HUNTED Page 3

  Shit.

  I hadn’t noticed it earlier.

  Kneeling down beside the sofa, I carefully roll her onto her left side to inspect the bloody material of her leggings. The fabric is torn, and blood is seeping from a long cut.

  The wound is going to need stitches.

  Her shoes need to come off first, and after I pull off her sneakers, I then struggle to pull her pants along her hips without taking her white, lace panties with them. I force myself to remain professional as I remove her clothing.

  I’ve noticed that she never wears shorts or capris. She lives in leggings or jeans—a sure sign that she’s sensitive about revealing her damaged leg to the public.

  She’s left wearing only her panties and work shirt. It’s a good thing she’s sedated, because this would not be easy if she were conscious.

  Now that the wound is free of the tight fitting fabric, blood seeps down her thigh.

  I curse and quickly strip off my shirt and press it against the wound. Next, I hurriedly retrieve the emergency kit from the spare room. It’s been a while since I’ve had to stitch up myself or anyone else.

  When I have everything I need, I return to Tessa and spend the next several minutes cleaning the wound and then carefully stitching it closed before bandaging it. The last thing we need is her developing an infection.

  When I’m finished, I go back into the spare room to grab the emergency bag I’ve had packed for her for the past few years. I pull out a pair of black leggings similar to the ones she’d been wearing, and carefully ease her into them, ignoring her womanly curves. I also slip her out of her work shirt and pull on a simple tee over her small, bra-covered breasts.

  Once I’m done, I quickly stand back and gaze down at her. She’ll be out a while, and I’m grateful for that.

  I release a frustrated sigh and rub a hand over my jaw. I didn’t think I’d ever have a reason to see her in person, and now, I can’t let her out of my sight until I’m certain she’s safe and has a new identity and life.

  If her limp had been noted, which is likely…

  Her situation is fucking complicated as hell. I don’t have time to stand here and dwell over it, either.

  I have computers in the other room to wipe clean in case they have to be left. My shit also has to be packed so that whoever stays behind can bring it all back with them. The computers could end up being a loss, but those are easily replaceable. Until Tessa’s safe, I’ll have to switch to laptops so I can take them with me wherever we go.

  As I begin to deal with the computers, I think about the situation.

  If it’s just Leo, he’ll get us to the helicopter and then come back to keep an eye out for stragglers from the team I took out. Afterwards, he’ll bring my stuff back with him. There’s no guarantee that my other backup will arrive in time. Shit happens. Like flat tires, traffic delays, etc. If my backup does arrive, one will accompany us, and the other will stay back.

  My phone vibrates in my jeans pocket, and I pull out my phone. I have another text. ETA in 30.

  Thirty minutes can’t go by fast enough.

  Recalling that I’m still shirtless, I turn away from the computers and go into the bedroom to grab a fresh one from the closet.

  I’d started this company when I was twenty, and I built it into the success that it is today. All the company rules, the helicopter—all of it is in place because of me.

  After yanking on a shirt, I return to the living room to check on Tessa. I stare down at her, jaw tightening. It’s the innocents like Tessa that keep me and the others in business.

  Headlights swing across the room a few minutes later, indicating that someone has pulled into the parking lot. I grab my gun and try to peer inconspicuously out the window.

  A repetitive knocking sequence sounds on the door, a signal that one of my men has arrived.

  I quickly open the door, and Bryce steps inside. After relocking the door, I turn to him expectantly. Bryce is slightly taller than me with a less muscular build, but damn is he someone you don’t want to mess with. He’s one of my best with his sharp mind and quick reflexes.

  “All is quiet out there,” Bryce informs.

  I shake my head. “I don’t like it. There were two men in her apartment, and one waiting outside in a vehicle.”

  Bryce’s blue eyes sharpen. All my men are aware of my special interest in Tessa, because I’ve been unable to hide it and gave up trying a long time ago. “There’s bound to be more,” he says. “You probably put down their best men and are waiting to see where you stash her before calling in reinforcements.”

