Forgotten Sins sb-1

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Finally. His façade was cracking. “Bring it on, asswipe.”

  She flew into the air.

  Her yelp echoed around the room. He’d levered his feet and tossed her up without moving his arms. Strong hands flipped her around on her flight down. She found her back pressed to his front, the knife at her jugular. Heat enfolded her. His broad hand in her hair tugged her head to the side, exposing her neck to the cool night air. “Asswipe?”

  Both her elbows shot back into his gut. Her wrists were quickly secured by one of his hands at the small of her back.

  “Did I ever tie you up, darlin’?”

  Desire shot through her like a shot of hard whiskey. “No.” She tried to move, to tug her wrists free.

  “Too bad. Restraining you excites me.” His head dropped and his mouth engulfed her collarbone. The knife clattered to the floor. “If you don’t want gentle, you should’ve said so.” He flipped her around, and his lips crushed down on hers.

  She didn’t want gentle. She wanted Shane—all of him. Her nails bit into his chest while a moan filtered up her throat. Finally. Oh, she’d worn bruises after a particularly passionate and athletic night during their marriage, and they were well worth it. But something new had just sprung free. She sensed it. A wildness in Shane, something he normally trapped and kept veiled. Somehow, finally, it roared.

  His mouth locked on hers. No gentleness. No softness. Just pure, raw lust.

  She stretched up on her tiptoes, cradling his cock between her legs. Oh God. She wanted.

  He stilled.

  No. She clutched him closer.

  A rustle sounded outside the window, and a scrape echoed from within the house.

  He stepped back, grabbing her arms, his head turning toward the door. “Do you have a gun, angel?”

  A gun? She gulped in air. What?

  He shook her. “Gun. Where is it?”

  “Um, I left it in the glove box in my car.” Fear slid through the desire.

  Glass shattered. Something clattered across the floor. “Fuck.” Shane threw her onto the bed and rolled to the other side, yanking the mattress on top of them as they hit the floor. A bang echoed.

  What? Smoke filled the space. Static. Her mind fuzzed. Her vision blurred. She reached out for Shane, for safety. Gone. Where was he?

  Male grunts echoed. Flesh hitting flesh. She pushed the mattress away, grabbing the night table and pulling herself to her knees. Smoke hazed her vision. A ringing filled her ears. Smoke swirled around her.

  A grunt pulled her attention from the smoke. Shane battled with a man in all black, fists flying, hands grabbing, bodies struggling. Shane’s knife flashed, wicked and sharp.

  Blood sprayed. The attacker dropped to the ground, his eyes wide-open in death. Shane turned to fight another man.

  Her hands spread out over the smooth bedside table. The phone. She grabbed it, squinting to dial the numbers. A roaring filled her head. She dialed 911, dropping the phone just as a voice echoed over the line.

  Male voices bellowed behind her. Where was she?

  Darkness fell across her vision. She lost her hold on the furniture, plunging toward the soft rug. Then, nothing.

  Chapter 6

  Pain exploded across Shane’s cheek as the second man landed a punch. Flashes sparked behind his eyes. Memories. Noise, fighting, brutal and deadly.

  He dropped to one knee, next to the man he’d just killed. The knife was kicked out of his hand to go spinning under the bed. Explosions ripped through his brain. A firefight in Asia. A training field with the dead littering the ground. Flashes of moments in time. Blurry, loud, confusing, the thoughts hit him harder than the bastard throwing punches.

  Something ripped through his ear canal. Sounds… so many, so harsh, flooded his senses. Sounds beyond the normal. A car honked miles away. Cats hissed in a fight four neighborhoods over. Memories of other cars, other animals, tumbled through his mind.

  Shane tried to yank his attention to the present, blocking his face from the worst of the hits. His limbs seemed weighted down with huge blocks.

  A memory slammed him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Jory. Pain. Gone.

  Glass crunched as a third man jumped through the window.

  Shane caught a glimmer of gold from the corner of his eye. Josie’s hair. Her pretty eyes fluttered closed, and she dropped to the ground, unconscious.

