From a wound somewhere on his head, blood streaking his face, staining his skin and unshaven jaw. A macabre sight that captivated me, but he did not seem to notice the injury as he moved through the cramped building, sweeping every corner with an efficiency I had not asked of him.
My men had already cleared the scene. There was no one left to kill?—
Ranger spun around. His gaze had been fierce all night, but it blazed now, violence spilling from every limb as he sprang forward in the small space, the pipe he’d chosen as a weapon lifted to bear.
He was fast, his tall frame unimpeded by the lean, wiry muscle that clung to his bones. The men around me—mymen—were too slow to catch him as he charged me, the pipe already high enough to bring down on my skull if I did not react with a lethal strike of my own.
Instinct.
Perception.
Those split-second decisions that kept you alive or ended your life. That I was here to face the heady streak of aggression blurring across the room was testament to the fact that I’d always been good at them.
Or lucky.
Regardless, though logic implored me to reach for my gun, my blade, to bunch my fists andfight, I did not move. I held firm. I heldstill, not bracing for impact but for themoment.
Ranger hurtled closer. I smelled sandalwood and brutal fury. I smelled fear, but not his.Not mine. I smelled fresh blood as I ducked and his pipe made contact with a faceless soul behind me.
The man was dead before he hit the ground, Ranger’s aim strong and true. An incursion that lasted less than the time it took for the men around us to realise it was happening.
I rounded on them, furious Russian expletives puncturing the quiet. We were not like the Rebel Kings. With Pavel Sidorov dead, most of our bonds were forged of fear and money, not love. And perhaps it was starting to show.
Ranger stepped away, the outsider in the force I’d brought to bear against the men occupying the port. He lit a cigarette and went back to scouting the building. This time I did not question it. And I believed him when he returned to tell me the site was clear.
By then it was time to move out. The vehicle transporting the dead men rumbled away. I assigned a crew to hold the location. Directed the rest to vehicles and sent them home.
All but one.
Ranger loitered under the damp sky, blood still dripping down his face. It wasn’t a lot, but I was drawn to him all the same. As if I could not take another breath without taking a closer look, my pulse thumping louder than it had the multiple times a man had tried to kill me tonight. “You are okay?”
“I’ll live.” The rain heavied. “Not sure your bodyguards should.”
“I do not have bodyguards.”
He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “That explains how some mope was two seconds from shanking you and no fucker noticed.”
“I noticed.”
Ranger snorted. “No, you didn’t.”
“Perhaps not,” I conceded. “But I would have.”
I had to believe it. The alternative was that Jake had been right about Ranger’s effect on me, and I had not heard my would-be assassin coming because I was fixated on him.
You would have heard him. You’ve survived too much to be caught off guard like that.
True. But I was starting to realise that I had not felt the things I felt when I looked at Ranger at any point in my life, and it was... distracting. It wasdangerous.And I liked it too much to move aside and let him leave. “You are hurt.”
Impatience flared in his midnight gaze. “Is this a thing?”
“Is what a thing?”
“Having every conversation twice. I already told you I’m fucking fine.”
“You can be fine and hurt, no?” I reached for him, ignoring the rain soaking us to the skin, angling his head so I could see the injury better, but in this light it was impossible to see. “You might need stitches.”
“Doubt it.”
