by Cole, Jagger
Then my mom got sick when I was a sophomore in high school. So when other girls were going on first dates, and having first boyfriends, first kisses, and losing their virginities in the backs of cars, I was making dinner, paying bills, and making sure my mom’s dosages were good.
I juggled taking care of her and school until she passed when I was a senior. Luckily, we’d planned for the eventuality of her cancer. So I was set up to take care of myself until graduation. The day after that, I was gone—sold the house, bought a car, and drove west until I hit San Francisco. The university here had offered me the best financial package of any of the school’s I’d applied to. But even so, I juggled waitressing and school until I fell into my job with Terrance.
I exhale slowly. So that’s why. That’s why I’m nineteen and I’ve never had a boyfriend, or a first kiss—much less a first time. I guess that’s why I’m so happy to be in the fire, so long as I’m out of the frying pan where I might have lost my freaking virginity to Terrance fucking Rynsburger, by force.
I shudder.
“My name is Rourke, by the way.”
I feel a warmth creep into my cheeks.
“And I’m sorry you’re caught up in this, Leah”
I turn to look at him curiously. It’s… I don’t know. It feels out of character for a man like him—an actual hitman, as Terry’s daughter said on the phone—to say something like that. It makes me want to tell him everything.
I tremble, my lips thinning. I close my eyes and turn to look out the window again. I want to tell him about Terry’s side business. I need to tell him about it, especially since there’s an even worse part of it: the fact that Laura, his daughter, is involved in the operations. Even worse than that, she might be even more evil than Terry is with the whole thing.
Knowing that it’s Laura behind hiring a hitman to go after her own father sends a chill up my spine. My mind flashes back to the emails I saw between her and Terry in those secret files—emails where he was content with how business was going, and how she disagreed.
Terry is disgusting for exploiting all of those destitute women. But Laura wants to expand. She’s been talking with a human trafficking ring out of China that she wants to get into business with. Terry disagrees—not out of any moral compass, he just doesn’t want to upset a solid business by expanding.
I cringe. I want to tell Rourke all of this. I need to tell him this if he’s going to be meeting with this ghoul of a woman. But I can’t; not with the threat hanging over me by the FBI. It doesn’t matter that I’m innocent. Part of our arrangement is that if I spill any of this to anyone, they’ll throw me under the bus.
I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, big time.
Rourke frowns at my silence. “Are you okay?”
I blush, realizing I’ve just been staring into space. “Sorry, I just…”
His brow furrows, and he clears his throat. “Stupid fucking question, I guess.”
I smile wryly. “I’m okay.”
“Look, for what it’s worth, you weren’t supposed to be caught up in this. When we can get that off…” he nods at the jewels around my neck. They’re heavy, and cool. My hand slides up to touch the multi-million dollar diamonds.
“When that’s off, you’re in the clear. I’m going to make sure of that.”
His cellphone dings. He frowns and pulls to the side of the road before looking at it.
“We’ve got a meeting with Laura.” He tuns to me. “I’m serious, you know. I am what I am. But I’m not a psychopath. This business only concerns you because that damn thing is locked around your neck. When it’s off, I will do everything in my power to make sure you stay out of any fallout.”
He brings the phone up to his ear, off the car speakers.
“Mags, we got a meet.” He shakes his head. “No, stay there with him. She’s—” his lips curl in a grin. “Thanks for the input,” he chuckles darkly. His eyes dart to me. I blush feeling like the conversation is about me.
He hangs up and sighs.
“Alright, let’s go get this thing off your neck and get you back to your life, Leah.”
“Okay,” I say quietly as he pulls the car back onto the road. But part of me wonders if there’s any going back after this at all.
The meet is in a warehouse south of the city in San Bruno. It’s dark and dimly lit when we pull through the gates of the industrial park. Rourke’s eyes narrow as he scans the buildings and the parked cars near the open hanger door of a big, dimly lit warehouse.
