Witness to Passion (Entangled Ignite) (Guarding Her Body)

by Naima Simone

Obeying the harsh order, she darted behind the huge cherry armoire, the fireplace poker she’d grabbed from the iron set in hand and suspended above her head. Her heart hammered, beating in her chest and creating a riotous din in her ears. And still she heard the door crashing against the wall. And the shrill wolf whistle.

  “Where are you, bitch? Come out, come out wherever you are.” A mean cackle followed the taunt, a terrifying shiver crawling over her skin. She tightened her grip on the poker. Squeezed her eyes close.

  No! Open them! How can you see him if your eyes are closed?

  Right, right. Her lashes snapped open, and she stared at the patch of shadowed space in front of her without blinking. She trapped her breath in her lungs, refusing to allow her soft pants to betray her hiding spot. Seconds—minutes, hours—later a shadow emerged, the dull, ugly glint of metal preceding the dark figure.

  Now.

  She arced the poker down. Hard. An agonized howl rent the air along with the sickening crunch of bone. She gagged, her stomach curdling. The gun clattered to the floor as the huge—freaking ginormous—man whirled toward her, cradling his injured wrist to his chest. His lips curled into a malicious snarl, and his narrowed glare declared five different ways he planned to torture her.

  “You’re dead, bitch,” he roared.

  Oh God. Even with his wrist most likely broken, he could hurt her. Badly.

  She swallowed. And did the only thing a woman in her position could do…

  She jabbed him in the balls with the poker.

  He screamed, the shriek ripping through the air like an enraged banshee. His large frame dropped like a stone, hands cupping his crotch in a gesture that defined too little too late. She raced for the door, but then screeched to a halt. Stalked back to the whimpering mass on the floor. And whacked him across the shoulders. The whimpering stopped.

  “That last ‘bitch’ was one too many,” she snapped.

  “Fallon.”

  She jerked her head up, located Shane in the open doorway. Relief coursed through her, and she propped herself against the footboard.

  “Are you okay, baby?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

  His gaze lowered to the still figure at her feet. “What happened to him?”

  She pushed off the footboard and hurried across the room. “I gave him a balls-ectomy. Poker-style.”

  Shane choked, his eyes briefly widening before a small grin tugged the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, he removed his weapon from his shoulder holster, and extended the other hand toward her. “Come on.”

  Hand in his, she followed him down the darkened hall and rushed down the staircase.

  “The police should be here in minutes. We’ll wait for them outside,” he threw over his shoulder. Once they reached the first floor, he flipped the cover on the alarm pad down.

  An arm shot around her neck and yanked her against a hard, unyielding frame.

  “Don’t touch that,” a smooth voice resounded in her ear. “Not unless you want her brains decorating the wall.”

  Shane whirled around, his gun raised and pointed at the man with his forearm shackled around her throat. And with a gun pointed at her temple.

  Fear, acrid and bright, flooded her mouth, her chest, her belly. She clutched the arm imprisoning her even as she pressed against her captor, trying to evade the muzzle of his evil-looking weapon.

  “Let her go, Michaels,” Shane ordered, his voice calm, cold, gun steady and unwavering in his two-fisted hold.

  Jonah Michaels’s chuckle tickled her ear. “I don’t think so. I’ve been searching for her too long. You,” he grazed the muzzle over her cheekbone, “Ms. Wayland are pretty difficult to get close to.” He kissed her jaw, then pointed the weapon at her head again. “Shane Roarke, I’m guessing? I’ve already taken care of the detective. Now, put your gun down, or I kill her right in front of you.”

  The detective. Tristan. God. Was he dead?

  “Shane,” she whispered. “Don’t—”

  “Quiet,” Jonah snapped. “If you had minded your own business, we wouldn’t be here. I warned you I would come after you, that I would catch you. If you had listened to me, you and your boyfriend wouldn’t be about to die.” He tightened his hold across her throat. “Now put that goddamn gun on the floor, or I put a hole in her head right now.”

  Michaels’s finger tensed on the trigger, and she couldn’t contain her small cry as she squeezed her eyes closed. Oh God. I don’t want to die.

