by Lili Valente
In fact, she’d only heard that particular sad resignation once before, on the day he sat her and Harley down to tell them that their mother had left the family. Maybe forever.
“Don’t be afraid,” Stewart continued. “I’m going to find a way to make this better. I promise, I won’t—”
“Not this time,” Ian cut in, a squeaking sound following the words. It was the squeak of a chair giving under someone’s weight, but Hannah couldn’t tell if he was sitting down or standing up. “You’ll honor your obligations this time, Mason. And to make it clear how very serious I am about the choice you’re about to make…”
His words ended with a thunderous boom! boom! boom! that echoed off the walls, the gunshots deafening in the enclosed space.
Harley screamed and Hannah ripped the blindfold from her eyes, no longer caring about obeying the rules. If Ian had shot Harley, all bets were off. She would save her sister if she could and run if she couldn’t.
Or maybe she’d hurl herself at Ian and see if she could claw his eyes out before he managed to kill her, too.
She spun, blinking at the sudden rush of light, to see that Harley had pulled her blindfold off, as well. Her sister’s breath came fast and shallow as she backed away from the body beginning to bleed out at her feet.
Hannah swallowed, eyes flicking from Adam’s paling face to the red stains spreading across his shirt. She fought to think past the horror clutching at her throat, struggling to figure out what this meant.
Ian had shot his accomplice. Adam was dead—or dying fast—and soon either she or Harley would follow.
Or maybe he’d shoot both of them, no matter what he’d told her father.
She hadn’t had any experience in a hostage situation before, but her gut said that if Ian had his way, he would be the only one leaving this room alive.
Jackson
The moment Dom pulled the boat within five feet of the dock, Jackson jumped out and ran.
He wasn’t worried about stealth or secrecy anymore. Gunshots had been fired. Three of them. Harley and Hannah could both be dead.
Or maybe Harley, Hannah, and Adam.
If Jackson knew his father, he wouldn’t allow a traitor to live. It didn’t matter that Ian couldn’t have taken Hannah without Adam’s help or that his father had committed enough sins to thoroughly blacken his own soul. Ian had no tolerance for betrayal.
That was why Hannah was here. Her father had dared to betray a Hawke and now he was paying the price for it.
No, she’s here because of you. You led Ian right to her.
If you hadn’t been such a vengeful bastard, Hannah would still be safe on her island with her aunt.
Vengeful bastard. Just like his father.
As Jackson ran around the side of the house, bent double to stay out of sight of the ground floor windows, he cursed himself for growing up too much like Ian Hawke. If he hadn’t been a madman bent on revenge, his father wouldn’t have the woman he loved held at gunpoint right now.
He had to believe that Hannah was still alive. He couldn’t admit that he was probably too late or he would start screaming and never stop. He couldn’t lose her. Not now, not because he was five fucking minutes too late.
He was rounding the front of the house when he heard his father’s voice and froze. He glanced over his shoulder, motioning for Dom—who was quickly gaining on his head start—to stay quiet before jabbing a finger at the open window above him.
“Now that you understand how serious I am, Stewart.” Ian’s voice sounded like he was facing away from him, but Jackson couldn’t be sure. Slowly, he moved closer to the window, ears straining.
“You have two minutes to decide which of your daughters will live,” Ian continued. “At the conclusion of one hundred and twenty seconds, I will make the choice for you.”
Jackson’s heart lurched into his throat. Hannah was still alive, but in less than two minutes she wouldn’t be. There was no time for the diversion he and Dom had planned or to chart another course of action. He had to take advantage of the element of surprise and hope he could take his father down before he killed Hannah.
Pulling the gun from his pants, Jackson met Dom’s eyes and nodded toward the window. Without missing a beat, Dom motioned back around the house before drawing his own gun and hurrying back the way he’d come. Dom would cover the window on the other side of the room. If Jackson missed, hopefully, the other man wouldn’t.
Slowly, Jackson stood up far enough to peer into the room, his stomach clenching when he saw Hannah and Harley on the other side of a large wooden desk. His father stood in front of the desk, his back turned to Jackson and his attention directed down at the open laptop beside him.
“Please, just give me a few more minutes.” Stewart Mason’s voice emerged from the computer. “I haven’t spoken to either of the girls in years because of you, Ian. At least give me time to say goodbye.”
“One hundred seconds,” Ian said, proving his utter lack of compassion.
But then, he knew he was on a timetable and he wasn’t one to waste time indulging other people’s emotions. His emotions—his rage, his jealousy, his avarice—were all that mattered, all that had ever mattered.
Still, when Jackson stood up, aiming the gun at the back of his father’s head, he couldn’t help but hesitate for the barest second. He’d spent the past six years imagining the look on Ian’s face when he realized that his son was innocent. He hated his father, but some part of him, that child buried deep inside of the hardened man he’d become, still craved his approval, his love.
But there was no love inside Ian Hawke. He was beyond redemption and it was past time for him to die.
Jackson was squeezing the trigger when his father suddenly turned and fired at the window, aiming right between his son’s eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hannah
It all happened so fast.
