Seduced by the Assassin Page 3

  What is Ransom? And what am I getting myself into?

  Now isn’t the time for questions.

  “What do we need to do?”

  Ethan hooks his foot around the leg of a rolling stool and drags it under my ass. “Sit. Close your eyes. Leave this to me.”

  With a bob of my head, I do. I hear him working. The rubber tourniquet goes around my arm and squeezes. He swipes alcohol over the crook of my elbow. A minute later, the needle goes in my vein, first try. Almost no pain.

  “There it is…” he murmurs.

  “That’s it? You’re a pro.”

  “Thanks. Never done this without help, but I guess there’s always a first time.”

  Like me and stitches.

  “Yeah.” I feel the blood traveling through my veins, exiting at the injection site. Ugh, this always gets me a little queasy. I need to talk to distract myself. And I need to say something to Ethan. “I’m sorry.”

  “That you’re more into my dad than you were ever into me?”

  I nod. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry I got pissed at you. But I know it wasn’t one-sided. I saw the way Dad looked at you. I knew he wanted you in a way I didn’t. I mean, you’re hot, and if you had been willing, I would have gladly fucked you.” Ethan takes my chin in his grip, and I find myself staring into his hazel eyes. “But he wanted you. He burned for you. He fell for you.”

  Those words make me go hot all over. “I fell for him, too.”

  At my whisper, Ethan lets go. “Close your eyes again.”

  I do. I need time to think.

  “Something’s happened to you,” I blurt. “You’ve grown up in the last couple of months.”

  He hesitates. “Let’s just say I’m finding my way.”

  Then silence falls. Neither of us tries to fill it, which is a relief because I’m getting dizzy and I’m feeling the fact I skipped dinner.

  Seconds later, Ethan removes the needle from my arm, sticks a cotton ball over the entry point, then finishes up with a quick bandage. When I open my eyes, he’s already done the same to his dad’s arm.

  But Ransom’s color looks a hundred times better.

  I glance up at him. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to. He’s my dad, remember? Just don’t break his heart, huh?”

  More like the other way around, but if he lives, I’ll feel more than blessed.

  “I never would.” But I think Ransom has already written off any potential future we might have together. “Are you going to take him home?”

  If Ethan does, he might need help. I could stay and take care of Ransom until he rebounds. I’ll treasure the time we have together because he’ll probably ask me to leave again.

  Ethan shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s smart. If whoever shot him knows his identity…”

  They’ll only follow Ransom home. “Oh, that makes sense.”

  “If I go back and act like nothing is wrong, it might deflect suspicion. And if things get hot, I’ll call one of my uncles. Plus, you have more medical knowledge and access to supplies.” Ethan gestures to the shelves behind him. “Got any ideas where to take Dad? You can’t stay here.”

  He’s right. “My apartment, I guess.”

  “Probably too obvious and not secure enough.” He pauses, thinks, then sighs. “Listen… I know of a place. It’s the party pad of a friend of a friend. He’s not in town right now, but he said I could use it whenever I want. It’s behind a gate, so it’s secluded and private. I’ll try to figure out who shot Dad and why. You stash him there until he’s well enough to defend himself.”

  I have no idea how long that will take, but other than a quick animal check tomorrow afternoon, I’m not scheduled to work again until Wednesday. Hopefully, that’s long enough. “Okay.”

  As I clean up the surgical room, Ethan stuffs his father back into his bloody T-shirt. Thankfully, it’s black, so the blood doesn’t show. I find spare towels in the storeroom, near the cleaning supplies, so my car won’t get blood-soaked.

  But I have nothing to wear except a bra and jeans.

  Ethan whips off his shirt and hands it to me. “Put this on. It might save you.”

  “Save me?”

  He raises a brow. “Dad won’t be out long, and he’ll bounce back fast. When he comes to, if that’s all you’re wearing…” He lets me imagine the rest. “You still a virgin?”

  “Yes.”

