Rebecca Zanetti - Forgotten Sins

He listened. Nobody else. A team of two. Apparently two were enough for Marsh and Josie. That’s what they thought. At the idea of someone hunting his wife, his gut rolled. He stilled, and forced all emotion into nothingness. While the ability to do so wasn’t normal, he’d use the skill to save Josie and question it later.

As quiet as death, he crept forward. He leaped for the first man, aiming an elbow just below the guy’s neck. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The other man turned, yanking a gun from his vest.

Shane kicked the guy’s hand and the gun went flying. He kicked for the face and the soldier blocked him, jumping forward and tackling him to the ground. Together they hit the concrete with a dull thud. Pebbles dug into Shane’s back, giving his shoulders a fulcrum. Bad move. Shane rolled the attacker over and shot three hard punches to the face that knocked the soldier out cold.

Shane jumped up. Man, he wasn’t even breathing heavily. In fact, his entire body was calm and relaxed. What the hell was wrong with him?

Now probably wasn’t the time to figure that out.

Tossing the men’s weapons into the forest, Shane ran to pound on the front door. Then he rang the bell. A light went on, and soon Marsh stood in the entryway, bare to the waist with an angry scowl on his face. Muscles lined his chest and abs. The guy worked out—probably practiced swinging sledgehammers.

Josie pounded down carpeted stairs dressed in a faded T-shirt, her hair in wild disarray. “Shane? What the hell?”

He turned toward Marsh. “Two men, over to the side of the garage. They’re knocked out, probably for a half hour. Call the police.”

Marsh twisted his head to see around Shane. “I don’t think so, Major.” He pulled out a gun, leveling the barrel at Shane’s chest. “Somehow I thought you’d show up. Most stalkers do.”

Josie hustled across rough tiles. “Tom! Put the gun down.”

Shane tensed, muscles bunching. She was getting too close to the gun. “Step back, angel.”

Marsh widened his stance. “Call the police, Josie. Tell them the major is here.”

Shane relaxed his shoulders. “Do call the police. Before the men outside wake up.”

Pale, her lips trembling, she nodded and hurried down a Sheetrocked hallway to do his bidding.

Shane kept his gaze on the builder, taking inventory of the entryway. The walls were mostly bare, freshly painted. One watercolor of a forest scene covered the farthest wall. Its frame would make an excellent weapon, should he need one. He focused outside. The men outside remained silent, the forest was at peace. He smiled at Marsh. “You a good guy, Tom?”

“Yes.” One eyebrow rose. “Much better than you.”

Probably. Shane nodded, glancing behind Marsh. Swift as a whisper, he dodged forward, grabbed the gun, and hooked a leg around the man’s knee. They crashed to the floor. Shane leveled his forearm against Marsh’s windpipe, digging his knees into the tile while the man struggled for air.

Finally, Marsh went limp.

Shane hissed out a breath. The guy had struggled longer than Shane would’ve thought. He jumped to his feet, rushing through the house toward the direction of the garage. The door stood to the right of the refrigerator, leading to a large, well-organized space. He grabbed a water ski rope off the far wall and took the outside exit, quickly tying up the unconscious soldiers.

Should he tie up Tom? He wanted to. Probably unnecessary, though. He gathered an extra length of rope and returned to the entryway.

His wife waited, her bare legs apart. His gaze ran up her smooth thighs, flat stomach, and focused on the gun in her hands. His angel held the weapon with confidence, aiming the barrel square at his chest.

“Drop the rope,” she said calmly.

Shane released the rope, and measured strides took him inside the house. Next to Tom’s prone body.

“Stay back, Shane.” Josie kept a steady grip on the weapon. For a tiny thing, the woman had long, sexy-as-hell legs. Shit. She was all leg. The shirt came to mid-thigh, leaving much to be appreciated. She’d painted her cute toes a deep red. The color of passion.

“I like your toes.”

Her lips tightened while her stance widened. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.” She glanced down at Tom before lifting her gaze. “Will he be all right?”

“Yes.” Geez. Shane wouldn’t hurt the guy trying to protect her. Well, not much anyway. “We need to go, angel. Give me the gun.” He reached out and moved toward her.

“If you ever hurt him, I’ll never forgive you.” She stepped back, raising the barrel to Shane’s face. “We’re waiting here for the police. I don’t know you. Or trust you.”

“Can’t blame you.” This was a bad idea, but he couldn’t think of another way to keep her safe.

Or maybe he didn’t want another way.

He took another step, putting her within touching distance. At this point, he didn’t trust anyone. His head ached. Something in his gut turned. Even if he was the bad guy, he needed to keep her safe. That had to make him somewhat good, right?

He shook his head. Probably not. With that realization, he gave himself over to the inevitable. Nothing would make him desert her this time. “We’re leaving, Josie. Come easy or hard, but we’re going.”

Her arms trembled. “Please don’t make me shoot you.”

“I won’t.” His hand snaked out, smacking the gun from her grasp. The weapon slammed against the wall. Sirens bellowed in the distance. Leaping forward, he grabbed her by the arms and ducked a shoulder, rising when she flopped over.

“Hey!” she yelped, kicking him in the stomach.

Pain echoed in his gut. He wrapped an arm around her thighs, turned, and ran into the night. She struggled, yet he maneuvered between trees and branches. He stopped at his makeshift bed and grabbed the sleeping bag with one hand, not missing a step.

Her entire body shifted as she sucked in air, letting out a high-pitched bellow that silenced the forest.