He growls quietly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t like this,” he grunts. He drives into the shadows and stops the car. The engine turns off. In the darkness, he turns to me. I tremble when I see the glint in his eyes—dangerous, but also so freaking alluring. It’s like fire, and I’m a moth that can’t stay away.
“Rourke, I—this meeting. You should know…” I close my eyes and look down. I want to tell him, so, so badly. But I can’t.
“I wouldn’t ever bring you into something like this,” he says quietly, misreading my hesitation. “But…”
“But she needs to see this,” I tap the necklace. “To know you’re serious with your end of things, right?”
He smirks
“Business major,” I shrug with a small smile.
“And a smart one,” he grins. But then my breath catches when he pulls a gun out. My pulse thuds as he checks it and slips it into a holster under his arm. Then he pulls a second gun out and does the same under the other arm.
“Let’s get this done so we can get you back to your life.”
We step out of the car and walk to the side door.
“Stay behind me,” he growls thickly.
I nod and I pull close to him before shyly realizing I’m crowding him. I start to retreat, but his hand comes back and takes mine. I tremble, tingling as he squeezes it gently.
Inside, there’s only one light on, hanging low over the middle of the empty warehouse floor.
“Ahh, Mr. Jenner!” Laura, Terry’s daughter, calls from up high. I recognize her voice from the few times I’ve taken phone messages from her.
“How about we turn some lights on, Laura,” Rourke grunts.
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Turn the goddamn lights on,” he growls. “I don’t make deals with people I can’t see.”
“And I don’t negotiate with failed hitmen.”
He chuckles. “Right. Well, here’s how this is going to work. You can be a bitch if you want, but the job doesn’t get done until my end of things is squared. And something tells me, you need this job to get done.”
“What makes you think I’m so desperate that I’ll jump through your hoops, Mr. Jenner?”
“Because people don’t put contracts on their own father’s heads casually. Personal or financial, my bet is you need this to happen.”
“Ahhh, well then,” Laura’s voice sounds dangerously edged. “Perhaps I call your employer to complain about the service I’m receiving for my money?”
Rourke rolls his eyes.
“Rogue will agree with me. We all know you opted to pay me this way so the money would never be traced to you. That’s fine. I don’t care and I don’t question that or why you want your father dead. I don’t actually care.”
I turn to him, only now grasping that he really doesn’t know what he’s involved in. I tremble. Suddenly, I’m afraid. Because I’ve been privy to emails and phone calls I probably shouldn’t have seen as Terrys PA. I know things I shouldn’t. But I do know them, and it makes me very, very afraid for this.
Rourke thinks he’s settling a family thing gone horribly askew. But there’s so much more going on here. Besides the thing with the trafficking, I know that Terry’s been quietly writing Laura out of his contracts and wills. And I’m guessing Laura knows that.
My blood chills. This isn’t just a daughter being irrationally angry enough at her dad to have him killed. This is a billion-dollar ta
keover.
I swallow and draw close to Rourke.
“We should leave,” I whisper quietly.
He frowns, turning to glance at me with concern. “Leah—”
“There’s more going on here than you—”
“Ms. Hartley, is it?” Laura calls out. “We’ve only met the once.” She laughs coldly. “Another of my father’s little whores?”
Roark growls and tuns to her. “That’s enough. And turn the fucking lights on, now.” He glances back at me, frowning. “What did you want to tell me?” He mutters quietly.
“She’s not after Terry,” I hiss. “She’s after his entire—”
The lights suddenly go on. All of them, brightly. Rourke and I both hiss and flinch, flinging hands up to block the blinding floodlights that make it impossible to see.
Rourke growls. “This doesn’t have to be complicated, Laura! Give me the goddamn key, and one call will have your job taken—”
“Yeah, I’m cancelling the job,” Laura says flatly. “And you, too.”
My heart lurches.
“Goodbye, Mr Jenner.”
“Move!”