  Time stopped. All pain receded. Focus shot through him like an electrical current. He calmed. One thing mattered, only one.

  Protecting his woman.

  He leapt up, both legs flying to encircle the hitter’s throat. Twisting his knees, Shane cut off the guy’s air supply as they fell to the ground. He didn’t feel the jarring impact. An elbow to the temple knocked the intruder out cold. Rolling, Shane released him and flipped backward to his feet.

  No questions, no concerns, nothing existed but the threat in front of him. The third man yanked a Sharkman Fixed-Blade out from behind his back. He stood about six foot, packed hard, with dead brown eyes.

  “As combat knives go, that’s a good choice.” Shane said. How could he identify the kind of knife but not know his middle name? “Though I prefer the Black Frog.”

  The guy smiled, showing a gold tooth. “That’s a good one, too.”

  Shane angled to the side, keeping his body between Josie and the weapon. “Leave and I won’t kill you.” Probably not a true statement. He could think of twenty different ways to kill the guy without moving his feet from their current position. The blood flowing through the guy’s veins made a soft sound. One Shane shouldn’t be able to hear. He’d worry about that knowledge later. Right now, his focus was absolute.

  The guy lunged.

  Shane pivoted, slamming the heel of his hand against the man’s wrist and smoothly stealing the knife. Two steps forward, and he plunged the knife into the side of the guy’s jugular. Following his prey to the ground, he used both hands to slice open the man’s neck, fighting against cartilage and bone. Knowledge slammed into him that, although difficult, the task was easier than it should’ve been. His strength wasn’t normal, either.

  Sirens trilled in the distance.

  He stilled, glancing at the phone on the floor. Josie had dialed 911.

  The blood rushed through his ears as he took in the bloody scene. He’d killed two men and knocked one out. Something whispered in the back of his head that he should take care of the unconscious man. Kill him so he couldn’t seek revenge.

  Shane tried to take a deep breath and regretted it as the stench of death filled his lungs. God, who the hell was he? Why could he do such amazing things? None of the memories flashing back were good—none showed a decent life. His head pounded, and his gut clenched tighter than his fists. His bloody fists.

  But instinct ordered him to take out the last man for good. So he stood and took a step toward the prone figure.

  Josie groaned.

  He stopped cold.

  For the first time that night, his hands began to tremble. His angel lay on the floor surrounded by death and blood. What kind of a monster was he?

  He’d left her, and now he’d brought danger to her door. Her distrust of him had ticked him off earlier, but now he had to acknowledge that her instincts were probably good. This time. Shame filled him that he’d left her alone. Why? Those memories had to come back.

  Small, she lay curled on her side, delicate features so pale. He had to get her out of there. Grabbing a pillowcase, he quickly wiped blood off his face and hands, tossing the material onto the floor. Leaning over, he reached down to gently pick her up.

  Two cops met him in the hallway, young and earnest, guns aimed at him.

  Fire zapped along his vertebrae. Absolute calm followed. Moves to disable them, to kill them, ran through his brain so fast his shoulders tensed.

  Josie stirred in his arms.

  The closest cop settled his stance, his gun aimed at Shane’s head. “Put her down.” The kid had to be about twenty.

 
Shane took a deep breath. “No.”

  The cop’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t want to shoot you, man.” His hand wavered just enough to increase Shane’s heart rate.

  Shane leaned against the wall in case he needed to balance and kick out. “Call Detective Malloy. He knows what’s going on. Tell him someone broke into Josie Dean’s place.”

  The other cop, just as young as the first, tilted his head and spoke into the radio strapped to his shoulder. He listened and then straightened up. “Malloy already heard the call—he’s on the way. And he sounds… pissed.”

  “Yeah, I assume so.” Shane pivoted, fighting every instinct he owned so he could turn his back on the guns. “I’m putting my wife in her room. Feel free to follow me, but if you point the gun in her direction again, I’m taking it away from you.”

  Not by one whit did he doubt he could do it. So many different ways to disarm the cops flashed through his head, his skull began to ache. Memories of fights, of stripping away weapons, of his killing people, ripped through his mind.