Damn it all to hell. He swung her around and pressed her against a tree, his hand covering her mouth. Blue eyes shot furious darts, so he leaned in close. “One chance, angel.” Vehicles screeched to a loud stop back at the house. She bit his palm. “Josie.” He pressed harder against her face. He’d kill himself if he hurt her. “We need to get out of here,” he whispered as fury rose within him. “You can work with me, or I’ll take you unconscious. But either way, we’re going.” He let every ounce of determination and threat leak into his eyes.

Her knee shot toward his testicles. Oh no, not this time. He slid his leg between hers, immobilizing her. If she needed a contest of strength to obey him, she’d get it. His jean-clad thigh pressed against her light panties. “You sure you want to fight me?” A frown narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you’ll knock me out.”

His heart stilled. Not what he’d been expecting. Did that mean she trusted him? On some level? “You’re wrong.” He flexed his fingers. “To get you away from danger, to get you to safety, I’ll do whatever I need to do.” His fought to keep his expression blank.

She smiled. “Do it, then.” Air whooshed into her lungs, and she opened her mouth to scream.

His lips crushed hers. He captured her yell in his throat, driving the air back down hers. Then his tongue took hers, mastering it, taking what he wanted. Desire lit him on fire. His cock leapt to life, fighting against his zipper to get loose. To get in her. Now.

He was going to have her. Taste her, tame her, feel her shatter in his arms. Taking the kiss deeper, he explored, seeking answers and relief. Relief from this primal need for one small woman who looked like an angel and turned him into a devil. Deep down, if he took her, no matter what, good guy or bad guy, he knew he’d never let her go. Suddenly, he no longer cared.

Shouts echoed back at the house, yanking him back to reality. Danger surrounded them.

He lifted his head. “We don’t have time for this.” One finger slid into a tiny hole in her shirt and he tugged. Fabric ripped.

She frowned. “Hey—”

A strip of the cotton ripped free, and he flipped her around, tying her wrists together.

Her small body jumped around. She shot a kick to his knee. He grabbed another strip of shirt to shove between her teeth, tying the jagged material behind her head. Her eyes widened with surprise and then pure, raw fury.

He dipped and tossed her over his shoulder. She kicked out. A muffled “oof” escaped him. The woman had grit. She kicked again, and he turned his head, sinking his teeth into her thigh. She tasted like strawberries. “Knock it off.” He secured his arm across her legs, ensuring no more kicks.

The gag softened her response, but rage echoed in the low tone.

Grabbing his sleeping bag, he jogged into the forest toward the old logging road. A truck he’d stolen earlier in the day waited.

She continued to struggle, muffled curses leaking from behind the gag. Possibly a death threat or two.

Women. Tough to deal with. A memory filtered across his conscious. A woman’s voice. When dealing with women, undercover or otherwise, seduction was a valid technique. To gain information, to gain trust. Seduction? Shane had the uneasy feeling he’d been trained in more than hand-to-hand combat.

His arm loosened at the thought. Had he used those skills on his wife? Was she just a job to whoever he used to be? Josie aimed a hard kick to his lower belly.

Pain slammed through his abdomen. Maybe he should’ve knocked her out.

* * *

“You’re going to wish you’d knocked me out.” Josie flopped on the bed like a fish, struggling to get out of the sleeping bag. The bastard had left her hands tied and zipped her into the bag, buckling her in the seat of a large Ford for the two-hour drive. To this dive of a motel three counties over.

She kicked off the bag, not caring that her bare legs showed. “You ripped my shirt.”

Shane reached into a duffel bag and tossed one at her head. “You may borrow mine.” He pivoted, his gaze dropping to her legs, his nostrils flaring. The tension in the room rose. Two steps and he stood at the bed, turning her and quickly untying her hands before flipping her back around. “Here’s the deal. You behave. No screaming, no running, and you’ll stay untied and ungagged.” He leaned into her, both hands on the gaudy comforter on either side of her legs.

Heat cascaded off him to warm her. The room was small and intimate, and the scent of male tempted her senses. The man had carried her so easily, taking control without a thought. She breathed out, and his gaze dropped to her breasts. “Not a chance, Shane.” Her voice emerged huskier than she’d hoped. “You can’t keep me here.”

He leaned farther into her space. “Fuck with me, angel, and you’ll regret it.”

The warmth in his eyes had fled. Hard lines cut into his rugged face while a muscle pounded in his jaw. Maybe the last kick to his stomach had truly pissed him off. A shiver shook her shoulders. She didn’t know him like this. For the very first time, she wondered if she wanted to know the real Shane. “Just let me go.”

“No.” He straightened and back away. “Whatever’s going on is my fault. I brought them here… right to you.” His broad hand grabbed a gun from the second bed, and he checked the clip. “Tonight, at Marsh’s, they were coming for you. Not me, you.”

“Why?” She hated that her voice trembled.

Shane shrugged. “To get to me, I assume.” He pierced her with a hard gray gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You may not trust me, but you can trust that. You’re safe.”

Safe? She was alone in a freaking motel room with a killer who’d broken her heart. How safe could that be? Even assuming he wouldn’t kill her, which frankly, she believed he wouldn’t, how could she survive staying with him? Not a chance in hell he wouldn’t kiss her again. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d stop him. So much fire between them.

Passion was a dangerous drug.

She knew it firsthand.

She’d spent two solid years in withdrawal.

He gestured toward the bed. “Get some sleep. We move again at dawn.”

“No. You had pictures of me—from years ago.” Anger beat so much stronger through her than fear. “You said you’d give me an explanation.”

He shook his head. “I’m still figuring this out. Think logically, Josie.”

Logically? The man was going to get kicked in the head again. Even so, she needed a good explanation for the pictures. Living with fear took too much of a toll. The fear had to go. Could she be any dumber? “What do you mean?”