“Then you’re still going through with it? Walking away…starting new?”
“Yes.” His eyes were sagging closed. His future waited. That perfect spot that he’d picked out in California. Jazz’s husband had even been helping him manage that place for the last few months. Something else I owe Drake for.
One day, he’d pay him back.
“You sure…about the things you’ll be giving up?”
“Undercover assignments…days with drug dealers…thieves…murderers?” He exhaled. “I’m sure.”
“Then I’ll put the paperwork through,” Victor told him, “and Saxon Black will be no more.” He rose then, and headed for the door. But then he hesitated. “You haven’t asked about her.”
He fought to keep his eyes open a few seconds more.
“She was giving up her life for you…you know that, right, man?” Victor looked back at him. “You took two bullets while you were protecting her, and she ran out to face Gary, giving herself up, for you.”
He knew exactly what Elizabeth had done. He would never forget it. Or her.
It’s not possible to forget her.
“You haven’t asked about her,” Victor said again. “Why the hell not?”
He swallowed. His throat ached. Had they shoved a tube down it? The docs were always so eager to do that. “Why ask…” Saxon muttered. “For what you can’t have?”
Elizabeth deserved someone a whole lot better than he was. Someone who wasn’t so comfortable with death. Someone who didn’t have to be talked down from killing a man.
Someone who wasn’t surprised when he heard the sound of his own, real laughter.
“Others will come after her.”
The machines around him beeped—fast and hard.
“I mean, if that hit is still on her, don’t you think they’ll come?” Victor pushed. ‘When word leaks about what went down in Miami, others will appear to collect the bounty. Even though Luther Bates is still in prison, we both know his power stretches far beyond those walls. If he wants her dead…”
She will be. Victor didn’t say those words. But then, he didn’t have to voice them. Saxon knew the score. He knew how men like Luther worked.
Saxon’s hands fisted. The machines near him—and their annoying beeping—seemed to be growing louder. “Then you have to…make Luther cancel the hit.”
Victor stared back at him. “And if he doesn’t? You know there’s only one option I can give her.”
A new name. A new life. Somewhere else. Witness Protection—it was the option that Victor had offered to Jazz when her life had been on the line.
“Then she’s gone,” Victor told him quietly. “For good. You going to be okay with that?”
No, he wasn’t okay with that. He wasn’t okay with anything about this tangled hell. He’d walked into the back room of The Blade and gotten caught by a pair of frightened green eyes. Desperate eyes.
“I’ll give you forty-eight hours.” Victor inclined his head toward Saxon. “Then there will be nothing I can do for you.” He opened the door and left.
Saxon’s eyes closed. Elizabeth. Talk about a twisted fate. He’d spent years in hell, and, days before he’d gotten out of his undercover business, he’d been offered a visit to heaven.
And all he’d had to do…was nearly die for that pleasure.
It was totally f**king worth it.
***
A soft hand brushed over his cheek, pulling Saxon from the darkness of sleep.
“Oh, Saxon,” a low, feminine voice sighed his name, “what have you done to yourself this time?”
The voice and the touch were familiar. So when his eyes opened, he had a smile on his lips because he didn’t want Jasmine to worry about him.
She stood beside his bed, and she wasn’t alone. The shark-in-a-suit that was her new husband—Drake Archer—waited at her side.
“You got here fast,” Saxon said, the words a little too gruff.
“That’s the benefit of having a private jet.” Jasmine—hell, to him she would always just be Jazz—smiled at him. “I’m a long way from those streets where we met.”
But they hadn’t technically met on the streets. They’d met in a blood-stained boxing ring. In fights that weren’t sanctioned anywhere. He and Victor had been facing off. They’d beat each other to bloody pulps—all to earn a little cash. For food. For survival. When the fight had ended, everyone else had left, everyone but Jazz. She’d patched them up.
They’d become family.
Saxon’s gaze slid toward Drake. As usual, the guy was watching him with a wary stare and keeping his hand on Jazz. After all the shit that had went down in their relationship, it wasn’t surprising that Drake was still afraid Jazz might slip right through his fingers and vanish.
The way Elizabeth is going to do.
She edged ever closer to him. “I’m not supposed to get a call from Victor, telling me that you’re fighting for your life.”
He tried to sit up. The damn stitches were pulling. “Vic panicked. I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t. If you were fine, then you wouldn’t be in that bed. The doctors wouldn’t have spent hours stitching you back up.”
He caught her hand. He’d always wanted to protect Jazz, even from the first moment they’d met. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to guard her, not like he wanted. She’d worked undercover for Victor, too, and on her last case, she’d been hurt. Right in front of me. Whenever he remembered that moment, fury tore through him. And he wanted to kill the bastard who’d put his hand on her.
He knew that Jazz’s husband felt the same way. Drake might look like a fancy suit, but the guy had some real killer instincts. He’d proved that, again and again.
It’s why I like the guy. Why I told Vic to back the hell off and let Jazz be happy with him.
“What happened? Vic would only say that a mission went bad.”
Very bad. “We had a traitor in our midst. He came after me and Vic and the…the woman I was protecting.”
Jasmine’s brown eyes showed her worry. “Is he still a threat?”
“According to Vic, he’s here in the hospital, hooked up to more machines than I am.”
Drake whistled. “And I’m guessing you’re the reason he’s that way.”