I grunt as he slams into me, shoving me to the ground. The deafening sound of gunfire erupts around us, and I scream. Big, strong hands lift me as if I’m weightless, yanking me out of the way behind some wooden crates. Bullets pepper the side of them. I scream again, and my hands fly over my head
“Stay down!” he roars.
I turn my head to say something, but he’s jumping up from behind the crates we’re behind. My mouth falls open as he yanks his guns out. His face is grim and vicious as he starts to fire back: vicious, scary, and hot. It’s like watching a lion roar.
The lights flooding us blink out as he shoots at them. I gasp when he suddenly bolts, running across the open space to another jumble of wooden crates. The gunfire follows him, spraying the side of the wall and the crates.
With the floodlights out, I glance up at the top of the warehouse. On a catwalk around the perimeter, I spot Laura yelling and pointing to where Rourke just ducked behind. Three more men with machine guns run up next to her, aim, and start firing.
My pulse is racing. I turn to look at him. And at the same time, Rourke turns to look at me. His eyes harden, and his jaw grinds. Behind him is the open doorway, and past that, his car, and escape.
My heart sinks. But he’s not looking at the door. He’s looking right at me. Suddenly, he’s up and running right at me. I scream as the floor behind him explodes with machine gun fire. He slams into me like a truck, grabbing me in his arms and never slowing. We hit a second side door hard, slamming it open as we tumble into the night.
He tosses me over his shoulder and runs, hard and fast around the side of the building. A man steps out of the shadows, and I scream as Rourke guns him down without hesitation. Another guy pops up, but he too tumbles back when Rourke’s gun flashes.
At the car, he throws me into the passenger seat, slides over the hood, and jumps in. Gunfire splinters the crates next to us as he revs the engine and peels out. My heart is pounding, fear and adrenaline pumping as we roar off into the dark California night.
He could have left. The thought screams in my head. He had every chance to turn and save himself. But he came back for me.
I blush. But then I just feel silly. No, he came back for the necklace, that’s all. He came back for his payment—
“Are you okay?!”
I realize he’s screaming at me and has been. I’ve just been too numb to answer. I turn and nod in a daze.
“I—”
“Leah!” He’s looking right at me. I bring a hand up to touch the diamonds around my neck.
“I think it’s fine—”
“I’m not asking about the fucking necklace,” he growls. His eyes burn hotly in the darkness of the car as we thunder through the night.
“I’m asking if you are hurt.”
I swallow. My heart thuds. I nod quietly. “I’m fine,” I croak.
His eyes harden. “You’re sure?” he asks, anxiously.
I nod again, trembling at the intensity in his gaze. “Yes.”
Rourke exhales. “Okay, good.” He takes another deep breath and turns back to the road. His hands tighten on the wheel. “Okay, good. That’s good,” he grunts.
We’re silent, but my heart thuds as we drive off into the night.
5
Leah
By the time the car stops, I’m actually having a hard time breathing. For a second, I wonder if I’ve been shot. My panic rises, and my pulse races so fast it feels like my body is buzzing. I gasp, sucking in air as he shuts the car off. Rourke bolts out of the car and runs for my door. He yanks it open and crouches next to me as he rips the seatbelt off.
“Breathe,” he whispers quietly and calmly. “Just breathe, Leah.”
“I—was I—did I get shot?!”
He shakes his head. His hands squeeze mine. “No, darlin’. Just breathe. You’re in shock.”
“Why—how… what do you mean—”
“Because that was a lot,” he says gently.
I suck in air.
“Breathe,” he murmurs quietly. His voice is so deep and soothing. “Just breathe,” he keeps saying, like a mantra.
His hands stroke my wrists. And slowly, I feel my chest un-tighten. I breathe again, feeling more normal.
“There we go,” he grunts.
I swallow. Slowly, I breathe again and open my eyes to see him looking at me intently.
I blush. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I just… that was…”
He grins. “First shootout?”
