Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Maddie

The groaning only grows louder.

I know the sound of a wounded soul and this one has all the markers. “Hello?” I softly whisper.

The night is so dark, I have no idea what or who I’m going to find. I can’t even see the outlines of large shapes.

“Shit,” I hear a deep male voice grind out. “That fucking hurt.”

“What hurts?” I ask, inching closer. I reach out a hand, the feel of light wool sliding under my fingers.

Suit? If it is, it’s expensive.

“Chest.” he reaches for my hand, strong fingers grabbing mine as pulls my hand toward his body and places it on his torso.

I don’t feel any blood and his body feels padded under my hand. Spreading my fingers out, I search for a wound and only manage to find a hole in his shirt. Definitely a dress shirt. What’s a man in a suit doing outside my house on the ground?

Placing my finger lightly over the hole in his clothing, I press down. Cool metal touches my skin. “What’s this?”

His fingers replace mine and the air rushes out of his lungs. “Bulletproof vest.”

I draw in a quick breath because the details are stitching together. This man was shot while wearing a bulletproof vest, and Vigo and Vincent… “Who shot you?”

He groans. “Can we check my head first? It hurts like hell.”

I run my hand up his chest, over the strong cords of his neck and into his hair. He’s half sitting, propped against the brick wall that fences in my yard and I only need to search the softly curled strands of hair for a moment to find a giant lump forming on the back of his head. I gasp even as he winces away, in obvious pain.

“My friend could look at you,” I say as I slowly reach back into his hair to explore further. “Lucia has medical training.”

“Lucia?” he asks, a bitter note of cold lacing his voice. “I don’t think so.”

I nip at my lip, not sure what to do. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No.”

“The police?” But I already know the answer and it was a potentially dangerous question to ask. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest. He was prepared to be shot, which means he…

“No police.”

I sit down on the pavement, my hand still threaded in his hair. I thought Vigo seemed like a gangster but now I’m pretty sure that he actually is one. What does that make this man? “You want me to just leave you here?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “For all I know, the Vendettis are coming back.”

The proof that it was my date and his brother who did the shooting sits like a dead weight in my stomach. “What then?”

“We need to go inside.”

My brows lift at the absurdity. “You want me to bring you into my house?”

He lets out a long breath of air. “Did you see what happened?”

“No,” which is the truth, but I’m beginning to understand his line of questioning.

“Hear it?”

“I…”

He reaches for my hand. “What’s your name?”

“Maddie,” I whisper, not sure I should give more detail than that.

“You live here?” he asks.

“I do.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Did I hear birds in your yard?”

My lips part as I try to marry that question with all events of the evening. My birds seem of no consequence… “I run a sanctuary.” A topic that has been increasingly notable of late.

I’ve recently had several offers on the property. Kincaid Enterprises alone has made me three offers in the last three weeks. Not that I’d ever sell.

“Maddie, can we please go inside? I can assure you, that I am no danger to you, but I may be a great help. Vigo and Vincent are not men to trifle with.”

He’s not wrong.

I nip at my lip for another second, though. I’ve already figured out that I never want to see Vigo again. The question now is… is the man in front of me more or less dangerous than the one I was just with?

Why did I come out here? I shake my head, listening to him moan, how could I not?

Then again, some people would have just called 911.

But… I hear him try to push up and then slump back down, I sigh, reaching for his hand again. “Let me help you.”

His arm slides around my shoulders as I bend down, and using every ounce of my strength, I get him up on his feet.

Slowly, we shuffle toward my door.

I see the vague outline of a car parked in front of my house. “Whose car is that?”

“My cousin’s,” he grits out.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, glancing back. “He’s gone. I blacked out for a second and when I came to…”

My heart stops in my chest because…there were two pops and two people. I remember the sound of the trunk and that Kate was in the back of the car still.

Gasping, my arm around his middle tightens.

“What’s wrong?”

