Page 111 of Ruthless Lord

Micky doesn’t hesitate. He lunges at Stefano, knife slicing through the air. If my husband were anyone else, he’d be dead by now. There are few people in this world who can win a fight against an armed opponent, but he’s one of them.

He does it by letting Micky stab him.

Not somewhere important. Just right in the bicep. He grunts, teeth gritted in agony, as he charges forward. The men begin to grapple, and anyone else would’ve lost by now. He’s got a knife stuck in his arm. Except Stefano’s a raging psychopath, and the pain doesn’t seem to slow him down. Blood leaks around the handle, rolling down his arm, as he wraps Micky in a complicated chokehold. The two of them topple to the pavement, hitting with a sickening thud.

My hands clutch at my mouth. If I could move, I’d be screaming. Instead, I’m pinned in place, horrified as Stefano tightens his grip on the assassin. Micky’s hands scrabble at Stefano, trying to get his face, thumbs searching for Stefano’s eyes, but the angle’s not right. Slowly, Micky’s face turns red then purple and the strength leaks from his flailing limbs.

Stefano holds him even after he stops moving. He holds and holds, for longer than makes sense, until finally he releases the body with a low snarl.

I run to his side, released from the spell. He’s on his back, staring at the sky. The knife is still in his arm, buried to the hilt.

“Oh my god, Stefano. Are you okay?”

“I got stabbed.”

“Just hold on. I’ll call someone. The doctor?—”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I hate getting stabbed.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his phone, and thumbs through the contacts. When the phone’s calling, he shoves it at me. “Tell the doc it’s for me. Tell him I got stabbed again.”

“How many times has it been now?”

“Too many.” He sighs and slowly pushes himself up, holding his stabbed arm against his chest. “Way too fucking many.”

Chapter 35

Stefano

“Ireally don’t want to be doing this right now.” Charlie’s father looks around, awkwardly rubbing his hands together. “Surely my daughter?—”

“Isn’t going to risk herself for something you can do.” I grab his arm and roughly shove him through the bushes. “Now fucking walk.”

He leads me toward the huge Westbrook mansion. There are security cameras and motion sensors in the trees, but they’re all deactivated at the moment. My arm throbs from the stitches the doc gave me last night, but I’m completely focused on the mission.

“Let me ask you something.” Her father doesn’t look back as he talks. “Once the old man’s dead, what are you going to do? Won’t there be an investigation?”

“We’ll handle that.”

“It’s going to delay my inheritance. You realize that, right? It could keep things tied up for years in court.”

“Won’t come to that.”

“But your boss wants me in charge of the Westbrook company, doesn’t he? Which means?—”

I shove him again, this time hard enough to make him nearly fall. He catches himself on a decorative post.

“Shut up. Keep walking.”

He stares at me before shaking his head. “No need to be rude about it.”

We continue along toward the back of the building. He approaches the back door and thumbs in the lock code. Once the door’s open, he steps aside.

“This part’s all on you.” He gestures for me to enter.

“Don’t want to do it yourself?” I stare into his face. The soft bastard doesn’t deserve the enormous promotion he’s about to get. “Maybe you should earn your inheritance.”

“I don’t think—I mean, it’s not really—” His face pales and he steps back.

I drift past him, light and quiet, into the house. “Just kidding. Get the fuck out of here.”