. “I want you to try it,” I whispered, which finally earned me his gaze. The lust I found in the depths of his eyes made me take a step back, suddenly unsure who pursued whom.

  He reached out to trace his finger along my jawline. My heart made a somersault when he started to unbutton my blouse until the fabric slid from my shoulders to the floor. He sucked in his breath.

  It was a relief to stop pretending and I met his gaze with a newfound calmness. The bullet had gone straight through my flesh, but the wound was gone and only dried blood and a fat purple bruise remained. But I wanted him to know, sick of acting as if I were frail and weak and in need of protection. Sick of pretending he could hold me against my will.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Seth,” I said. “I’m not what you think I am.”

  He was silent as he brushed his thumb over the area where the bullet had hit my flesh. “I think you are beautiful.” He leaned forward and kissed my shoulder, his lips cool against my skin.

  Struck speechless by his reaction, I wanted to push him away again, but couldn’t. Desire, which had simmered below the surface, unfurled. He kissed up my neck, murmuring something unintelligible that sounded like my wild thing, which was a stupid thing
to say, but his hoarse voice nevertheless turned me on. Hell. He bit gently at my earlobe, sending shockwaves between my legs. Hardly something I wanted to fight. He tugged at my clothes. I let him. If able to, I’d have purred, but I still didn’t trust him.

  Later, I’d struggle with my conscience.

  Chapter Seven

  A deep rumble in her throat told Seth she wouldn’t push him again. He had heard the same guttural sound when she’d swayed naked on top of him, giving in to her lust without a trace of shame. Something else lurked beneath her human skin, something wild and strong. When he kissed up her neckline, seeking her full lips, she turned her head. The message was clear, no kiss for him.

  “Trust me,” he whispered against her ear. “Just one kiss, just one.”

  She shook her head, a stubborn streak around her mouth.

  Irritation gripped his gut. He slid his hand behind her back to unclasp her bra. She folded her arms over her head, crossed wrists and closed her eyes. She gave herself up, but only offered her body, not her heart. He clamped his hand, hard, over her crossed wrists, putting more of his strength into it than he would have done with any other woman. Her eyes shot open and he gave a low laugh at the stunned look on her face.

  “Come on,” he whispered against her mouth, “try to get free.”

  She bucked against him, undoubtedly to break free of his hold in earnest, and not just that titillating wiggle she’d taunted him with a moment before. He shifted his entire body against hers, holding her against the wall. Need wavered up in him, the need to possess her, to be inside her, take her by force. He cupped her breast. Heavy and firm, it fit his hand perfectly. Her heartbeat drummed against his palm. Feeling her nipple tightening beneath his fingers made his erection painfully hard. He crushed his mouth on hers, sneaking his tongue between her lips, getting a taste of her sweetness. And for three fast heartbeats, her full mouth yielded under his lips.

  Then her teeth bit into him with more force than he could endure.

  He jerked his head back, swearing softly, and licked away a drop of blood from his bottom lip. He let his arms drop to his side, giving her every chance to make a run for it. As if answering his thought, she fingered his jeans, her long lashes painting shadows on her cheeks. He could feel her hands shake while she pushed his jeans and briefs down his legs.