My face burns hotly. “What gave it away?”
Rourke chuckles. He peers close and suddenly frowns. “Fuck.”
“What…” I follow his gaze and gasp. The panic surges inside of me when I see the blood soaking the sleeve of my blouse.
“Come here,” he growls. He scoops me up, cradling me into his chest as he turns and moves to a door next to the old house. He punches a key code into a side panel, and the door unlocks with a click. He steps in and clicks it shut. Then I cling to him as he runs up three flights of stairs.
At the top, there’s another keypad and door. Inside, my head spins as I turn to look at a loft-like space—brick walls, beamed ceilings, big windows covered with dark curtains. There’s a couch, tv, and big bed in one corner; a kitchen area in another. There’s also racks and racks of guns, and a partially disassembled motorcycle in another corner.
“Where—”
“You’re safe here, Leah,” he growls. “Come.”
He brings me to the couch and lays me down. His brow is furrowed as he grabs a towel and presses it to my arm.
“Hold that,” he says gently. He bolts across the room and then rushes back with a white and red case.
“Let me see,” he murmurs. He pulls the towel away and peers at my arm.
“Was I shot?” I choke.
He smiles quietly. “No, darlin’.”
I bush. I like when he says that.
“Looks like you caught some wood shrapnel from the crates they were shooting. Hang on.” He pushes at the sleeve, and I wince.
“I need to cut this sleeve off,” he growls.
I just nod. Deftly, Rourke uses a pair of surgical scissors to cut through the sleeve, up to the shoulder. Then he keeps cutting, until the whole shoulder falls away. I blush, catching it before it falls off my chest. But then I stop caring. Whatever, I’m wearing a bra. And this isn’t a peep show, he’s literally giving me medical attention.
The man is stopping me from bleeding, not checking me out. I blush. Even if I want him to.
He seems to ignore the white lace of my bra. He peers at the cut, and suddenly slips glasses on. I bite my lip, feeling my core tighten. How the fuck did he just get even hotter?
Rourke glances up at me. I blush as if he’s just caught my thoughts out in the open. But he just frowns slightly.
“This is gonna sting.”
“It’s okay.”
He nods and holds up a spray bottle of antiseptic. He squirts it on my cut, and I wince. Then he takes out a big, big pair of tweezers, and my eyes widen.
“And this is really gonna sting.”
“I’ll be—”
The tweezers grab what must be the wood splinter, and I see white.
“Fuck!!” I scream. I clutch at him, swaying with the pain. Rourke grits his teeth and yanks, I feel the huge piece of wood slide out of my arm. When it slips free, I exhale with a groan. He quickly covers the cut with a badge soaked in antiseptic, which burns before it starts to tingle.
“It’s got a mild topical numbing agent on it,” he grunts. “To take the sting off.”
I nod, breathing deeply. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“This is my doing,” he scowls as he bandages on my arm. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. And I’m sorry for bringing you into it.”
“I had to be there, though.”
“It shouldn’t have ever…” he frowns and then sighs. “I’m sorry you’re in this, Leah.”
I look at him. He takes his glasses off, and my heart races as he looks up at me. My eyes dip to his t-shirt, and I frown.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
He glances down and shrugs. “Eh, just some blood.”
He stands. But this time when his eyes land on me, they don’t ignore the fact that my blouse is hanging down over my bra. His gaze drops to my chest, hungrily. I know I should be… well, something that isn’t what it makes me feel. But instead, I blush and tingle inside. His eyes slide up to mine again, and I watch his jaw grit.
“I’ll grab you a shirt.” He turns and walks across the big loft to a dresser by the bed.
“Is this where you live?”
I turn when I say it. But then I gasp. Rourke’s back is to me, and he’s peeling his t-shirt off. I stare, shamelessly. Good lord, he’s like a superhero. His muscled back ripples as he tugs the shirt off. His lean, chiseled form twists as he tosses it away, his tattoo ink flexing.