One second, her father was pleading for more time from the laptop screen; the next, Ian had turned and fired at the window behind him.
Hannah cringed, her shoulders hunching toward her ears as the glass shattered with another boom! boom! and a crystalline ringing that sliced through the air. Ian staggered backward, clutching his chest just as a third shot sounded from the other side of the room.
Acting on instinct, Hannah tackled Harley to the ground, rolling across the carpet as the window near the fireplace exploded.
“Run!” she shouted as they untangled themselves, urging Harley toward the entrance to the room. She had no idea who was shooting at the house, but they needed to get out of the room before they were caught in the crossfire. “Stay low, find somewhere to hide. I’m right behind you.”
Harley scrambled out of the room on her hands and knees. Hannah was following when she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Ian, lurching toward the window with his gun in hand, aiming at something outside. She came to her feet in the shelter of the doorway, standing on tiptoe until she could see the lawn outside and the wounded man sprawled on the grass.
She couldn’t see his face, but she recognized the shape of Jackson’s body instantly.
Her heartbeat stuttered and the blood in her veins turned molten as something primal inside of her responded to the sight of the blood staining his shirt with a roar of fear and rage. He’d been shot! His father had shot him in the chest. And now, unless she did something to stop him, Ian was about to finish the job of murdering his son.
The realization hit; a second later, Hannah was in motion.
She surged back into the room, her thoughts racing even as time seemed to slow, giving her a few precious seconds to think. As she rushed toward Ian, she snatched her discarded blindfold from the floor, wrapping it tight around her hands as she closed the last of the distance between them and leapt into the air.
She landed on the desk, skidding across the smooth surface on her knees to collide with Ian just as he lifted the gun and fired. His arm jerked down, sending the shot
intended for Jackson burrowing into the baseboards. Before he could take aim again, Hannah wrapped the blindfold around his neck and pulled backward with all the strength in her body.
Ian thrashed and spun away, dragging her off the desk, but she held on, gritting her teeth and squeezing her hands into fists so tight her joints screamed in protest.
But she didn’t let go. She clung to the fabric, using her body weight to her advantage. She let her knees go weak, sagging toward the ground, dragging Ian down with her. After a few more heavy steps, he bent backward, hanging halfway between the ceiling and the floor for a seemingly endless second before he collapsed on top of her, his torso pinning her hips and legs to the ground.
Panting for breath, Hannah kicked his bulk to one side and struggled free, her makeshift garrote at the ready and her eyes glued to Ian’s face, which looked strangely peaceful now that he was unconscious.
The moment she knew Ian was out cold, the old Hannah would have jumped up and run to Jackson. But the new Hannah understood that you can’t always run from your problems. Sometimes you have to fight for your life and the lives of the people you love. Now, that fighter inside of her insisted it would be dangerously stupid to leave this wounded predator alive. Ian would only wake up more determined to finish what he’d started.
As long as Ian Hawke was alive, none of the people she loved would be safe and she was tired of living in fear and being hunted for the sin of being Stewart Mason’s daughter. Ian’s revolver lay on the floor beside him, but she’d never shot a gun in her life and wasn’t sure she could hold a weapon to a man’s head and fire.
But she could finish this the way she’d started it.
Jaw clenched and a dark determination rising inside of her, Hannah straddled Ian’s chest and brought the blindfold back to his throat. She was leaning forward, drawing the fabric tight across his windpipe when a hand touched her shoulder, making her spin and lash out.
By the time she recognized Dom’s face, her fist had already connected with his stomach, making him double over with a groan.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, her voice soft and surprisingly steady. “I thought you were one of his people.”
“I’m not,” Dom said, grunting as he fought to catch his breath. “I’m on your side. Jackson’s on the front lawn. He’s been shot. It doesn’t look fatal, but I need you to go apply pressure to the wound until your father’s cleanup crew gets here.”
Hannah glanced toward the laptop, but the computer was closed. The realization made her arms begin to shake. She hadn’t even thought about her father or who else might be watching her murder a man.
Not that it would have changed her mind…
“Go check on Jackson,” Hannah said, turning back to Ian. “I have to finish.”
Dom’s hand landed lightly on her shoulder again. “You already have, Hannah. He’s not breathing, and I’m not going to administer CPR.”
Hannah blinked down at the man beneath her, unable to believe she’d been sitting on his chest for nearly a minute and hadn’t realized that he wasn’t drawing breath.
“Oh.” She rolled off of Ian, her stiff fingers relaxing their grip on the blindfold as her hands began to shake.
He was dead. She’d killed a man. She was a murderer.
The knowledge should have done more than make her shake, but aside from her trembling hands she felt very calm, almost peaceful. She suspected she was going into shock, but she didn’t have time to worry about it. She had to get to Jackson.
She stood, weaving slightly as the blood rushed into her legs.
“Are you okay?” Dom put a steadying hand to her back. “I can go to Jackson if you need a minute.”
She shook her head, but before she could speak, a voice sounded from the foyer.
“Hannah! Hannah where are you?”