  “All right,” Shane growled. She reopened her eyes to witness him slowly bending down, and lowering to one knee. He placed his gun on the floor, his spread fingers hovering above the metal.

  “Very good,” Jonah purred. “Wise decision.” He shifted the gun, and started to level it toward Shane.

  No. No, no, no.

  She whipped her head to the side, tucked her chin in the fold of his elbow. And went limp.

  “Goddamnit,” Jonah barked, scrabbling to maintain balance against her sudden dead weight. A shot rang out, and she screamed, tumbling backward, Jonah’s arm still wrapped around her.

  “Fallon.” Shane’s foot appeared in her line of vision as he kicked the gun away from Jonah Michaels’s open hand. He kneeled beside her, removed the hit man’s arm, and pulled her up. “Are you okay? Baby, answer me.”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “I’m—” She glanced over her shoulder. Spotted Jonah Michaels’s wide-eyed glassy stare and the neat bullet hole in his forehead. “I’m—holy shit.”

  A wave of nausea nailed her, and then nothing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You fainted?” Addisyn snickered. “You shoved a guy’s ’nads in the back of his throat with a poker, and then you fainted?”

  Fallon glared at her best friend as Addy pulled her car to a stop at the curb in front of her house. “You did hear the part where I had a gun held to my head, right? Or the part about the blood and brains on the wall?”

  Addy switched off the ignition, then turned to her, eyes opened wide, the very picture of contrite innocence. “Oh, I definitely heard that part.” She paused. Grinned. “Then you fainted.”

  “Oh shaddup,” Fallon growled, shoving the passenger side door open.

  “I’m just saying.” Addy laughed, joining her on the sidewalk. “You went all Billy Bad Ass on the gang member, then passed out. Sarah Connors would be so ashamed.”

  “Explain to me again why I agreed to the girls’ night out with you?” Fallon sneered.

  “Because you love me and have missed me.” Smiling, Addy grasped Fallon’s hand. “God, I’m glad you’re safe. I was so worried.”

  “Me, too,” she confessed, squeezing her friend’s fingers. “I don’t mind admitting I was scared shitless a few times.”

  “Sooo,” Addy drawled, tugging her in the direction of her home. “Since you’re in one piece with no extra breathing holes, does this mean you forgive me for calling Shane?”

  Shane. Her stomach clenched at the mention of his name. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d dropped her off at her father’s Back Bay brownstone three days earlier with orders to stay put. Though Jonah Michaels was dead and several Lords of War gang members were being rounded up by the police, he didn’t deem her apartment safe. So he’d ushered her to her father’s home, and without a word regarding when he would return—if he would return—he’d left her there.

  And she missed him. Ached to look at him, touch him. God, if the emptiness inside her yawned this wide after mere days, it would swallow her whole in weeks or months without him. But after their last conversation, she might as well get used to the feeling.

  “Yes, I forgive you.” She shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive actually.”

  “Wait. Hold up.” Addy skidded to a halt at the bottom porch step. “I called the man you call the Abominable Tin Man, and there’s nothing to—” She gasped, her jaw dropping. “Shut the fucking front door. You’re in love with him.”

  Fallon pinched th
e bridge of her nose, unable to deny her friend’s statement.

  “Oh my God.” Addy stared at her, mouth hanging open. “What happened in that safe house?”

  “I lost my mind, my panties, and my heart,” Fallon confessed, dropping her head.

  “Eeew.” Addy screwed up her face, plugging her ears with her fingers. “T-freaking-M-I. I don’t ever want to hear about my brother in connection with your panties again. Not ever.”

  “Are you,” Fallon hesitated, studied her friend’s face. “Are you okay with…?”

  “Fallon, you’ve been in love with my blockhead brother for years. Even when you supposedly couldn’t stand him, I knew you wanted him. I already consider you my sister. Of course I’m okay with the two of you together.”

  “Pump your brakes, Addy. I wouldn’t go that far.” Even uttering the words hurt. Unrequited love was a bitch and a half. “I love him, but,” she shrugged, “unfortunately I can’t say the sentiment is returned. It’s…complicated.”

