He’s right. “My apartment, I guess.”
“Probably too obvious and not secure enough.” He pauses, thinks, then sighs. “Listen… I know of a place. It’s the party pad of a friend of a friend. He’s not in town right now, but he said I could use it whenever I want. It’s behind a gate, so it’s secluded and private. I’ll try to figure out who shot Dad and why. You stash him there until he’s well enough to defend himself.”
I have no idea how long that will take, but other than a quick animal check tomorrow afternoon, I’m not scheduled to work again until Wednesday. Hopefully, that’s long enough. “Okay.”
As I clean up the surgical room, Ethan stuffs his father back into his bloody T-shirt. Thankfully, it’s black, so the blood doesn’t show. I find spare towels in the storeroom, near the cleaning supplies, so my car won’t get blood-soaked.
But I have nothing to wear except a bra and jeans.
Ethan whips off his shirt and hands it to me. “Put this on. It might save you.”
“Save me?”
He raises a brow. “Dad won’t be out long, and he’ll bounce back fast. When he comes to, if that’s all you’re wearing…” He lets me imagine the rest. “You still a virgin?”
“Yes.”
The tilt of Ethan’s mouth is nothing short of cynical. “If he gets a look at you dressed like that, you won’t be for long.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m speeding down the wet highway west to Summerlin. The roads are freaking jammed. Then again, it’s a Saturday night in Las Vegas. The partiers and drunks are coming out of the woodwork. The good thing about that is, if anyone looks into my vehicle and sees Ransom propped up in the passenger’s seat, he’ll either look asleep or wasted. Neither is terribly abnormal in Sin City at ten p.m.
The GPS tells me we’ll be at Ethan’s mystery destination in roughly ten minutes. I keep looking in the rearview mirror, but I don’t think we were tailed. I’ve been on the lookout. A clean getaway would make me feel tons better, just like Ransom’s coloring returning.
He looks a lot like he did the day I left his house, except now he’s unconscious, rather than fighting himself and filled with regret.
If you stay, I’ll stop giving a damn how old you are. I’ll strip you down, get between your pretty thighs, and fuck you until you understand you’re mine.
A day hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t thought about Ransom…and wondered if he still thinks of me.
“Meow,” Shadow whines from the backseat, sitting on Ransom’s discarded duster that’s concealing the handguns once strapped to him.
I probably shouldn’t have brought the little feline along. If her owner comes back, I’ll get in a ton of trouble for taking her, but she cried and cried as Ethan and I were loading up my car. I didn’t have the heart to leave her there, especially after I’d promised to be her human. Besides, she brings me comfort, too.
And since I’m going to spend days alone with Ransom at an isolated party pad? I think I’ll need it.
Finally, we arrive. I punch in the gate code, half expecting it not to budge. After all, how the hell does Ethan have anytime access to a place in this swanky neighborhood? But the gate swings open right away.
I drive down a gentle hill before hitting a stone access road, then coasting under a collection of swaying palms. The house in front of me is huge, all Mediterranean plaster, stacked stone, and wood accents. It’s jaw-droppingly beautiful.
We’re staying here for a few days? Alone?
As the gate shuts behind me, I follow the stone drive around the back of the house, hop out when I see the keypad beside the garage door, tap in the code, and watch as it, too, opens to reveal a giant, empty garage.
Once I’m parked inside, I scoop up the bag of medical supplies I tossed together and the kitten, then head into the house.
It’s vast and dark. My footsteps echo on the tile. It feels empty, as if no one has been here in a while. But if the walls could talk, I’m pretty sure the conversation would be damn interesting.
I meander down a hall, through an enormous living room, then into the kitchen, flipping on lights along the way, then set the bag on a giant square island in the gorgeous warm-wood kitchen. I ease Shadow to the tiled floor. “Wow.”
She looks up at me, seemingly confused. “Meow.”
Is she hungry?
Shit. I remembered a little box for her to do her business…but I forgot to bring her food. I add it to the mental list of things I’ll have to somehow get my hands on.
“Explore, girlie. I’ll be right back.”
Then I head once more toward the car—and Ransom.
When I step into the garage, I freeze. The massive slab of a door is now closed. The overhead light is dark. Moonlight splashes through the windows, illuminating the space just enough to tell me one terrifying thing.
Ransom is no longer in the front seat.
Suddenly, I’m grabbed from behind. One brawny arm hooks around my neck. The other squeezes my middle. I feel hot breath and male stubble against my ear. I shiver.
“You have five seconds to tell me where the fuck I am and how I got here or I’ll kill you.” He’s not kidding since I suddenly feel a gun against my ribs.
“D-Don’t hurt me, Ransom. Please.”
Ransom
Fuck.
I’d know that voice anywhere. I know the pitch. I know the tone. I even know the slightly shaky quality because I heard it every agonizing day of the hellacious two weeks the underage temptress stayed under my roof.
In my son’s bed?
Suspecting the answer to that question is yes has tormented me for weeks.
“Havana?” I spin her and flip on the overhead light.
It’s her, all right.
She looks fragile. Her golden eyes are startlingly large in her unusually pale face. She’s thinner. There’s a smear of blood on her cheek. And she’s wearing a T-shirt I recognize as Ethan’s.
Son of a bitch. Did they fuck tonight, on her birthday?
“How did I get here?” Wherever here is.
She fills me in. I remember the gunfire, but I don’t remember passing out. Damn. Thankfully, I’m only vaguely aware of the pain now.
Grabbing her by the wrist, I haul her into the house. One of the first doors on the left opens to a powder bath. I switch on the light and look in the mirror. Yep. There’s a neat row of stitches up my neck. She did that?
My shirt dried soaked with my blood and it now feels crusty. Gingerly, I work it off and find more stitches along my biceps. “And you gave me your blood?”
She nods. “Ethan helped.”
“Why are you wearing his shirt?” I gesture to the navy-blue cotton that reads Sarc: My Second Favorite -asm.
“He gave it to me. I used mine to stop your bleeding.”
So maybe they didn’t fuck, at least not today. And that’s not what I should be fixated on.
Havana patched me up. I’m not surprised my son went out on a limb to help me. Since he’s come to live with me full-time, we’ve developed a decent relationship. But this woman who’s barely more than a girl? Despite the fact I tossed her out of my house, she did her best to save me. And how am I repaying her? I’ve got a fucking death grip on her wrist that must hurt.