Why? Because on top of the time needed to heal, memories of the event itself had all but been erased. The event was hazy. A jogger passing by, but I’d caught a quick look at his features.
Only I couldn’t remember them.
Because the fucker could easily crawl up on me again and I wouldn’t know it.
Even here in this goddamn small town.
The early morning light had cast rays of pastel across the horizon, the rising sun creating a magical glow over the massive forest of trees. While the view was spectacular from every window on the back of the house, what I appreciated about the property were the trees. The house had been placed in a carved-out area of the property with enough grass and landscaping to add beauty to the property while allowing for full privacy.
The closest house was more than a mile away. My father had chosen well, the setting, including the mostly hidden driveway, preventing tourists or unwanted visitors from just stopping by. That didn’t mean the area wasn’t perfect for someone to lie in wait for the opportunity to strike. While I knew Alexander had locked down any reference to the location of the house, I would remain on high alert.
As early as today, my presence in New Orleans would be missed, questions asked. Why did it feel as if I was a sitting duck? Fuck this shit. I wasn’t the kind of man to wait patiently for anyone.
A slight laugh bubbled to the surface, thinking about the stunning woman huddled under the covers of my bed. The taste of her lingered in my mouth, sweet and succulent. Even now, my cock ached as continued filthy thoughts rolled through my mind. Somehow, in one night, Fleur had managed to awaken the beast.
I took a gulp of coffee, offering a moment of chastisement for daring to enter into even a single night of passion. It had been reckless of me, careless to a point that I’d need to end it right now. I shook my head, wishing the gorgeous view would offer me a clear head. But it couldn’t. At this point, I wasn’t certain if anything could.
After taking the last swallow, I turned my attention to the stack of wood that still needed to be chopped into smaller pieces. Maybe my intention on handling the chore myself was because Fleur had easily noted that I was the kind of man who paid for things to be done. That hadn’t always been the case. My father had insisted his children learn basic skills including using a hammer and replacing a tire.
Fuck. Now I sounded like some whiny ass kid. My goal was to find the asshole and bring my own form of justice to the bastard. More important, I needed to expose his intentions. Whoever had issued the assassination order was a direct threat to our entire family.
As much as I hated to admit it, the Barishnikoff Bratva had just as many enemies as the Prince family. If setting them up as the people responsible for the assassination attempt meant we’d mow them down like the mongrels they were, we’d be doing the work of eliminating the opposition for the real culprit. Which was why prudent decisions on how to handle the situation were vital.
That didn’t mean I had to like the idea.
The anger continuing to furrow inside of me, I struggled through the snow, slamming the mug down on the oversized log someone had placed on end like a table. The maul was leaning against the large piece of oak, the huge chunks of firewood tossed in a haphazard pile.
Maybe I wasn’t the best person for the mechanics, but I refused to hire anyone else to do such a menial task.
Besides, getting Bart to the house would take some time and just before Fleur had fallen asleep, she’d mentioned that the house was frigid. Nothing a massive roaring fire couldn’t cure.
I tossed the cane aside, grabbing the maul and a piece of wood. I’d seen my father do this once or twice. How the fuck hard could it be? With a hard swing, I managed to drive the dull blade into a piece of wood, although the wrong one.
My patience was already being tested. I tried again, this time with more success, the piece splitting into two. Ragged as hell, but who cared? Maybe I could get the hang of it.
When I set my mind to something, I accomplished the task. That had been in my makeup since I was a kid. Today wasn’t going to be the exception. Piece after piece, I managed an eighty percent success rate. But it was the twenty percent that annoyed the fuck out of me.
Sweat was running down both sides of my face, the exertion entirely different than boxing in a ring or lifting weights. Soon, I yanked off my jacket, pitching it aside before continuing. I had no idea how long I’d been working, but at least the pile was getting bigger.
When I heard a sharp crack, I reacted without thinking, prepared to toss the maul at anyone posing danger.
Fleur’s eyes opened wide, at least at first, but there was no real sense of fear, perhaps amusement. “What are you going to do with that, beat me to death? Wouldn’t your weapon be more effective?”
I’d be goddamned if she didn’t have my gun in her hand, twirling it around her finger as if she knew what she was doing. Immediately, I tossed the maul, taking stiff but long strides toward her. When she playfully pointed the weapon toward my chest, I threw up my hands.
“You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you?”
She glanced around me, pulling her coat tightly against her shivering body. “You did have a weapon in your hand.”
“Guns are dangerous,” I replied, taking a step closer. She wasn’t budging, the hand holding the weapon steady.
“So are mysterious men.”
“I’m not mysterious any longer. Am I?”
Her laugh floated around me, the lilt like a sparrow. “More so than two days ago.”
“Why don’t you hand me the Glock?’
