Page 27 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

Las Vegas

Ransom

T he woman I can’t forget is through that door, less than ten feet from me, working. There’s a lock separating us, but that’s not enough to keep me from her.

Nothing is.

I swallow, gripping the gift box in my hand.

Will she be surprised? She’s smart; she should be expecting me.

After all, I made her a vow. I splayed her thighs indecently wide on my kitchen counter, stared into her golden eyes, and promised I would come for her the day she turned legal.

Then tore myself from her kiss-swollen lips before I did something irredeemable, and I left.

Now I’m here, and I’m done waiting. After seven agonizing weeks of putting space between Havana Smith and me, the unstoppable force of our attraction has me sniffing her out like a damn rutting dog.

If she falls into my arms this time, I won’t stop.

So why am I standing out in the rain, hesitating?

Because I’ve lost my fucking mind.

I used to be a sane man. Well, as sane as anyone in my line of work can be. But now I’m certifiable. I’m probably on the verge of making the biggest mistake of my life and I don’t give a fuck.

I’m thirty-four…and I’m completely fucking in love with a girl who’s turning eighteen today. I’m in the middle of some really dangerous shit. Oh, and did I mention she’s my son’s ex-girlfriend? Yeah, this won’t be complicated at all.

How the hell did I get here?

Suddenly, my phone rings. Cursing, I look at the screen and sigh. My brother Rush. He married his longtime crush a month ago, and they’ve been on a perpetual honeymoon since. I’m happy for them. Despite the fact their wedding was last-minute, it was perfect and moving.

My brothers are happy now—all except Ridge, who’s too crazy for any woman to marry. But Rand and Rush? Good for them, even if I’m jealous as hell.

You could be happy, too. Pick that lock, walk through that door, and lay your heart at her feet .

Havana will probably laugh—and she should. I’m almost twice her age. The profession I’ve chosen means I’m destined for an early grave. Besides, she needs someone good. That’s not me. Unfortunately for her, that won’t change her fate.

She’s mine.

On the third ring, I finally decline my brother’s call and tuck the device away.

I’ll ring him back later. I’m not in a hurry for him to rub my face in the happiness of his marital bliss, which I know he means to inspire me to find some nice woman who will spoil me and my son and make us the family we’ve never quite been.

I should want that, I know. But Ethan is grown now.

I’m too late. And Rush’s nudges in that direction only make me feel guiltier.

Suddenly, the back of my neck prickles. It’s a warning. Danger.

Someone has eyes on me.

Pocketing the gift box and melting into the shadows, I scan the run-down strip mall in this crime-ridden part of northwest Vegas.

Here, gang activity is high and police presence is low.

I hate that Havana works and lives in this neighborhood.

I want to take her from the crime and the danger and keep her safe.

But gangs and thieves aren’t on my radar now. I’m the thing they fear, and they don’t fuck with me. Someone is, though. I’m definitely being watched.

Jesus, I should worry whether I’m deluding myself into thinking I can give Havana the stability she needs—but I don’t dare now. In my line of work, even a few seconds of inattention can be fatal.

Another sweep of this corner of shopping hell doesn’t put me at ease.

Most everything is closed now in this seedy section of the city.

Across the lot, a woman locks the door of an off-label clothing store and runs for her car like a deer sensing a hunter.

As she drives off, I see a couple of blue-collar guys at the far end of the strip, eagerly heading into a dive bar on a Saturday night to stare at scantily clad waitresses whose tits they’ll never get to feel.

They disappear inside. The light at the corner turns green. People go about their lives.

But someone is trailing me. I need to lose him.

How the fuck does anyone know where I am? Since I didn’t want to risk Havana, I didn’t tell a soul where I was going. No one should be on to me. Was I so fixated on her that I got sloppy and allowed myself to be followed?

Fuck.

Suddenly, a car screams across the lot, high beams blazing in my face. It swerves, spewing up oily rainwater in its wake. The sedan’s window lowers. Something dark and metallic emerges.

I duck and roll as I hear the report of the first shot. The second is an instant behind. The bullet whizzes past my ear.

He’s zeroing in on me, getting too close.

I have to move or his third shot will tag me.

I creep away from the darkened vet’s office where Havana is currently on a shift and plaster myself behind a pillar in front of an abandoned office supply store.

Firing back isn’t my best course of action since I only have a handgun, and he’s in a moving car.

I’m better off just GTFOing and slipping away in the dark of night.

Two boarded storefronts over, a chain-link fence cordons off a section of the lot where the property owners tried to give this dump a facelift and gave up. If I hop to the other side, I can disappear around the back to my car, then melt into the traffic beyond the alley.

Heart racing, I dash from the pillar on one side of the double glass doors to the other. The car screeches around again. The driver’s window drops. He fires another shot at me, narrowly missing when I flatten myself on the sidewalk, going as low profile as possible.

The second he misses, I’m on my feet again. It will be a race to the fence to see if he gets another shot off before I’m gone.

I launch myself onto the chain link, throwing one leg over, and I’m about to hop to relative freedom—at least there he can’t chase me without doing a bunch of damage to his sweet ride—when the fucker squeezes off another shot.

It rips through my coat and gouges its way up my arm, taking a hunk of my flesh with it. It burns. In seconds, blood wells and starts to soak my T-shirt.