  I nod in agreement. “Someone needs to stay behind.”

  Bryce’s eyes gleam. “I’ll stay.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “Leo’s ETA?” he asks.

  I glance at my watch. “Twenty-five minutes.”

  Bryce’s eyes slide to Tessa, still unconscious on the sofa. “You letting it wear off or keeping her sedated?”

  “Sedated.” She’s going to wake up in Phoenix, Arizona, and probably be quite pissed.

  Hell, I’m pissed, too.

  Whatever risk she took put not only her life in danger but my men as well.

  Tonight, we’re headed to the apartment I’d already leased for her in Phoenix, but as soon as possible, I need to secure a better location until I know for sure that the team sent for her is taken care of.

  I can’t build her a new life until the immediate threat has been eliminated.

  Four

  Tessa

  It’s been a long day, and my leg is aching something fierce as I force myself up the stairs leading to the second-floor apartments. I refuse to allow my leg to control my life, so I’d readily signed the lease for the unit on the second floor. It had been in my price range, and I’d wanted to prove that my leg didn’t define me.

  Honestly, I’m not certain if I push myself so hard for my own benefit, or the mysterious people that seem to watch my every move. I’m not as weak as I may look.

  When I reach the second level and walk to my door, I pull out my keys. Once the door has been unlocked, I push it open and step inside, my hand reaching along the wall to flip on the light switch. As soon as the lights flicker on, I notice the dark outline of the man behind the door.

  I quickly try to spin around to flee the apartment, but my arm is caught, and I’m yanked inside as the door slams shut—cutting off my escape.

  A scream forms on my lips, but it’s quickly cut off as the man roughly smacks me across the face with the back of his hand—a clear warning to keep my mouth shut. Then, I’m being roughly dragged further into the room.

  Abruptly, he releases me as another man comes into view.

  He’s dressed in similar dark clothing as he pauses directly in front of me, and his ruthless dark eyes snag mine.

  My heart plummets as my mind begins to make sense of what’s happening.

  I messed up.

  Badly.

  “Hello, Adriana Escudero. Many people have been looking for you,” the man in front of me greets in Spanish. Thanks to my Columbian heritage, I know exactly what he’s saying.

  He’s not even finished speaking, and I’m already running through the living room to find a door to put between myself and the men.

  My limp is no match for either of them, and one of them catches me easily before shoving me towards the sofa. Unfortunately, my weak leg causes me to stumble. I fall onto the glass coffee table, landing on it just right apparently for it to break. It shatters beneath me, and I lie amongst the glass, stunned.

  I’m forcibly yanked onto my back, and I stare dazedly up at the man who’d spoken earlier. He slaps me across the face, and my bottom lip splits as I flinch from the force of the blow.

  He glares down at me without remorse. “I will continue to hurt you,” he threatens.

  I mutely nod, letting him know that I’m done fighting. For now.

  He glances at the other guy, who is now standing in the dining room—a p
hone held to his ear. “What’s taking so long?” he asks him.

  The guy with the phone gives him a dark look. “How should I know? He was notified our call would be coming.”

  My eyes dart between the two of them. Are they here to kill me?

  Fear clenches like a tight fist around my chest.

  I honestly didn’t think…

  My head starts swimming as I begin visualizing horrible outcomes.

  How many times was I warned about the possibility of this very situation?

  The door to the apartment suddenly bursts open, startling me and the men. The guy squatting before me tries to spin around just as blood explodes with a gush from the side of his head. I stare wide-eyed as he falls limply to the floor, blood steadily flowing from the bullet hole in his temple.

  The man who had burst into the apartment rolls out of the way of the other guy’s bullets, and then he comes up to his knees, firing his gun at the guy in the dining room.

  He too falls to the floor—dead.

  My ears are ringing, my thoughts a chaotic mess as the scent of blood begins to infiltrate my senses. Is this really happening?