  “Complicated?” Addy scowled. “Screw that—”

  “Hold that diatribe,” she said, holding up a finger. Her friend’s fierce and loyal defense meant the world to her, but at the moment, with the hurt of Shane’s rejection so fresh, she didn’t relish discussing it. “Save it for after the piña coladas.”

  Grumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “stubborn, asshole brother,” Addy climbed the porch steps and unlocked the front door.

  Sighing, Fallon stepped over the threshold. “Addy, don’t—”

  “Surprise!”

  Son of a bitch! Her heart soared for her throat and lodged there. She lifted her hand to her neck, her eyes wide, as she stared at the living room full of grinning people. A bright banner with “Happy Birthday!” emblazoned on it stretched across the entrance with multicolored balloons and streamers taped to the wall.

  A party. A surprise party. A surprise birthday party.

  “What the hell?” she whispered.

  Addy laughed, hugging her close. “Happy birthday, Fallon! Since your last one was so fu—uh, messed up, we’re throwing you a party to make up for it.”

  Eyes burning, she scanned the room full of family and friends. Trudy, Shane and Addy’s mom. Ciaran was there, standing toward the back of the room with two tall men she wasn’t familiar with. Her father. Her mother. Oh God. How…?

  In seconds, she was surrounded. Her father wrapped her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her head. Her mother intercepted her next, gushing over her in typical dramatic fashion, but Fallon couldn’t dredge up irritation. Not when she was here and not gallivanting around some continent with the current husband of the month. Friends from work, college, and childhood swarmed around her, laughing, embracing her, celebrating her. Her. Even as another friend hugged her, she shook her head, the shock slow to wear off. Addy understood Fallon’s ambivalence toward birthdays. Yet she’d arranged a party just for her. It was…mind-boggling. And wonderful.

  She grinned at Addy, who’d hadn’t strayed far from her side. “You did all this?” Fallon rasped, voice thick with love and gratefulness. “You did all this for me?”

  With a soft smile, Addy shook her head. “Actually, I was just the person charged with getting you here. Shane did all of this, Fallon.”

  Dipping her head toward the back of the room, Addy grasped Fallon’s shoulders and gently but firmly turned her around. “I’ll hold these folks off. Go to him.”

  As if God recreated the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd separated, revealing Shane leaning against the wall, his turquoise gaze fixed on her.

  His presence punched the air from her lungs. Greedily, she studied him. Taking in the fatigue darkening his eyes and the tension that emanated from his big frame, she had to fight not to reach for him and draw him close. Comfort him and ease the strain from around his eyes and mouth. Touch him and ease the stiffness from his body.

  But none of that was her right. Not now that they’d returned home. He’d made that clear.

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she forced her feet forward. Imposing a calm she was far from feeling into her voice, she greeted him with a murmured, “Hey.”

  Shane’s gaze roamed over her, traveling from her head to the tips of her sandals and back up. When it returned to her face, she sucked in a breath at the heat in his hooded stare. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “How’re you?”

  The low murmur stroked over her skin, stoked the fire inside her belly that was never fully extinguished around him. Clearing her throat, she crossed her arms as if the motion could fend off the love and need he stirred within her.

  “I’m good.”

  The two words echoed between them.

  “How’s Tristan?” she asked softly. Contrary to Jonah Michaels’s claim to have “taken care of” Tristan, the detective was alive and well. Actually, “well” might be stretching it. He’d been knocked out, but the last time she’d seen him, the paramedics had been treating the cut to the back of his head.

  “He’s—” Shane paused, his handsome features tightening in a brief spasm of sorrow. “He’s dealing. Regardless that he’s innocent in all this, he’s going to blame himself for Joy’s betrayal and carry guilt for everything her actions caused.”

  She nodded, sadness for Tristan a leaden weight in her chest. “Yes, I imagine he will.”

  Another lengthy silence fell between them.

  “Sooo,” she drawled, hesitated. Stared at his shuttered face and mentally shrugged. What the hell. “Where’ve you been?”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “We’ve been busy working with the Boston PD to track down every Lord of War member who was involved with coming after you. With Jonah Michaels dead, the bull’s-eye on your back has been eliminated. We wanted to make sure they got the message.”