  The tilt of Ethan’s mouth is nothing short of cynical. “If he gets a look at you dressed like that, you won’t be for long.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m speeding down the wet highway west to Summerlin. The roads are freaking jammed. Then again, it’s a Saturday night in Las Vegas. The partiers and drunks are coming out of the woodwork. The good thing about that is, if anyone looks into my vehicle and sees Ransom propped up in the passenger’s seat, he’ll either look asleep or wasted. Neither is terribly abnormal in Sin City at ten p.m.

  The GPS tells me we’ll be at Ethan’s mystery destination in roughly ten minutes. I keep looking in the rearview mirror, but I don’t think we were tailed. I’ve been on the lookout. A clean getaway would make me feel tons better, just like Ransom’s coloring returning.

  He looks a lot like he did the day I left his house, except now he’s unconscious, rather than fighting himself and filled with regret.

  If you stay, I’ll stop giving a damn how old you are. I’ll strip you down, get between your pretty thighs, and fuck you until you understand you’re mine.

  A day hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought about Ransom…and wondered if he still thinks of me.

  “Meow,” Shadow whines from the backseat, sitting on Ransom’s discarded duster that’s concealing the handguns once strapped to him.

  I probably shouldn’t have brought the little feline along. If her owner comes back, I’ll get in a ton of trouble for taking her, but she cried and cried as Ethan and I were loading up my car. I didn’t have the heart to leave her there, especially after I’d promised to be her human. Besides, she brings me comfort, too.

  And since I’m going to spend days alone with Ransom at an isolated party pad? I think I’ll need it.

  Finally, we arrive. I punch in the gate code, half expecting it not to budge. After all, how the hell does Ethan have anytime access to a place in this swanky neighborhood? But the gate swings open right away.

  I drive down a gentle hill before hitting a stone access road, then coasting under a collection of swaying palms. The house in front of me is huge, all Mediterranean plaster, stacked stone, and wood accents. It’s jaw-droppingly beautiful.

  We’re staying here for a few days? Alone?

  As the gate shuts behind me, I follow the stone drive around the back of the house, hop out when I see the keypad beside the garage door, tap in the code, and watch as it, too, opens to reveal a giant, empty garage.

  Once I’m parked inside, I scoop up the bag of medical supplies I tossed together and the kitten, then head into the house.

  It’s vast and dark. My footsteps echo on the tile. It feels empty, as if no one has been here in a while. But if the walls could talk, I’m pretty sure the conversation would be damn interesting.

  I meander down a hall, through an enormous living room, then into the kitchen, flipping on lights along the way, then set the bag on a giant square island in the gorgeous warm-wood kitchen. I ease Shadow to the tiled floor. “Wow.”

  She looks up at me, seemingly confused. “Meow.”

  Is she hungry?

  Shit. I remembered a little box for her to do her business…but I forgot to bring her food. I add it to the mental list of things I’ll have to somehow get my hands on.

  “Explore, girlie. I’ll be right back.”

  Then I head once more toward the car—and Ransom.

  When I step into the garage, I freeze. The massive slab of a door is now closed. The overhead light is dark. Moonlight splashes through the windows, illuminating the s
pace just enough to tell me one terrifying thing.

  Ransom is no longer in the front seat.

  Suddenly, I’m grabbed from behind. One brawny arm hooks around my neck. The other squeezes my middle. I feel hot breath and male stubble against my ear. I shiver.

  “You have five seconds to tell me where the fuck I am and how I got here or I’ll kill you.” He’s not kidding since I suddenly feel a gun against my ribs.

  “D-Don’t hurt me, Ransom. Please.”

  Ransom

  Fuck.

  I’d know that voice anywhere. I know the pitch. I know the tone. I even know the slightly shaky quality because I heard it every agonizing day of the hellacious two weeks the underage temptress stayed under my roof.

  In my son’s bed?

  Suspecting the answer to that question is yes has tormented me for weeks.

