Page 5 of Stolen By the Hit Man
She looks up at me with eyes as wide as the full moon. “I should really…”
“Hold on,” I say.
My hand automatically reaches out to squeeze her shoulder.
“You do not have to go anywhere with that man,” I repeat.
The rapid rise and fall of her chest tells me she’s considering her options.
Her full lips part to speak, but the man is super heated now, his reddening face contrasting with his crisp blue shirt.
“Jasmyn! I let you ride with me to town so you could help me, not so you could whore yourself out.”
The woman flinches at the word “whore.”
It’s all I can do not to throat punch this shithead.
He’s lucky I’m not in fighting form at the moment. I’m running on two shots of tequila, five shots of espresso, and two hours of sleep. My last job took it out of me. My flight landed at 6 a.m. I’m just trying to stay awake because Grady left a message that he’s coming to see me.
I haven’t seen the man I call Dad in a year, and I’ve spent most of the morning tying up loose ends. Letting my biggest clients know I'm no longer available. Erasing any trace of me off the internet -- including the dark web. Getting a new phone.
Luring Jasmyn away from this idiot is the opposite of tying up loose ends. I am, in fact, creating a huge tangled mess that will no doubt have Grady asking more questions.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe having a strange woman under my protection will distract Grady from nosing around in things he shouldn’t.
Whoa. I’m getting ahead of myself.
I have to think fast and smart.
“You know anything about taking care of newborn kittens?”
Jasmyn’s eyes blink rapidly. “Absolutely.”
I nod. “Great. Let’s go and talk where it’s private.”
I don’t have to raise my voice. I just have to put myself between Jasmyn and that shouting lowlife, and she begins to move toward the door with me.
The husband, of course, follows us out. “Hey!”
But I have Jasmyn buckled in before her supposed husband understands what’s happening.
Once I'm behind the wheel, I do something that’s asking for even more trouble. I reach over the gear shift and take her hand in mine.
“I’m Joaquin. And you’re coming home with me.”
Her mouth gapes. She lets out a half-whispered, “You said something about kittens?”
I nod, knowing there’s no absolute guarantee of kittens, but a strong possibility.
Her hand squeezes back. “Let’s go,” she says, jutting out her chin defiantly.
“Hey!” shouts the husband, banging on the hood of my Blazer. He can do his worst; it’s not like this vehicle hasn’t been roughed up already.
She squeezes my hand tighter as my tires squeal. The engine roars in reverse as we speed from the feed store parking lot.
This isn’t what Grady meant when he begged me to settle down like Jefferson. He promised me an early inheritance and everything.
What Grady doesn’t know is that I don’t need the inheritance. But I do covet his approval. I want him to look at me and tell me that I’ve made him proud. That I chose the right path.