  The man that had rushed into my apartment walks over and holds a hand out to me. “Dandelion,” he says in a rumbling voice.

  At first, I’m confused before recalling the code word that had been assigned to me.

  I slip my trembling hand into his, wincing as he helps me rise to my feet. My eyes shift back to the dead man on my living room floor, a large puddle of blood pooling around his head.

  My rescuer gains my attention, motioning for me to stay close to him as he releases my hand. Somehow, I’m managing to stay calm, but I’m sure it probably won’t last for long.

  I nod that I’d heard him and remain close on his heels as we carefully exit the apartment, scaring one of my neighbors.

  Pain stabs up and down my knee and calf as we navigate the stairs, but I ignore it. Next thing I know, we’re jogging across the parking lot and into the trees, my hand held firmly in his.

  When we reach what must be his car, he opens the passenger door. I readily climb inside, anxious to go somewhere safe.

  He slides into the driver’s side and settles into the seat. I watch as he starts the vehicle before putting aside his gun, only to lean in close to me to open the glove compartment near my knees.

  He pulls out a syringe.

  I’m mystified as to why he would need it. “What is that?” He jabs the needle into my thigh, causing me to yelp with surprise and pain.

  “It’s naptime,” he replies.

  I’m dumbfounded by the unexpectedness of it, and then my vision begins to blur. As everything begins to go black, I feel the car pulling away from the curb…

  My eyelids flutter before prying themselves open. I’m still tense from the nightmare, and all my muscles freeze as the unfamiliar room slowly comes into focus.

  Bare white walls greet me, and there’s only one window with blinds that are closed. As my eyes dart around the small room, I take in the beige carpet and the simple bed I’m lying on. I have absolutely no idea where I am, and my pulse begins to pound out of control within my throat.

  It wasn’t a nightmare after all.

  Stiffly, I sit up and immediately wince as my head briefly spins from the abrupt movement. My cheekbone feels swollen, and my lip stings. Tentatively, I run my tongue over my lower lip and wince as it comes into contact with a scabbing cut.

  As I raise my left hand to my face to instinctively touch it, I note that my sore hands are bandaged with gauze in some places. My leg also aches like a bitch—not unusual, but the pain high up on my right thigh is.

  I draw back the covers that someone had placed over me, and my eyes widen with alarm. I’m dressed in a tee shirt and leggings that certainly aren’t mine. What the hell?

  Carefully, I touch the tender area on my thigh, and I can feel a large bandage beneath the fabric.

  I suppose I should be grateful I’m alive, but I’m incredibly disturbed that someone tended to my injuries and changed me while I was unaware.

  The man who had saved me flashes in my mind.

  My eyes swing back towards the window. The blinds are closed, but beyond them, I can see the sunlight struggling to shine into the room.

  How long had…

  I recall the needle being jabbed into my thigh without warning.

  He must’ve drugged me.

  I want to be upset, but I also remind myself that he’d saved my life.

  Needing to pull myself together, I draw in a deep breath and exhale. It would be wise to calm my emotions before I face the consequences of the mess I’d made.

  Once I work up the courage to leave the room, I limp towards the door and quietly open it. Cautiously, I make my way down a short hall that leads into an open concept living room and kitchen. There’s no furniture except for the stools in front of the island counter in the kitchenette—where a man sits. His back is to me, and a laptop is situated on the counter in front of him.

  He turns to face me, his expression unwelcoming.

  Now that I’m not sitting in shattered glass, or dazed from gunfire, I can take a moment to study him.

  His hair is dark blond and cut short, but not short enough that he can’t run his hand through it if he wants. Unfriendly, hazel eyes gaze back at me from strikingly masculine features. The slight shadow of whiskers across his jaw does nothing to make him appear friendlier. Instead, he looks rough and dangerous, and his body is tall and muscular in all the right places. He’s wearing jeans that look well-worn, and a dark gray tee that shows off his muscular, tanned arms. There is no doubt in my mind that he is the kind of man that is capable of anything—including murder. He’d killed those men at my apartment without hesitation.