That’s going to leave a mark and fucking slow me down. Adrenaline will keep me going for a bit, but it won’t last. I have to find my car and escape.

Or I’ll be as easy to pick off as a pinned target at a practice range.

A quick scan tells me there’s nowhere to hide on this side of the fence. No portico or pillars. No corners or niches. My only chance is to run around the side of the building and disappear into the alley—three buildings over.

The good news is, he’d have to be a damn good shot to hit me again. The bad news is, so far he’s proven he is.

Heaving in a rough breath, I foot-race toward safety, rain soaking my jeans. A volley of shots follows. Apparently, this guy doesn’t care who hears his attempts to kill me. Then again, no one in this neighborhood bats an eyelash at gunfire.

My mind races as I sprint for the corner. He’s squeezed off ten rounds with that Glock—I recognize the sound—and if he’s got a standard mag, he has five remaining shots.

That’s a lot of bullets to outrun.

Thankfully, he misses with the next two. Then he swings the car around, heading straight for the fence before plowing it over.

So much for the front end of his shiny Mercedes. But that’s not my concern.

He floors it, all the power of his horses zooming down on me.

I press myself against the building, cursing the fact that the facade has been torn off, stripping it down to white. I’m wearing head-to-toe black. There’s nowhere to hide.

I’m fucked.

Another shot misses narrowly when it pings against the plaster less than a foot from my ribs. He keeps hauling ass, and the next round comes even closer, inches from my head.

One more bullet in his mag, and the corner is in sight.

Almost there …

The guy—he might not be using an assassin’s weapon, but he shoots as well as one—takes aim. Finally, I reach the corner of the building, and I yank myself toward it and freedom when he takes his last shot.

It digs through the left side of my neck, burning like a bitch.

Blood spurts and seeps. If the asshole nicked my artery—and he fucking might have—I’ve got minutes to live.

I can’t panic. I’m out of his view and, bleeding or not, if I intend to escape and call for help, it’s got to be now.

I drag myself to my car, feeling warm blood trickling down my chest to be absorbed by my rain-damp shirt. I fumble for my keys, knowing this SOB won’t be far behind. He’ll change his magazine and hunt me down. It’s what I’d do to my mark.

But I see he’s already planned ahead since I have four flat tires.

This isn’t random. He knows my car. He knows me on sight.

He’s marked me for death.

Fuck, I will not lie here and die in a goddamn wet alley, victim of some unseen shooter for a cause I didn’t have a chance to snuff out.

But what about Havana? I can’t risk her. I can’t drag her into danger.

But you want to claim her? Marry her? Breed her?

I hope like fuck the would-be killer on my tail has no idea why I’m here. I have to warn her. If I can disappear into the vet’s office before my blood leaves a trail, he’ll be none the wiser. But I’ve got to be smart. I have to misdirect him before I dare approach Havana.

Two stores short of the vet’s back door, I pick the lock on what used to be a drugstore and toss it half open.

When I was casing the lot earlier, I noticed the space hadn’t been completely cleared of merchandise.

If my pursuer gives chase on foot, he’s likely to think I holed up in there to find supplies that might stem the bleeding.

Blackness floats at the edge of my vision. More liquid warmth mingles with the rain oozing down my chest. I can’t press a hand to it yet, or the second I touch the vet’s door handle, I’ll leave a bloody print for this fucker to follow.

Limping and dizzy, I finally reach the doggy doctor’s back door. There’s not much of a lock, and I’m in ten seconds later.

If I survive this night and Havana wants to keep working here, I’ll be installing something a lot sturdier.

Breathing hard, I ease the door shut just as an engine revs and zooms down the alley.

It never stops, simply roaring down the narrow pathway, almost careening into a dumpster.

I dare to crack the door, and I understand instantly. Someone called the police, and a squad car now chases my assailant.

That should occupy him for a few minutes.

After I close the door again and lock it behind me, I look around.

It’s a dark storeroom. I shouldn’t turn on a light in case the hired gun comes back, but I manage to fumble for my phone and flip on the flashlight.

On the floor, I spot a length of nylon rope.

It takes a shitload of my remaining strength, but I loop it around the door lever and secure the other half to a nearby metal storage rack.

If he comes back, he won’t get in easily.

Now I have to find Havana, make sure she’s safe, then grab some medical supplies and concoct a way out of here without my assailant being any wiser.

As I stagger to the door, I catch my foot on the leg of another storage rack and trip. The shelves crash down. I stumble against the door.

Blood pours like hot wax down my skin. The floor looks inviting as my consciousness begins to slide away.

Get to Havana, keep her safe .

Gathering the last of my strength, I wrench the door of the storeroom open.

I hear a gasp. With bleary eyes, I look up. In the doorway stands the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever had the good fortune to lay my hands on. The girl who’s haunted my fantasies and kept me hard for weeks. The girl who’s legally become a woman today.

Her sweet vanilla and jasmine scent that’s haunted my dreams for months hits me even through the metallic smell of my own blood. Even half-dead, my body responds to her presence—heart rate spiking for reasons that have nothing to do with blood loss.

“Havana…” I eke out her name in a rough, desperate whisper.

Then everything goes black.