“Vincent’s date was in the car,” I whisper.

“Girlfriend?”

“No. Just a date like me. She said she went for the dinner. She?—”

“Maddie.”

This time, my name in his deep baritone sends a skitter of nerves shivering through me. It’s a little fear but it’s the good kind of fear. Like the delicious and a little dark thrill of excitement. “Yes?”

“We really should get inside.”

“Right,” I start toward the door again, feeling for the railing to my front steps. If only there was some moonlight.

The hard length of him is leaning heavily into me as I inch forward, reaching out my hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“My eyes aren’t so good,” I answer, hating to admit the truth. Which is weird. I stopped being so insecure about my impairment a long time ago. “And it’s really dark.”

There is a pause, it’s one I’m used to, one I’ve heard many times before, when a person recalibrates what they think about you. Feel.

My heart stutters in my chest.

What happens next is as varied as people. Some talk excessively, some misinform me of everything they know about my condition. Some retreat quickly, and others make excuses.

I hold my breath as I wait to learn how he’ll treat me. For some reason, his reaction matters more than usual. “I’ve got the rail,” he answers as he swings us around. “Step is right in front of you.”

“Thank you,” I answer, my voice a bit breathless as I nearly stumble up the first step. But after that one, I’m good. The familiar pattern of the stairs helps me help him, and we’re inside in the next minute, the door closing behind me.

I hold his hand to lower him to the couch, then spin back, quickly locking the door.

Did I just lock the bad guy out or in?

I turn back to my…erm…guest. I flick on the lights to at least see the broad outline of him. He’s spread out on the couch, long legs before him, broad shoulders taking up one whole end of the sofa.

His hair is dark, I don’t know the shade, but the cut of his jaw is ridiculously perfect. Like model perfect.

I wet my lips, suddenly nervous. Looking at him now, I’ve got no idea what happens next. I twist my hands together, wondering if I’ve made a giant mistake.

I can hear my grandmother’s voice. “ Always rushing into save something,” she’d say.

Isn’t helping good, Gran?

“It is if you use your head. You’ve got so much heart, Maddie, sometimes it overrides your sense.”

I shudder to think of what she’d say. Oh Grandma, I wish you were here.

I look up at the ceiling, knowing my tenant is above should I need help. Then again, she’s deaf so how would she know I was in danger…

The man shifts and starts checking his pockets. Real fear skitters through me. “What are you looking for?”

“My phone,” he rumbles. “We need help and…” He checks the last pocket. “Fuck.”

“Should I go back outside and look?” I’m half thinking I should just leave. I know this is my house, but I’ve invited a strange man in, and my preservation instincts are kicking in.

I could always call for help. Where is my phone?

“No,” he answers, his voice sharp. “If Vigo or Vincent come back, I wouldn’t want you out there.”

A little of my fear recedes at the way he is thinking of my protection too. Vincent does seem completely crazy. “Okay.”

He lets out a long breath. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Dizziness? Nausea?” I ask, moving a little closer, my hands clasped in front of me.

I’m still in that dress from my date, my hair spilling over one shoulder as I reach down to feel his head.

“Neither. Just a headache from where I cracked my head.”

I nod, sitting next to him, tucking my hands under my legs. “So what do we do next?”

He rubs his head. “I just need to think for a second. I’m usually better at this but…”

But then, the sound of a distant car engine fills my ears. “Lights,” I say, speaking clearly as all the lights dim at once.

The car grows louder and he touches my arm. “Smart.”

I nod in his direction and then realize he probably can’t see me either. “Benefit of not seeing so well. I’ve trained my ears and voice-activated most of the house.”

His fingers skim down my arm, reminding me he’s there, as the car revs up right in front of my house and then stops just in front. It sounds like Vincent’s car, the one I just left.

“What should we do?”

But he’s already pulling me to standing. Navigating around the couch, he crouches, tugging my hand with his. “We hide.”