  I’m still rattled by everything that has happened and blurt, “You drugged me!” Immediately, I find myself wincing inwardly. That was not how I wanted to begin this conversation.

  He levels me with a look. “Yes, I did.”

  I fold my arms across my chest, feeling a bit on the defensive. “Wasn’t that kind of dangerous?”

  One of his eyebrows lifts a smidge, a telltale sign that he’s very unamused by my question.

  “I mean, what if they’d followed us? You would have had to carry me around,” I explain, feeling flustered.

  He remains seated and just gazes back at me with steel in his eyes. “I drugged you to prevent conversations like this from happening while saving your life,” he says dryly. “And to answer your question, I felt that the immediate danger had passed.”

  “Then why drug me?” I can’t resist persisting.

  “Because I had to focus on getting you out of the city.”

  Out of the city? I blink and look around with confusion. “Where are we?”

  “Phoenix.”

  My mouth falls open, and I sputter, “You can’t just…I didn’t…”

  He stealthily rises to his feet and begins stalking towards me as his eyes grow angry.

  I immediately take a step back. He’s just as tall as I’d assumed, but add in his broad shoulders and muscular chest—he’s a very intimidating figure.

  He pauses in front of me, glaring. “You know what you are? You’re fucking prey. Prey, Tessa.”

  I frown up at him as my eyebrows pull together.

  “You are vulnerable and weak,” he brutally continues. “You’re goddamn prey, and there’s plenty of predators out there just waiting to hunt you down and put a bullet between your eyes.” He takes a step closer, his masculine scent infiltrating my senses. “That’s why you have us. That’s why there are fucking rules.”

  I flinch, feeling his anger radiating off him in waves, and I automatically take another step back—he’s too close. And I’m already swimming in guilt because I screwed up—horribly.

  “What did you do?” he fairly growls.

  I lick my dry lips, grimacing when I feel the scabbed-over cut where I’d been slapped. “I wasn’t—I didn�
��t realize—”

  “Bullshit. You knew the danger.”

  I pull together my confidence and straighten my spine. “It’s been eleven years. I thought—”

  “That your father’s enemies would just forget about you?” he cuts in once more.

  I’m done being nice, and I plant my hands on my hips and glare up at him. “Stop asking me questions if you’re not going to allow me to finish answering them.”

  His eyes narrow, a sure sign that he isn’t thrilled with my confrontational tone. But then, he deliberately goes silent, waiting.

  I remind myself that I am the one who put myself in this mess, and he has every right to be angry, but he doesn’t have to be a jerk about it. I release a sigh, knowing he’s just going to become angrier, but I need to be honest. “I sent a letter to my father,” I confess, bracing for his reaction.

  He tenses, and a scowl darkens his handsome features. “How? Your email accounts and outgoing mail are being monitored.”

  “I had a coworker mail it,” I say quietly.

  “Why the hell would you do something so damned stupid?”

  I am beginning to feel foolishly naïve for trying to reach out to my father without fully realizing the possible consequences. “I honestly thought the danger was over. I wanted…” I look away, feeling frustrated. “I didn’t want to be watched anymore. I want a normal life.”

  The man snorts, drawing my attention back to him. “People like you can’t ever have normal. That’s just the way it is.”

  My anger from earlier returns. “I didn’t ask for this!”

  “Which is why we risk our asses to keep people like you safe. You get that, right?” he asks, his voice low now but no less angry. “Your fuck-ups put not only me in danger but also my men.”

  He’s right, and my irritation promptly melts away. “I’m sorry,” I say sincerely, I truly am.

  He just turns away and strides back to the stool, settling onto it to face the laptop so that his back is to me.

  Apparently, he’s dismissing me, but I still need more information. He may be protecting me, but this is my life. I cautiously take a few steps forward towards the kitchen and pause. “What happens now?” I ask.