  Relief, strong and powerful, poured through her, shoving away the enormous weight that had settled on her shoulders and in her chest since she’d witnessed the murder months ago.

  “It’s really over, isn’t it?” she rasped.

  Shane nodded. “Yes, baby, it really is.” Shane straightened, pushing off the wall and moving so close only one of them needed to shift an inch to touch. Yet, he didn’t. And she didn’t either. “Fallon,” he said, her name a harsh, rough whisper. “I was so fucking scared.”

  She blinked, shock sliding through her like a sheet of ice. Spiders aside, she’d witnessed him face down murderers, had seen him disarm and kill them. She couldn’t imagine Shane scared. But as a shudder rippled through his body, she believed.

  “What?” She tilted her head back, still not certain she’d heard his words correctly.

  “I said, I was so fucking scared,” he repeated, his eyes burning down into hers. Branding her heart with their intensity. “When I turned and saw Michaels behind you with a gun to your head. I’ve never been that damn terrified in my life. I thought,” he paused, and a muscle along his jaw pulsed, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

  “You didn’t.” She yearned to reach for him, tangle her fingers with his, and comfort him with her touch. But the pain of rejection and uncertainty kept her arms locked around her chest. “You saved my life.”

  He choked on a chuckle. “No, you helped.” He shook his head. “Where did you learn that move anyway?”

  “I took self-defense classes a couple of years ago.” She grinned, although the smile shook on her lips. “Who knew it actually worked?”

  He cracked out a loud bark of laughter. “I’d say it worked, baby.”

  Baby. He’d called her baby.

  The endearment shouldn’t have shaken her like it did. It was probably a slip of the tongue on his part. But the heart trumped logic every time, and she closed her eyes and lowered her head so he wouldn’t glimpse the longing the pet name invoked. Damn, why couldn’t he see what he was doing to her? He’d already told her she wasn’t the woman for him, that they weren’t good for each other. Why was he insisting on—

&n
bsp; “I know you’re not like my mother,” he murmured.

  Fallon jerked her head up, not sure which surprised her more: the soft, fervent declaration or the tender grip on her hair. Long fingers stroked over her scalp, cupping her head. She shuddered.

  “Yes, you and Trudy may share several qualities—whimsical, caring, impulsive, effervescent—but where she was reckless, you’re reliable. Where she was childlike, you’re mature. Where she could be flighty, Fallon, I would trust you with my life.” He shifted that small increment forward, aligning their bodies. She exhaled at the press of his hard chest to her breasts, his hips to hers, his thighs to hers. Need, relief, and a sense of…security she couldn’t explain or contain wound its way through her veins and escaped on a sigh.

  And when his other hand rose to cradle her cheek, she turned her face into his palm, placing a kiss of gratitude there.

  “For so long I’ve judged you according to a scared boy’s rigid plans and a blind man’s inability to see the woman the girl had grown into. To put it bluntly, I’ve been a self-righteous, critical ass.”

  She snorted at that. If he expected her to object, he might want to pull up a seat and take a load off. As if he read her mind, a corner of his mouth quirked.

  “I know I was the one who insisted on a temporary relationship with no strings, no regrets. And now, here I am, so full of regret, it’s eking out of my pores. I want more than ‘for now’ with you, Fallon. I want it all. And only with you, not the nameless, faceless woman.”

  Moisture stung her eyes for the second time that night. His words, Jesus, they reached inside her, touching and healing every self-doubt, wound, and hurt inflicted.

  “Shane.” She captured his face between her palms. Part of her acknowledged that the room had gone silent, and most likely each pair of eyes and ears were trained on them. He had to realize it, too. And yet… And yet, after arranging a surprise party to supplant her awful birthday memories with new ones, he—the stoic, reserved, private man—stood unashamed before everyone, declaring he’d been a blind ass.

  Was it possible to love him more? Why yes. Yes it was.

  He exhaled, rested his forehead against hers. His nose bumped hers; his sweet breath bathed her lips. “I’m so damn in love with you.”