Page 7 of Saving Scarlett

“So, let me get this straight,” I interrupted, his words sitting heavy in my stomach. “My husband met with you to plan my murder in a location right by my bookstore? He plotted to have his wife killed right where she’d poured her entire soul into creating her dream? Is that what you’re telling me?”

This time, it was Bane who flinched, his light eyes going wide. I should have been petrified, and maybe it was because I was in shock, but I couldn’t look away from him. This stranger had just told me he’d planned to kill me, and I was completely entranced by his face. Something was clearly wrong with me.

“Look,” he started, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, only bringing his face closer to mine. I couldn’t blink as I hung on every word. “I did meet with your husband near your bookstore, and he did pay me to kill you as he rambled on about so much damn nonsense that I didn’t even listen to. Usually, when I take a client, I don’t care about their reasons why they want the person dead. So, I admittedly tuned out most of what he was saying.”

Blowing out a breath, he leaned back in his chair, resting his ankle on his knee. “When I left that meeting, I got my people to dig into your husband, because something didn’t sit right with me, and I needed insurance if I was going to follow through with his job. What I’ve discovered since that meeting, and even more once I brought you back here, is that there is a lot about your husband that you don’t know. You’re not safe with him. You’ll only be safe if he thinks you’re dead.”

I studied his face. His icy blue eyes were tired but alert, scanning my injuries with clinical precision. Stubble darkened his hard jawline. Even bedraggled from watching over me, he exuded raw masculinity.

“How do you feel?” he asked, changing the subject as he dabbed at the gash on my forehead with antiseptic on a cloth. I winced as the alcohol met torn flesh.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Just cleaning it up.”

His touch was uncharacteristically gentle. Bane, an assassin hardened by violence, transformed into a nurse before my eyes. It was…unexpected.

Shifting on the bed, I took stock of the dull ache in my ribs, the burn of the tiny cuts on my skin. “Sore. But better.”

He nodded, reaching for fresh bandages. As he wrapped gauze around my wrist, his fingers grazed my skin, sending electricity into my very soul. His hands could end lives in a heartbeat, yet as they touched me, they held so much more.

“Your color’s improving. With more rest, you’ll heal quickly.”

“Will I?” My voice wavered, my insecurities showing.

He met my gaze. “You’re safe here, Little Red. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

I wanted to believe him, but my own husband had attacked me, and my savior was a contract killer. Nowhere was truly safe. Still, the determination in his eyes fortified me, so I managed a small smile.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

Chapter 6

The Savior

For the next several hours, I slept fitfully on my sofa, knowing my intended target was asleep in my bed, injured but alive. I didn’t regret saving Scarlett, but I also didn’t know what I would do with her. With her husband looking for someone to kill her, the last thing I could do was return her to her home. When I told her the best thing was for her husband to think she was dead, I wasn’t being dramatic. It was true. Still, it hadn’t been a well thought out plan, so I didn’t know what my next steps should be. If I was a sane man, I would have left her with her husband and cut my losses, but I’d never been accused of being sane. I could have returned. She didn’t need to be my responsibility, but after looking into her eyes, she’d somehow cast a spell on me, and I realized I couldn’t have brought her back even if it killed me to keep her. If I were being honest, I knew it probably would.

Laying on my black leather sofa with my feet hanging off one side, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Phantom. If I couldn’t sleep, at least I could see if he had found new information. Now that I’d made keeping Scarlett safe my responsibility–something I was berating myself for–I would need more than just information. I would need somewhere to bring her where she wouldn’t be found, and to possibly change her identity. No sooner had my message been sent than my phone rang.

“I’m not sure what your plan is, Boss, but you need to turn your television on right now. Local news channel.”

Grunting my acknowledgment, I hung up the phone and reached for the remote, turning it to the channel he mentioned. The moment the feed started playing, my stomach dropped.

Fuck.

On the front steps of the police station stood Joshua Prejean looking every bit of a victim. Press cameras flashed in his face, his eyes bloodshot as though he’d been crying. I knew better than to buy it though.

“My beloved wife, Scarlett, was taken from our home last night while she was sleeping. If anyone has information about her whereabouts, please contact the police. Please bring my wife home to me.”

Shaking my head, I ran my fingers through my hair. I should have known he would play the victim card, turning the entire situation into a spectacle. Seeing all I needed to see, I turned the television off just as the door to my bedroom clicked open, near-silent footsteps approaching me from behind.

Scarlett dragged her feet as she walked, the slide of her bare feet against the tile prickling my skin. With only her panties and one of my t-shirts on, which I’d given her as much for me as for her, she could have almost passed for my lover. However, no matter how stunning I thought she was, she was off limits. The way she looked dressed in my clothes, with my comforter wrapped around her petite body, gave my cock different ideas. It had been a long time since I’d had a woman in my bed, but Scarlett could not be that for me. The sooner I got her out of my life, the better.

I shifted on the sofa, sitting up and placing my phone on the coffee table.

“How much did you hear?”

The conflict coursing through her mind showed across her face as she stepped forward, lowering herself into the chair across from me. “What am I supposed to do? There’s no way I can pretend to be dead. He’s everywhere. I can’t escape his reach.”

After seeing some of the data Phantom had accumulated, I knew she was right about one thing. Her husband was everywhere, in government officials’ pockets and connected to big money crime that extended far beyond New Orleans. There was one sure-fire way for her to escape him, however: if he was dead.

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