Hell Bent

counted in any statistical sum-up. Adam was a rogue assassin who blew statistics all to hell. But as far as the everyone else was concerned, Osborne’s payment had already been procured, and his file was closed. His disappearance was regarded as a possible first step in direct action against recent associates in a financial partnership.

And such a thing was frowned upon in the Business.

The tables had been turned on Godrick Osborne. If he didn’t show up in another forty-eight hours to straighten some things out, Jack Thane would be handed the man’s folder. And Osborne would become Jack’s next mark.

And so it had become a race, of sorts. Craig hustled to reproduce the cure before Osborne appeared out of nowhere to complete a job that none of his hires could finish. Because of this threat, Jack had placed Beatrice, Clara and Ian under a more thorough watch than had ever been placed on a family before. Cassie and Dylan were with them as well, until Jack could figure out how to approach the mess with the police back in the States. Dylan been missing for a week and a half and his father had died under strange circumstances. Which produced an equation in which the authorities were searching heavily for Dylan Anderson, still seventeen, and technically still a minor.

Annabelle’s name was on the Wanted posters as well. She was closely associated with Max and Dylan Anderson and she, too, had mysteriously gone missing – leaving her apartment fully stocked and furnished.

Should Annabelle and Dylan head back, at that moment, and confront the police, a simple lie would most likely suffice to clear their names of any suspicions: Max had committed suicide and both Annabelle and Dylan needed to get away. Dylan didn’t know any other adults that he wanted to turn to, so Annabelle and he had gone, as close friends who shared the same grief, to someplace far away, where they could clear their heads for a while and mourn. Simple.

But that would expose them to Osborne, and Jack just couldn’t take that chance.

So, Annabelle was here, with Jack, instead. There was a lot the two of them still had to discuss. Annabelle had yet to fully accept that Jack had hidden things, like his fake marriages, from her in the last ten years and the fact that he’d drugged her against her will didn’t help. The truly scary part was that he hadn’t even told her the half of it. What would she say when she learned he’d been having her watched for nearly seven years?

At that very moment, she was in the other room, dressing for Sam’s memorial service and their meeting with a man, who, in Business circles, took care of all wills and testaments when an assassin went down.

Apparently, Jack was Sam’s sole beneficiary. It was almost funny.

“You abuse any of my things, Jack, and I’ll-” Sam had begun, from where he lay in his bed, which had been outfitted with all of the medical equipment he needed to heal. But, Jack had cut off his next words, smiling broadly.

“My things, Sam. You’re dead, remember? So kind of you to leave everything to me, by the way,” he’d teased him as he’d faked a dreamy look and sighed.“ I do believe I’ve now become one of the richest men in the world. Too bad no one can know about it.”

Sam had rolled his eyes and laid back down on the pillows. They both knew that Jack would probably never even make use of a quarter of Sam’s “things,” and if he’d wanted to, he could have done so without inheriting it, anyway.

“How do I look?”

Jack turned at the sound of Annabelle’s voice and stared at the woman who stood across the room from him.

It was as if he were back in that bar again, his eyes falling on her for the first time. His breath was gone, his heart skipped several beats, and he wondered whether he was dreaming.

She stood tall and ethereal, her long hair shimmering in the light from the room behind her and he could smell her shampoo from here. All signs of bruising on her face had faded, leaving her skin smooth and luminescent, but for the tiny line of red that still remained from the shard of brick that had sliced her three days ago.

Her long, white dress was filmy, adhering to her perfect form, yet shifting, becoming iridescent at the slightest movement. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips full and pink and parted ever so slightly.

She was so much more than the sum of her parts that he didn’t imagine there were words in the Oxford dictionary that could describe her beauty at that moment.

He opened his mouth to tell her this, but no immediate sound came out.

She grinned at that and laughed. She may love the sound of a Harley’s engine, but to Jack, the greatest sound in the world would always be that laugh.

“I’ll take that as a good sign,” she said, still smiling broadly. “And you don’t look so shabby yourself.” Her eyes trailed down his body, taking in the double-breasted black suit, black shirt, and black silk tie that were so customary at the loss of a loved one. For some reason, in this Business, the women always wore white to a funeral. He supposed it might have something to do with how backwards the entire affair was in the first place. After all, death was the every-day occurrence for hired guns.

“Are we ready, then?” She asked softly, when he still didn’t say anything.

Jack’s gaze slid, inexorably, from appreciative to hungry in a matter of short seconds. Annabelle’s eyes widened as he strode across the room to stand before her. He loomed over her, his height and powerful presence making her dizzy. In reaction, she tried to take a step back.

He had her pinned up against the wall and out of breath before she had time to blink.

She guessed they were going to be late to Sam’s memorial service.

Jack, for his part, didn’t think Sam would mind.

Chapter Thirty-Six

To Annabelle, it didn’t feel as if they were going to a memorial service. She wasn’t wearing black and she wasn’t sad – and Samuel Price wasn’t dead. That was sort of the clincher. Instead, she felt as if she were going out for a night on the town with Jack Thane. It was something she’d never done before. Not just the two of them, dressed to the hilt. Jack had never taken her on an official date.

And though they were once more on speaking terms and she’d more or less forgiven him for putting her to sleep for the flight to England, the fact of the matter was, there were still a lot of matters left unresolved between them.

The last three days had been extremely full. People had been coming and going, Jack’s most trusted employees secreting his family away and seeing to it that Virginia Meredith and Craig Brandt arrived safely at their own destination. Sam’s immediate medical concerns were addressed with lightning speed and Jack had spent a good deal of time making certain that Sam’s safe house had basically become a satellite hospital of its own.

Information had been sent and delivered on various fronts, giving Jack the heads-up he needed to make certain everything continued to run smoothly and there were no nasty surprises. In the midst of these preparations and situations, Jack had turned to Annabelle, handed her a credit card, and told her to go and buy what she needed to live with him for at least several months.

If she hadn’t been so over-all tired and still a good amount of scared, she may have questioned this request. After all, she was an American, when it came right down to it, and she loved her country. To her, it was like any love affair. There were good times and there were definite bad times, but you stuck with each other through thick and thin because to do anything less would be weak and shortsighted. The United States of America wasn’t built on wishy-washiness. And if it were to remain strong, its people had to be strong too.

But, she had been tired when he’d told her to go shopping and she’d also known that now wasn’t the time to discuss an entirely unforeseeable and uncertain future. So, she’d taken the card and gone to town with it. Her old reservations against using his money had gone out the window. She’d figured, What the hell? He’s loaded – let’s have some fun.

After all, she’d earned it.

Jack had told her about the truth of the shooting in the secret tunnel beneath Buell Hall. And it made her feel… strange. Sort of sick, but sort of proud too. Strong, and weak at the same time.

I’ve killed, she thought to herself. I have pulled my trigger and taken a life. Many lives. And it’s not as if I did it by accident. I certainly aimed first.

It was a humbling thought, and one that would suddenly darken her mood, stealing the colors from around