Page 39 of Haven Bound
"I don't want to hurt you," I murmur, biting at the inside of my bottom lip.
His grip on my thigh tightens, another growl emanating from his chest. "You're not going to fucking hurt me. Sit. Down."
I relax my body and allow myself to fully sit as my eyes dance over the dark ink on his back.
The light from the television is just enough to allow me to see the stunning tattoo that permanently decorates his skin. Two large wings begin between his shoulder blades and stretch across his back. One of the wings is made up of light and airy feathers resembling an angel wing. The other looks to be dark and leathery with a visible bone structure, almost like a bat’s wing. Like the way I’d imagine a demon’s wing to look. My breath catches at the sight of them.
“What does it mean?” I whisper as my fingertips trace over the intricate design. This isn’t the type of tattoo that someone gets on impulse.A design like this takes planning and time to find the right artist. From the little bit that I’ve learned from Ethan over the years, it likely also took several sessions to complete due to its size.
“It’s…” He starts to speak but then allows his voice to trail off, his eyes falling shut as he takes in a steady breath. “It’s a reminder. A representation of the good man that I long to be, and the terrible person I’m forced to become to do what I do.”
Oh, Austin.
“You aren’t a terrible person. I already told you, I think you’re the best person there is. Youarea good man, Austin,” I soothe, running my hands up his back and to his shoulders, massaging and kneading the muscles there. He’s been so focused on me and making sure I was taken care of. Who takes care of him?
A deep groan releases from his chest as I work to ease the tension from his body until I feel him relax beneath me. Something tells me that, while he’s devoted his life to saving and taking care of people, nobody has been making sure that he is taken care of as well. He may only be home because of an assignment but while he’s here, I intend to do just that.
29
Austin
It’s been a fewdays since Chelsea and I moved into the penthouse suite at the Elysian, which makes it easier to have Zack keep an eye on her while I’m working. She knows that part of his job as head of security is keeping a close watch on the suites where our employees and rescued victims reside.
Chelsea is working today despite my repeated requests for her to stay in the hotel. I was pretty sure that she was going to smack me after about the sixth time that I asked, but I can’t help wanting her to be safe. Especially on a day like today when I know I won’t be as easy to get ahold of. I've been able to hang around the bakery with her the last few days, but today, that's not an option.
My father made it clear that my procrastination has to come to an end. I should have handled this target as soon as my father called the other day to inform me that there had been another report filed, but first, I needed to know that Chelsea was safe. I just hope when this is all over, I will have some time to spend with Chelsea before I have to leave again. That is if she still wants me.
Shethankedme for being here to end a man’s life.
Actually fuckingthankedme.
It’s time to kill Daniel Witters.
Which is why I find myself driving one of the Phoenix Legion’s SUV’s towards Rivercrest. Each of the Legion’s vehicles are fully loaded with bullet-proof windows, tracking, cameras, and an assortment of weapons hidden beneath the seats. Not that I anticipate needing much today.
If Zack’s sleuthing produced accurate information, and it always does, I should arrive at Dan’s address with about fifteen minutes to spare before he comes home. The satellite images showed that his small single-story home is located on the outskirts of Rivercrest, almost on the border of what would otherwise be considered Sutton Ridge. The property is surrounded by large trees that provide a barrier of privacy.
There are numerous reasons why this man deserves to be erased from existence flashing through my mind, and I would have gladly ended him for any one of them. But when I learned of the connection between this target and the woman who holds my heart in the palm of her hands, the reasons for why he needs to die became personal.
Absorbed in my thoughts, I almost miss the dirt access road that disappears into the trees and will take me to the border of Dan’s property. Turning at the last minute, I carefully drive down the path as far as I can while still remaining out of sight from the house. Walking a mile on foot wasn’t part of the plan, but I make quick work of it and use the time to get my head on straight for what I’m about to do.
I pause when the house finally comes into view, careful to remain in the shadows when Dan’s old blue pickup truck pulls into the dirt loop-around driveway. The black tactical gear I’m wearing keeps me hidden as Dan climbs out of the truck. He slams the door behind him. The sound echoes through the trees as he stalks towards the house. Thewooden steps leading up to the front porch creak beneath his weight. I make a mental note of where to step if I decide to enter through the front door.
Once he’s inside, I emerge from the shadows and quietly walk around the side to see if there’s an alternate entrance. Large trash bins line the side of the house near the back porch, each of them overflowing with empty beer cans and various glass liquor bottles.
The home is an old craftsman style that’s in desperate need of some maintenance, but none of that will matter after today. Stepping lightly up the wooden steps to the back door, I find the door unlocked and turn the handle slowly, pushing the door open and stepping inside. I’m immediately assaulted by the scent of cigarette smoke and do my best not to cough as I struggle to breathe through the smell. I pull my Glock from the holster at my hip and extend my arm out in front of me with it in hand, stepping silently through the house as I use my other hand to slide a steel blade from my belt.
The laugh track of an old-school sitcom fills the otherwise quiet space. Following the sound and dim television lighting into the living room, I find Dan sitting on a worn-out couch with his legs spread wide as he drinks a tall can of beer, a lit cigarette balanced between his fingers. I could easily kill him right now and be on my way back to Haven Beach and back to Chelsea within minutes, but this man first needs to know why I'm here to kill him.
He deserves to feel even a small hint of the pain and fear that he’s caused other people, and I intend to give that to him. Stepping forward, my presence is almost given away by the creak of the old wooden floorsbeneath my feet, but I have the barrel of my gun pressed to the back of his head and my blade to his throat in an instant.
“Don’tfuckingmove,” I growl, applying pressure so that the gun is pressing firmly against his skull while my blade threatens to tear through the skin of his throat. He drops the can of beer, and the cigarette falls from between his lips, landing on the couch as he inhales sharply. He raises his hands into the air until they are in line with his shoulders.
“Who the hell are you?” he stammers, a slight tremble to his hands as he holds them up.
“You’re not in a fucking position to be asking questions,” I seethe, carefully maneuvering around the couch until I’m standing in front of him with the barrel of the gun now pressed against his forehead.
His eyes glimmer with fear, and a scowl smears across his face. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” he mumbles, unable to erase the terror from his voice.