  “Havana?” I spin her and flip on the overhead light.

  It’s her, all right.

  She looks fragile. Her golden eyes are startlingly large in her unusually pale face. She’s thinner. There’s a smear of blood on her cheek. And she’s wearing a T-shirt I recognize as Ethan’s.

  Son of a bitch. Did they fuck tonight, on her birthday?

  “How did I get here?” Wherever here is.

  She fills me in. I remember the gunfire, but I don’t remember passing out. Damn. Thankfully, I’m only vaguely aware of the pain now.

  Grabbing her by the wrist, I haul her into the house. One of the first doors on the left opens to a powder bath. I switch on the light and look in the mirror. Yep. There’s a neat row of stitches up my neck. She did that?

  My shirt dried soaked with my blood and it now feels crusty. Gingerly, I work it off and find more stitches along my biceps. “And you gave me your blood?”

  She nods. “Ethan helped.”

  “Why are you wearing his shirt?” I gesture to the navy-blue cotton that reads Sarc: My Second Favorite -asm.

  “He gave it to me. I used mine to stop your bleeding.”

  So maybe they didn’t fuck, at least not today. And that’s not what I should be fixated on.

  Havana patched me up. I’m not surprised my son went out on a limb to help me. Since he’s come to live with me full-time, we’ve developed a decent relationship. But this woman who’s barely more than a girl? Despite the fact I tossed her out of my house, she did her best to save me. And how am I repaying her? I’ve got a fucking death grip on her wrist that must hurt.

  With a grimace, I let go. “Thanks for helping me. You’re sure we weren’t followed?”

  No way I could live with myself if any of the dangerous shit I’m mixed up in came for Havana.

  “Positive.”

  Maybe she’s right, but she doesn’t know the people I’m dealing with. I hope to fuck she never does.

  “I need to make sure this place is secure and call a few people.” I can’t resist touching her. I should…but when it comes to Havana, I’m weak. I take her face in my hands. “Then we’re going to talk.”

  Something streaks across her expression. Worry? She blanks it so quickly I can’t tell. Havana is good at hiding her feelings. No surprise considering everything she’s been through since her parents died.

  “Okay. I’ll look around and take stock of the supplies here. Ethan said the place would be pretty empty.”

  Then she steps away like she doesn’t want me to touch her.

  You threw her out when she needed you because your job is risky as hell and because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants for a few more weeks. Why should she want you?

  “If you see or hear anything, scream. I’ll come running.”

  Then I search the ground floor, checking every door and window before I do the same upstairs. I’ll have to ask Ethan whose place this is and how he got in. It’s expansive and lavish. Sexy. Like someplace a wealthy man would bring his mistress to bang her in total privacy.

  Since we’re as secure as we can be, I double back to the home office on the far side of the first floor. It’s got a sick view of the infinity-edge pool and spa with multicolored lights in the vast backyard that butts up to a long fairway. The room itself is dominated by a massive desk and dark woods, recessed lighting and overstuffed chairs. I hear Havana rummaging around the kitchen, so I shut the double doors.

  And I wrench my phone from my pocket to call my son. I always thought Ethan was a smart kid, but putting Havana in danger like this is the stupidest fucking decision he could have made.

  Before I can connect the call to ask him what the hell he was thinking, the device rings in my hand. Ridge.

  If my brother is calling now, it’s not good.

  I skip the greeting. “Ridge? Talk to me.”

  “You’re alive?”

  So he’s already heard I’ve been shot? That’s bad news, too. “What made you think I wasn’t? And if you thought I’d kicked it, why are you calling me?”

  He drops his voice. “Paul Carboni came tearing in here about an hour ago, whooping like an idiot.”

  Because he thought I was dead? “He is an idiot.”

  Ridge huffs. “I can’t argue with that. But he gave Donzelli the thumbs-up and started popping champagne. When I asked why the fuck we’re partying, Paulie announced that he iced you tonight in the parking lot of some ratty-ass strip mall.”

