Page 11 of The Vigilante's Lover
My other leg is in the air, lifted by an arm.
An arm in a slick pale gray suit.
A suit connected to a man with a scruffy beard and dark, impenetrable eyes.
“Good evening,” says a deep voice.
Oh, God. Who is it?
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.
My nightgown is riding up, exposing my leg. The man tucks myankle on his shoulder.
I begin to hyperventilate, my chest heaving. This isn’t happening. Not in my town. Not to me. It’s a dream. A bad dream.
I try to look at the man, to see inside those hooded eyes.
He waits, patiently, for me to come fully awake.
It’s not a dream. Men in fancy suits don’t wait for you to wake up in dreams.
“Who…are…you?” I finally ask.
“I think you know who I am.” He reaches down for the sheaf of letters and flings them across my body.
“Jax?”
“The one and only.”
“But you’re in prison.” My eyes dart to my body, the rope, the white pages, and his lean body in the silk suit.
His grin spreads wide.
“Not anymore.”
7: Jax
I hold fast to the woman’s ankle. What sort of spy is this? Vigilante? Counterintelligence? She isn’t trained like any operative I’ve ever seen.
Except one.
Jovana.
My anger burns hot at the thought of it.
Her honey-brown hair splays across a white pillow. Her terror is palpable. So real. Does she have some sort of mood enhancement capability? Her fright prickles my protective urges, and I have to stuff it down to maintain control.
Damn this vexation. I was at the highest pinnacle of the syndicate before Jovana. I’m not aware of this level of training. Now I’m out of the loop. Susceptible.
Her breaths are rapid and short. She seems on the verge of hyperventilating.
So convincing. Damn it.
“Tell me who you work for,” I bark at her.
Her eyes squeeze shut. “I don’t work,” she says, her voice raspy. “I was just watching out for my aunt.”
“Who is your aunt?”