  Whoever or whatever he was… there was no way he was the good guy.

  Pity.

  * * *

  Men’s voices awakened Josie. She opened her eyes, keeping her body motionless in self-protection. A trick she’d learned from the foster parent who hit.

  One voice filtered through the rest. Shane. Safety.

  She sat up on her bed. “What in the world?”

  Shane grabbed her hand from his perch next to her. How did they get back into her room? His gaze ran over her face. So serious. So pissed.

  She fought a shiver. “What—”

  “Flash grenade,” he muttered, wiping blood off his forehead with the back of his free hand. A cut splayed open above his left eye, and fresh bruises mingled with the yellowing ones already on his strong face and down his bare torso. He’d somehow donned jeans.

  How many bruises could one body take?

  Early sunshine glinted off the sparkling wooden floor. Cops in uniform strode by in the hallway, placing markers, taking pictures. Muted voices came from the guest room. A figure pushed off from the wall, his deep brown eyes bloodshot. “Mrs. Dean.”

  “Detective Malloy.” Josie glanced down at her bare legs. Shane grabbed a blanket off the end of the bed to drape over her. “Ah, what happened?”

  “Well, Mrs. Dean, as far as we can tell, three men attacked you and your husband. Two bodies are in the guest room, and one man is on his way to the ER.”

  Bodies? Nausea swirled in her gut. Shane had killed two men? So what, his body count was up to five this week? “Who were they?” Her voice cracked at the end. The men had violated her home, her sanctuary. Maybe safety didn’t exist.

  Shane stiffened. “They haven’t been identified yet, angel.” He dropped his gaze to her trembling lips. “Hold on, the next ambulance should be here soon.”

  “I don’t want an ambulance.” She tightened her jaw to still her lips. “I’m not going to the hospital again.” Fear made her voice tremble, and she cleared her voice.

  His focus narrowed. “Why not?”

  He really didn’t remember anything, or he’d never ask that question. She’d already told him about her childhood, and the story had seriously pissed him off. It was all she could do to keep him from hunting down the bastard who’d hit her. She glanced away, seeking comfort in the pretty Norman Rockwell prints of peaceful homes she’d hung on the walls. “I don’t like hospitals. Most people don’t.”

  “Josie.” Low, commanding, his voice held no quarter.

  They hadn’t seen one another in two years, and yet her body reacted instantly to that tone. Sexy and male, it tingled down her spine. Her gaze swung to his. Deep gray, his eyes demanded an answer, as if there weren’t cops all around them. She struggled to derail his concentration. “Who’s after you?”

  He blinked twice. His hold tightened. Finally, he ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry I brought them to you.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think—”

  Malloy cleared his throat. “I heard back from Pendleton, Major Dean. You retired over two years ago, with full honors.”

  Confusion swirled in Josie’s brain. She’d forgotten about Malloy. “No, no, that’s not right. He stayed in the marines. I always assumed he left on a mission.” That he’d be back for her someday.

  “He retired on June first two years ago, Mrs. Dean.” Malloy studied them both, the gun at his hip outlined through his cheap jacket.

  Betrayal hit her like a fist in the gut. Shane had left her in August—two months after retiring. Where had he gone every day when he’d said he was going to work? Who the hell was her husband?

  Shane exhaled. No expression showed on his battered face. “Any idea where I’ve been for two years?”

  “Nope. Your commanding officer said you left without a word, just took off. Though he said you were a hero first. Saved several lives.” Malloy’s voice remained steady and without inflection. Cop voice.

  Josie shook her head. She’d believed the lies. Just like a domestic violence victim. Tom might be right. Maybe she should get out of town. Hell, maybe she should take a chance on a guy who trusted her… a guy who let her in and didn’t lie. “You lied to me, Shane.” Her voice came out small, weak.

  Shane exhaled. “We don’t know that, sweetheart. Let me find out what was going on. Possibly I went undercover or something.”

  Her vision blurred. Perhaps the flash grenade had given her a concussion. She blinked to clear her head.

