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Jenna
I smoothed the dark hair on my daughter’s head, “Sleep tight, angel.”
A gap-tooth smile lit Cassie’s face, “You too, mom.”
I reached for the lamp, heart in my throat, humbled by the love in that one word. I’d always wanted more children, but as Edward’s career took off, he’d spent less and less time at home. These days, he spent more nights than not at the hospital, and now I knew why.
Still dressed in Chanel, I crossed Cassie’s room and closed the door, my heart breaking and my head reeling from an uncertain future. I headed downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of wine. And that’s when I heard it.
Breaking glass.
I ran for the house phone and skidded when my heels met the kitchen tile. I would have slid through the blood on the floor, but a strong arm snagged around my waist, and the scent of man, leather, and blood hit my nostrils.
I took in a breath to scream, but another hand clamped over my mouth.
“Not gonna hurt you, princess. Just need some help,” a raspy voice whispered in my ear.
My breath froze in my lungs, and my body clenched low at the sound of that velvet voice. I nodded, realizing how long it had been since I’d been held in a man’s arms.
“You gonna scream?”
I shook my head and tried to breathe, heart pounding as I thought of Cassie upstairs.
Slowly, the man removed his hand from my mouth.
My heart raced, but I didn’t make a sound.
The man loosened his hold around my waist. “Been shot. Can you sew me up?”
I swallowed. “My husband’s a surgeon. You’d be better off with him.”
The man let me go and propped himself against the kitchen counter. Blood pooled around his boots.
I took in the man’s appearance, from his collar length brown hair, thick goatee, and piercing blue eyes to his broad shoulders and full sleeve tattoos. The man was frightening. And he was massive.
“No hospitals. Where’s your man?”
“Not here.”
The man cocked his head at the vague response and studied me before he grunted in what could have been agreement or disbelief. Then he fell into a chair. “Looks like it’s me and you. Let’s get this over with.” He reached into his vest, pulled out a gun, and laid it on the kitchen table, his hand steady on the grip. “Please.”
My heart tripped, and I swallowed. Hard.
I turned for the liquor cabinet and pulled down the first bottle I came to. Vodka. Top shelf. I dropped it off on the table as I passed by.
“I’ve got to get my sewing….” I trailed off when I saw him pull a wicked looking knife and cut through the fabric of his jeans.
I stopped, eyes bugging out of my head.
The man looked up and reached for the vodka, opened it, and poured a liberal amount into his wound. He hissed and then slugged back a few swallows, not bothering to ask for a glass. He settled the bottle on the table and turned to me.
My eyes unconsciously went to the corner stairs that led to Cassie’s bedroom.
“Kids upstairs?” he asked.
Eyes back to him, “My daughter.”
“You’re safe. Don’t hurt women or kids. So get moving.”
