Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Home, Master,” Ink said. “You need me to help you into the house?”
Master jerked awake. “I’m good.” He said it out of habit. He was used to being alone. Used to taking care of his own wounds. He looked out the window of the truck. He was back in his sanctuary, the woods, surrounded by trees. The forest made him feel as if he could escape into it whenever he needed to breathe. There were plenty of trails leading away from his home, and he knew every one of them. He would never be trapped here.
He shoved open the door. “Thanks for the ride, Ink. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll park the truck in the garage and take my bike home,” Ink said. “Text Steele if either of you need him.”
Master turned to help Ambrielle out of the truck. She looked tired as well, even though it was still midafternoon. He indicated she precede him to the door. He rarely used the front entrance. It was a huge glass door with a screen. The great room was beamed construction with a massive two-story real fieldstone fireplace. The open loft upstairs served as his music room, but he had a couple of futons up there just in case Keys or Maestro stayed over after working on songs.
One of the selling points of the house had been the unique open-concept master bedroom and bathroom, a claw-foot tub and curbless shower with solid granite walls. The panoramic views of the woods and access to a private patio overlooking the pool, yard and forest as well as the hot tub all made the property even more desirable.
“Go on through to the bedroom and strip. I want to see where those bullets kissed you.” He sounded as gruff as he felt.
She tilted her chin at him. “You know my wounds are superficial, Master. I don’t know if yours is. Why don’t you let me take care of yours first? You should be in bed after that procedure anyway.”
“You like what you’re wearing? You remove your clothes or I do. It isn’t as if you have a lot of things to wear, Ambrie.” It was a warning. Clear and simple.
She stood looking at him for a long moment and then she sighed and began to unbutton the little tiny pearls down the front of her shirt. “I can see you’re still very angry with me.”
He didn’t bother to address the obvious. Instead, he crouched down in front of the double sink to find the emergency medical kit he kept on hand. By the time he walked back into the bedroom, she was sitting on the bed in her bra and panties. He paused in the open doorway to drink her in, to savor the fact that she was his. He didn’t know what to do with her, but he liked the fact that he had her.
There was a stain of blood on her shoulder, up high, close to her neck. He really didn’t like that and cleaned it with an alcohol wipe, knowing it burned like hell. She didn’t so much as flinch but kept her gaze steady on his. When he cleaned the second wound, the one that had taken a chunk of her skin from her thigh, she gasped and her eyes watered, but she refused to cry. She blinked rapidly in order to keep from shedding tears.
“You could have been killed, Ambrie,” Master said in a low voice. “You fucking could have died pulling that stunt.”
Her small white teeth worried at the corner of her bottom lip, scraping back and forth. “You could have been killed, Master. You’re a much larger target than I am, or than Jimmy. You deliberately stood there instead of getting under cover. Why? Why did you do that?”
“Czar didn’t have Blythe under the truck yet. The shooters would concentrate their fire on me instead of trying for them.” He kept his tone flat. Matter-of-fact. He knew she wasn’t going to like his answer, but it was the truth.
He’d lied to Jackson. Those men had been there to kill Czar’s family. Blythe and Jimmy had been the targets. Czar maybe. He doubted it. The Russian woman wanted Czar to suffer. She wanted him to see his family dead before he died. That was the entire point of sending her assassins. She was losing her men though. Too many of them. She couldn’t afford to lose too many more. The bad news was, she knew where Czar lived. She knew where his family was. That changed things in a big way.
Ambrielle shook her head and jerked away from him. She had her back to him because he was trying to spread antibiotic cream over the wound where the flesh was gone. He caught her arm.
“Stay still.”
“No. I want to leave. I’m leaving.” She sounded on the verge of tears. Or she was already crying. Or fighting mad. He couldn’t tell because she wasn’t looking at him. Again, she tried jerking away from him.