  Malloy scribbled in his tattered notebook. “Mrs. Dean, please relate what happened here tonight.”

  Josie took a deep breath and recalled the grenade and seeing the fight. “But it was all hazy. I didn’t understand what was going on.” Her voice trembled. She would not cry.

  Shane scooped her up, blanket and all, and tugged her to his bare chest. Scars lined his angular form, knife and bullet wounds now partially camouflaged by new bruises. Heat radiated from his hard body, an oasis of warmth in the chill of the room.

  She didn’t trust him, and she sure as heck shouldn’t be on his lap. But the warm illusion of safety was too tempting to fight—for now. For a moment, she needed to pretend. She wet her dry lips and let him shelter her—temporarily. “How long was I out?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  He’d killed two men in less than half an hour. She shivered and he tucked her closer. His familiar scent of heated cedar surrounded her. He’d killed. To protect her, but still, he’d ended the lives of those two men. Yeah. That scared her.

  Malloy flipped his notebook closed. “You folks stay here.” He headed out of the room toward the guest room.

  Shane shifted, resting her against the headboard and rising from the bed. His gaze took in the entire room, studying each corner, each nook. “What the hell is that buzzing?” He stilled and seemed to center himself in absolute concentration.

  Josie frowned, the room cooling her again without his body heat near. “There’s no buzzing.” Had he been hit in the head again?

  Finally, with a frown, he stalked over to the phone base on her nightstand.

  “What’s going on?” Josie pulled the blanket up higher.

  Shane shook his head, lifting the base and peering at the bottom. His jaw tightened. Flaring his nostrils, he yanked a round silver disc off to throw on the floor.

  “What’s that?”

  Shane held up a hand and grabbed her cowboy boot from the closet. Quick motions sent the heel smashing the disc into pieces. “Fucking bug.”

  A bug? Someone had bugged her room? “What are you talking about?”

  “They sent the grenade into the guest room. Where I was sleeping. How did they know?” Shane swept the pieces under her dresser with his bare foot. “Don’t say anything to Malloy. Something happened when I was hit… my hearing is unbelievable all of a sudden.” He stalked toward her, his eyes the swirling gray of a winter storm. “Has my hearing always been beyond the norm?”
/>   She shrugged. “Not that I know about.” Of course, she wouldn’t know now, would she?

  He gave a short nod. “Do you need a doctor?”

  “No.” A shrink maybe.

  “Good. Pack a bag.” He glanced at his bare chest. “Damn it. I’m sure they won’t let me get my shirt from the crime scene.”

  Josie blushed, scrambling off the bed. “I, uh… may have another of your shirts in the bottom drawer of my dresser.” He didn’t comment, just tugged open the drawer and yanked on a faded Marine Corps T-shirt. “Thanks.”

  She panicked and dressed quickly. If they were going to argue, she needed to be fully dressed. “I’m not leaving with you.”

  Reaching into her closet, he tossed her clothes in a bag. “You’re in danger… more than I thought. You are leaving.”

  He meant it. He’d try and take her, regardless of the cops in the other room. Chances were, he’d succeed. What should she do? She couldn’t trust him, but he knew how to fight and win. Why didn’t that reassure her? “The cops will shoot you.”

  His shrug made him wince as he glanced down at his torso. “I’ve been shot before.”

  She edged toward the hallway.

  He grabbed her arm, his hold firm. “Josie, I know things are complicated. But three killers just stormed your house. You need protection, and I’m better than the cops.”

  Her thoughts slugged through her mind in slow motion. Should she leave with him? What about the police? But he was right—he’d taken care of the threat. What was wrong with her? She didn’t trust him, but she couldn’t walk away. Her lungs compressed. If she didn’t go with him, would she ever see him again? Maybe not, and she couldn’t take that chance. She had to know who he was—whom she’d married. And she wanted to live. For now, he was her best bet. So many conflicting emotions ripped through her that her stomach hurt.

  He led her through the hall and into the kitchen.

  Malloy met them at the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Shane’s nostrils flared. “The hospital. The ambulance is too late, and I’m taking my wife for a checkup.”