Sinful Southern Hero: 2 (21 page)

Lucy was flipped to her back as the front door crashed open.
She imagined she heard Dalton’s voice calling her name. She didn’t turn her
head to look. No, her gaze was locked on Ross and the gun he’d reclaimed from
his back pocket and once again had leveled on her. He didn’t seem to notice the
shouting or bodies crowding into the room, reaffirming her idea she was
hallucinating the whole event.

This is it. Ross is going to kill me. And just when I
started wanting to really live…

In what seemed like minutes, though was probably closer to
fractions of a second, a huge black-booted foot connected with the side of
Ross’ head the same instant a flash of light and deafening boom exploded from
the gun in his hand. Pain unlike anything she’d ever felt unleashed a torrent
of agony inside Lucy’s chest.

Again, she imagined she heard Dalton’s voice calling her
name. For one wonderful moment, she even saw a blurry vision of his face
staring down at her. The image of Dalton, no matter how fuzzy and improbable,
gave her hope as she slipped into a world of merciful unconsciousness.

* * * * *

As Dalton cradled Lucy’s limp body in his arms, he didn’t
care that he hadn’t been the one to smash his boot into Ross’ face. He should
have been pissed that the pleasure had been stolen from him by one of Dez’s
biker buddies but Lucy’s back was dripping a warm flow of blood, coating his
arms and filling the air with an awful iron scent. Terror the likes of which
he’d never known encompassed Dalton and his vision shrank to a pinpoint,
spotlighting the fluttering pulse on Lucy’s neck.

Dez’s work boots came into view beside Lucy’s head. Dalton
didn’t look up as he listened to his friend giving the address to someone.

“The subject is incapacitated at the moment. Victim… Fuck,
she’s in a bad way. Shot in the shoulder, through and through, extreme blood
loss.” Dez’s voice paused. “No, I will not remain on the fucking line. Just get
an ambulance here!”

Dalton didn’t want to move Lucy any more than he already had
by lifting her into his arms, so he stayed there crouched awkwardly with her
cradled against him. “Breathe, darlin’. Just keep breathing. You’re gonna be
fine. I’m gonna fix this.”

Her chest rose with fast, shallow breaths which tapered off
until they were no longer coming fast. A too-short gasp of air followed by a
long period of absolute stillness.

Dalton tore his gaze away from Lucy long enough to pin Dez
with his anguished, tear-filled eyes. “What do I do? I can’t lose her. Where’s
the fucking ambulance?”

Dez’s face was etched into a mask of determination. He
stared at Lucy as if calculating options before speaking with a voice filled by
urgency. “Lay her down flat. I know you don’t want to let her go but you have
to lay her down. When she stops breathing we’ll have to breathe for her. Do it
now, Dalton.”

Dalton reluctantly eased Lucy out of his arms until she lay
flat on the bare wooden floor. “
When
she stops breathing?”

Dez nodded, never looking up from where his gaze was
fastened to the brief rise-and-fall movement of Lucy’s chest. Though Dalton’s
internal focus remained on Lucy, he quickly took stock of the events unfolding
around them.

Ross was on his belly, unconscious, while the tiny Annie
perched on his back with that knife of hers held point down against his spine.
A bead of blood welled where the tip of the knife pierced his skin. Absently,
Dalton imagined the strange, mute woman knew exactly how to slip that small
knife between the vertebrae of his spine if the man so much as twitched.

Lucy still drew gasping breaths but Dez had moved to tilt
her head and chin, ready to administer the life-breaths Dalton wasn’t trained
to give. He vowed to take a CPR class the minute Lucy was well again. He
gathered her hand in his, the coolness of her skin despite the heat inside the
house sending a shiver through him.

His eyes strayed back to Ross. The man’s head was turned
toward them, as if still seeking out Lucy. A perfect boot print covered the
exposed side of his face, the eye and cheek already starting to swell. The man
who had put that print on his face now had his foot perched on the back of
Ross’ neck, as if crazy Annie and her knife weren’t enough to contain him.

The third of Dez’s four biker buddies paced the room after
completing his exploration of the property, making sure no surprises awaited
them. The fourth guy had gone out to the end of the long gravel drive to flag
down the ambulance.

“Here we go,” Dez whispered, making Dalton’s heart stutter.

Dalton had never felt as helpless as when he watched Dez
seal his mouth around Lucy’s pale lips and give her the first of many rescue
breaths.

His focus was so intent on Lucy, he didn’t realize the
ambulance had arrived until she was loaded onto a stretcher and her limp hand
was pulled from his bloody grip. Dez held him back when he would have followed
the paramedics as they loaded her into the squad, their movements hurried as
they shouted stats and orders back and forth.

“I’ll drive you to the hospital.” When Dalton didn’t answer,
Dez gave his shoulders a shove. “Snap out of it! Let’s go.” Dalton wasn’t
listening. The ambulance doors had closed, obscuring his view of Lucy, when a
new voice joined the others now gathered in front of the incomplete house.