  Of course Marco Donzelli and his boys had something to do with the attempt on my life. Pieces of shit.

  “Carboni tried. He tagged me twice.” If Havana hadn’t called the police and my son, he might have succeeded. “But I got some stitches and meds. I’m good as new.”

  In fact, other than having a hard-as-fuck dick because the soft, sweet woman of my fantasies is just a few feet away, I feel fine.

  “He thinks you’re dead.”

  That’s great news for me. “So he’ll get brazen. One less competitor, right? See if you can get him to move on the next part of his operation so we can figure out what the fuck is happening.”

  “Actually, I should have a lot of new information soon. You lie low until then, ’k? And hey, thanks for not making me mourn you just yet.”

  “Nah. I wouldn’t let a punk like Paul Carboni off me.” Especially not if I have any chance with Havana.

  But there are complications I need to deal with before we have any chance of sharing a future.

  “I gotta go,” Ridge mutters hurriedly, like he’s worried someone is listening. “I’ll call when I can.”

  “Stay safe.”

  My youngest brother tells me to do the same, then hangs up.

  I’m worried like hell for Havana’s safety. I can watch over her for now. But we can’t stay here long. I need to see where her head—and her heart—are at, then make some decisions.

  Other questions niggle at the back of my brain. How did Paul know where to find me tonight? He shouldn’t have been able to, and I hope like hell he can’t guess why I was in that strip mall. But in case he knows, Havana needs to lie low with me until this shit blows over.

  But if she’s changed her mind about me—and she should—how am I going to keep my hands off of her?

  Cursing under my breath, I dial my son. I’m worried about him, too. He’s spent too much time with me and his uncles. He’s turning out just like us.

  Ethan picks up right away. “Dad, you okay?”

  “Fine. There are people after me. You need to worry about your own hide.”

  “Already taking precautions, I promise.”

  “Good. Now what the fuck were you thinking, pawning me off on Havana? You put her in danger, and you know it.”

  “It was a calculated risk. That’s why I gave you two someplace secluded to go. You have unresolved shit, and you’ve been making some reckless fucking decisions since you sent her away. Fix it.”

  I should berate Ethan for his language and taking this choice out of my hands. But he learned from me, and he’s not wrong. Hell, maybe he’s even done me a favor, except…

  “Son, you know there’
s only one way for me to fix this for good, and it will hurt you.” Not that it will stop me from claiming Havana if she still feels about me the way she did the morning I kissed her.

  “It won’t,” Ethan assures. “I’m not in love with her. I’m not even interested anymore.”

  Really? I sigh. “I can’t say the same.”

  He laughs. “I knew you’d caught feelings for Havana. It’s mutual. Go get her. You deserve to be happy after Mom fucked you over a hundred ways. She’s been weighing you down since you were sixteen. If Havana makes you happy, I’m cool with it.”

  Damn, when did my kid go from the gangly, defiant boy who wanted to blame me for every fucking thing wrong in his life to the sharp, rational man I’m talking to now? I’m almost choked with pride. “Thanks.”

  “Totally. Besides, if you marry Havana, I’ll have the hottest stepmom ever.”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  “Why, do you want me to be less than honest?”

  “I want you to get your thoughts out of her panties.”

  That’s hard for me to say. I’m ninety-percent sure he once had way more than his thoughts in them. Hell, he probably popped her cherry. I try like hell not to be jealous. But I know my son. He started getting regular ass a few years ago, and he’s never without now. I don’t care as long as he’s careful and doesn’t repeat my teenage pregnancy fiasco.

  Or I didn’t care until Havana.

  “Actually, they’re in someone else’s, so can we cut this chat short? A friend’s older sister called me for some…company. She’s expecting me in an hour.”

  “You have a booty call?”

  “Yep, and I’d rather not show up covered in your blood.”

  That both fills me with relief and sobers me up. “Sure. Just one more thing… We’re going to need some supplies here.”