Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

“Make sure the guards are in place,” Trace directed. Because he wouldn’t be taking any chances.

“They’re ready and waiting.”

Good. Trace ended the call. He tossed his phone onto the hammock near the edge of the balcony, then he hurried down the wooden steps that would take him to the beach and to her.

She didn’t turn at his approach. Trace wasn’t even sure that Skye could hear him, not over the rough pounding of the surf.

Her long, dark hair trailed over her back. Her hands were lifted up, as if she’d touch the waves. Her body was delicate, lithe, a true dancer’s body, but she’d become too fragile since her abduction.

“Skye.”

She didn’t look back.

He followed her into the surf, not caring that his jeans got soaked, but he did say, “Baby, you’re getting your robe wet, you—”

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

The moonlight fell on her face. Her high cheekbones. The gentle curve of her jaw. The straight line of her nose.

Her fuck-me lips.

The woman had a mouth that always made him think of sin. A mouth that made him need.

Her stare held his. It was too dark for him to see the green color of her eyes or to read any emotion in her gaze.

“We’re going home, aren’t we?” Skye asked.

Home. Back to Chicago. He nodded.

“Then let’s go out in style,” she said, and she slipped off the robe.

“Skye—”

She tossed the robe toward him. He caught it, his hands flying up in a reflexive action.

Skye’s laughter teased his ears. He loved that sound. Happy. Free. She hadn’t sounded that way in so long.

His fingers fisted in the robe.

Naked now, Skye dove into the waves.

He tossed the robe onto the beach behind him.

“Come and get me…” Her words taunted him when she broke through the surface of the water.

That was exactly what he planned to do.

Trace stalked into the water.

She won’t break.

Her laughter reached him once more, banishing the chill that had crept over him when he’d awoken to the sound of her screams.

Skye was stronger than most people realized.

Her arms reached for him.

He held her tight and knew that he couldn’t let her go.

***

Ben Sharpe hunched his shoulders as he turned and hurried into the alley.

He knew he was being followed. He’d known for a while now.

Death was coming. Stalking him with slow, certain steps.

He had a debt to repay before he died. His father had always taught him that a man had to pay his debts.

One way or another.

He owed Trace Weston. He’d pay him.

Warn him.

The faintest shuffle of a footstep reached Ben’s ears. His gaze flew to the mouth of the alley.

Death had been after him for years now.

After him. After Trace.

You could only run for so long.

The faint shuffle came again.

Before the past catches you…

His fingers curled around the knife that he always kept close. Death wasn’t going to have an easy time taking him.

He planned to fight for every moment that he had left.

And if he had to, he’d kill to keep living.

He knew how to kill. He was good at it.