She turned to see Jackson round the corner and lean heavily against the doorway, clutching his right shoulder. He was grimacing and pale, with sweat beading on his forehead and blood streaming through his fingers to form tiny rivers that flowed down his left forearm, but he was alive.
He was alive and the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
She hurried to his side and tucked herself beneath his uninjured arm, gratitude rushing through her when he hugged her close with his usual strength. “You shouldn’t be standing up.”
“You’re okay?” he asked, his pained gaze scanning her face. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, swallowing hard. “But your father’s dead.”
Jackson’s eyes flicked to where his father lay on the hardwood floor, a small puddle of blood forming beneath his left shoulder.
“Your shot started it, but she finished it,” Dom said, subtext in the words Hannah couldn’t understand, but that Jackson seemed to.
“Good.” He met the other man’s gaze before turning back to her. “He would have killed both of us if you hadn’t. Don’t doubt it for a second. You only did what you had to do.”
“We need to get the bleeding stopped,” Hannah said, anxiety pricking at her skin as blood continued to seep from the wound near Jackson’s shoulder, soaking his shirt. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in the dining room.”
“I’ll find Harley,” Dom said. “She has her pilot’s license. She might be able to get us out of here before the cleanup crew.”
“That would be great.” The thought sent a wave of relief rushing through Hannah’s chest. She wasn’t surprised that Harley had acquired another exotic skill set. Her sister had always been a fan of acquiring new hobbies, especially ones that cost obscene amounts of money. “The sooner we can get Jackson to a doctor the better.”
“We’ll land at the airstrip near your father’s house,” Dom said, moving away down the hall as Hannah guided Jackson into the dining room. “He’ll have a doctor waiting who won’t ask questions.”
Hannah’s breath rushed out with a curse.
“Are you really okay?” Jackson asked softly.
“I’m understanding what a cleanup crew is correctly, right?” she asked, suddenly acutely aware of the acidic taste flooding her mouth. “People who clean up murder scenes so the bad guys don’t get sent to jail?”
“Except this time they’re cleaning up the murder scene so the good guys don’t go to jail.” Jackson grunted as he sat down on the edge of the heavy oak table and let Hannah help him lift his legs so he could lie down on top of it.
“Or the good woman, anyway,” he added, paling as she wadded the blindfold into a ball and pressed it to his bullet wound. “You don’t deserve to go to jail or even trial for this. It was self-defense.”
“I wasn’t thinking about myself,” Hannah said. “When I saw you lying on the ground and your dad going in for the kill shot, I just…lost it.” She shook her head, the dazed feeling still hanging around her head like a protective fog. She was grateful for the way it softened the edges of what she’d done, making it okay to push the sight of Ian’s slack features from her mind. “I didn’t even think about what I was going to do, I just did it.”
“I understand. You were protecting what’s yours.”
Hannah held his gaze, her throat tightening as she searched his eyes for a sign that everything was going to be okay. “Are you? Still mine? Even though I ran away and nearly got us both killed?” She rushed on, cutting him off before he could speak. “I know you didn’t give the order to kill Harley. I know it was a trick now, but I should have suspected that from the beginning.”
Jackson’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you that I’d put my people back on her trail. I should have.” He paused, finding her hand with his. “The same way I should have told you that I love you long before last night.”
“Yeah?” The lump in Hannah’s throat swelled until she could barely breathe.
“Yes.” Jackson squeezed her cold fingers. “I love you and it shouldn’t have taken almost losing you to make me realize I never want to let
you go.”
Tears rose in her eyes and the numb feeling began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming mixture of fear and relief that made her voice break as she asked, “Never?”
“Never,” he said, without a hint of hesitation. “I’m yours. For as long as I’m on this earth. And I hope you’ll be mine.”
“Of course. Of course, I will.” She smoothed his hair from his forehead before pressing a kiss to the sweat-damp skin. “I can’t wait to be away from all this and know you’re going to be okay.”
“I’m going to be fine.” He shifted, wincing as he moved his injured shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve been in worse shape than this. Lots of times.”
Hannah swallowed, willing her tears away, trying not to show how much the blood soaking the cloth scared her. “Well, hopefully, Dom will be back with Harley soon and we can get going.” She nibbled her lip, dread knotting in her stomach as the reality that Jackson and Harley were about to set eyes on each other for the first time in years fully penetrated.
“I know you’re still angry and you have every right to be,” she continued, “but I talked to Harley and I believe she’s changed. That doesn’t excuse what she did, not even a little bit, but I—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jackson said with a small shake of his head. “I don’t care about her. You’re all that matters. You and me.”
Hannah’s mouth trembled, caught between a smile and something guiltier. “Well, anyway. I believe she’s sorry at least. For what she did to you.”
Because she had a child—maybe your child—and it changed her.
Love changed her, the way loving you has changed me.
She knew she had to say something to Jackson—warn him that Harley had a bombshell to drop—but she couldn’t make her lips form the words. She told herself that she didn’t want to upset him while he was wounded, but she sensed the truth was she didn’t want to upset herself. After everything she’d been through in the past twelve hours, telling the man she loved that he could be the father of her sister’s baby might be the straw that broke the camel’s back.