“Fuck you! Do you know who I am? What’s your name? I’ll have
your badge! You don’t know who you’re messing with! I want to press charges
against all these people. They attacked me!” Ross’ words were slurred,
distorted by the swelling.

Rage fired through Dalton when he saw Ross being led through
the front door by two men in suits who exuded more authority than the uniformed
officers scattered about the scene. Not caring about the repercussions, Dalton
stalked toward the man who had tried to take Lucy from him, the man who had
made her life a living hell.

The uniformed officers shouted, ordering him to stop his
approach, but the suited men simply glanced at each other. They each gave a
short nod and moved a half step to the side when Dalton reached them, his arm
already cocked back, his hand in a clenched fist.

“What the fuck do you think—“

Dalton slammed his fist into Ross’ mouth, cutting off the
vile man’s words. Ross’ head snapped backward and his body lurched to follow.
As if nothing had happened, the two suited men each grabbed an elbow and
dragged Ross out and around Dalton to an unmarked police car. Ross stumbled
along, spitting blood and cursing, but the suits never looked back.

The uniformed officers looked between the suits and Dalton
with confusion clear on their faces. Apparently the officers were deferring
judgment to the suits. Before they could change their minds and decide to
arrest him, Dalton strode to his truck and climbed in the passenger seat.

“Damn, dude, that’s gonna need a few stitches,” Dez swore as
he took the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“Like I give a shit if that asshole needs stitches,” Dalton
growled.

“Not him, you. His teeth cut the hell out of your hand.” Dez
nodded toward Dalton’s hand.

Dalton gave his wounded hand a dispassionate look. All he
saw was Lucy’s blood. He felt nothing but the pain of seeing her hurt and the
worry she wouldn’t survive. “Dez?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Whatever, man. You’re welcome. I just hope she makes it.”

“She has to. Now, shut the fuck up and drive.”

One Year Later

“What do you think?”

Dalton studied his wife as she stood inside Abigail’s
studio, bare from the waist up, examining her latest piece of ink. “I think I
don’t like seeing my woman in pain. I don’t know why you insist on getting this
shit done or why you have to drag me along,” he grumped, only half serious.

Lucy’s plump lips pursed into a sexy pout before opening to
release a laugh, the sound of which gave Dalton both a sense of pride and a
hard-on. Damn he loved making her laugh.

“Don’t give me that shit, Dalton. You
demand
to come
with me and sit through entire sessions. No one makes you.”

Abigail excused herself, shutting the door behind her as she
left and leaving the two of them alone.

Dalton reached for Lucy’s left hand and tugged her forward
until she stood between his spread knees. He ran his thumb over the simple band
on her ring finger and tilted his head to study her new artwork.

A plume of peacock feathers began at her hip and flowed
diagonally across her torso, ending on the opposite shoulder. He restrained
himself from tweaking her pert nipples which were temptingly close to his face,
instead concentrating on the colorful ink.

“Abbey did an amazing job, darlin’.” And she had. The
circular scars speckled over Lucy’s torso from cigarette burns Ross had
inflicted upon her were camouflaged by the design, worked into the art so the
white circles appeared to be the eyes on the tip of each feather. The largest
feather used the scar left over from the gunshot wound to Lucy’s shoulder,
drawing attention to the damaged flesh and turning it into something beautiful
at the same time.

Dalton helped Lucy into a loose cotton shirt.

“I hate not wearing a bra.”

He grinned at Lucy’s complaint while shoving a cup of her
lacy bra into his back pocket so half of it swung free like a victory flag. No
one would see his wife’s lovely round breasts swaying beneath the thin fabric
of her t-shirt as they walked to his truck, he’d make sure of that. Those
babies were for his enjoyment alone, and he intended to devise a creative
solution for their lovemaking that would allow him to enjoy her lush body until
the new tattoo fully healed.

Dalton tugged Lucy out the door by her hand, loving the feel
of her soft fingers entwined with his own rougher ones. “Come on, darlin’.
Let’s go home.”

S.J. Drum writes Erotic Romance, Urban Fantasy and, under
the pen name Clara LaVeaux, Contemporary Women’s Fiction.

S.J. has a terribly expensive and useless BA in Studio Arts
with a minor in Psychology. She has a slight obsession with tattoos and
piercings and would probably be covered in them if not for the worry the sight
might embarrass her children.

Formerly a zookeeper and veterinary assistant, she now lives
with her husband and two small children. When she’s not changing diapers or
writing, she enjoys scuba diving, horseback riding, and has been known to make
an elephant do a headstand.

S.J. welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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Sinful
Southern Ink

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Sinful Southern Hero

ISBN 9781419948121

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Sinful Southern Hero Copyright © 2013 S.J. Drum

Edited by Whitney Mae

Cover design and photography by Syneca

Model(s): Nick and Shannon

Electronic book publication November 2013

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