Dirty Delivery (Bound & Delivered #1)

Chapter Four

Rylan

Savannah passes out in my arms before I can even get her out the front door. I don’t blame her. After everything she’s been through tonight it’s a miracle she held it together as long as she did. Her breathing is steady now and her head rests against my chest like she’s finally found a moment’s peace.

She can’t stay at her house tonight after what just happened, not with him still inside. Not to mention, I broke the lock on her door when I slammed it in. There’s no way she’ll be safe there tonight, not like that.

Carefully, I maneuver her into the van, laying her across the bench seat in the back. I grab a blanket from the emergency kit and drape it over her. She doesn’t stir, completely out cold. Her face is pale; her lashes flutter slightly like she’s dreaming. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“Safe for now,” I murmur to myself, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. I glance back at the house, my jaw tightens as the what-ifs claw at me. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened if I hadn’t driven by tonight. If someone else had found her first—or worse, if no one had found her at all—how long would she have been left helpless and alone? The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine and grips me with unsettling dread. The possibilities play on a loop in my mind, vivid and sickening. Each one fuels the urgency that still courses through my veins.

Time to clean up the mess I’ve made.

The inside of her living room feels heavier than before, like the air itself presses down on me. The guy—whoever the hell he is— still lies sprawled out on the floor where I left him, but now there’s blood, a dark, wet pool beneath his head, stark against the hardwood.

“Shit,” I hiss as I step closer. My boots stick slightly to the floor, the sound pulling my focus to the source. That’s when I see it.

The marble French bulldog statue that was perched on her TV stand now lies on the floor. Its once-pristine surface now smeared with red. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened. When I knocked him out his head must’ve slammed into it. Hard.

Too hard.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” My heart races as I crouch down and check his pulse even though I already know it’s pointless. He’s gone, fully, completely dead. And in Savannah’s house, no less.

Panic bubbles up, but I shove it down. This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this, though it’s usually because of my family’s business, not a woman I... what exactly? Care about? Am drawn to? Can’t stop thinking about? The uncertainty gnaws at me. She’s not just some passing interest, but defining what she means to me feels like stepping into quicksand. All I know is she’s under my skin in a way no one else ever has been and the thought of something going wrong tonight twists my stomach in ways I didn’t think possible. The stakes feel different, higher.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find the name I’m looking for, Sam.

Sam’s been the family’s cleaner for years. If anyone can make this go away, it’s him. He doesn’t live too far from here which makes him the best option for the job. The rising need to make sure Savannah is safe overrides my caution. I need this to stay off the books, so I have no other choice but to trust him. The last thing I need is for Declan to hear about this. He'd never let me live it down. I can already hear the teasing: "Getting soft, are we? Or is she just that special?" Nope, not giving him that ammo.

The phone rings twice before Sam picks up, his voice groggy but quickly bleeding into alertness.

“Rylan, what the hell do you want at this hour?”

“I—I’ve got a problem,” I say, glancing at the body crumpled at my feet, vacant eyes staring back at me. “I need you to handle it off the books.”

Sam’s silent for a beat, then lets out a low whistle. “Off the books, huh? Must be serious.”

“It is,” I snap, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll pay you in cash. Whatever you need. Just get here fast.”

“Alright, alright. Text me the address. I’ll be there in thirty.”

I hang up, and a shaky breath rattles my chest trying to calm the chaos raging through me. Thirty minutes. That’s all the time I have to keep it together.

I look back at the attacker's figure one more time, bile rising in my throat. This guy’s death wasn’t part of the plan but he made his choices. Choices that led to him attacking Savannah. Choices that got him killed.

I grab a towel from the kitchen and start wiping down surfaces. Door handles, countertops—anything he might have touched. I force myself to focus. No panic. No hesitation. This is just another job. Another mess to clean.

By the time Sam arrives, the room looks almost normal again. He steps inside, his sharp eyes immediately taking in the scene. He whistles low, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Damn, man," he mutters, his eyes glinting like he knows more than he's letting on. "You’ve really got yourself in deep this time, haven’t you?"

“Just tell me you can handle it,” I say, my voice tight.

Sam pulls on a pair of gloves while sending me a smirk. “Relax. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

I watch as he starts his work. He’s methodical and efficient. Each motion is controlled with the precision of having done actions such as this countless times. He’s good at what he does—too good. It’s unsettling, but right now I’m grateful for it.

Sam straightens, wiping his hands on a rag. “Alright, you can get out of here, I’ve got the rest of this handled. You owe me, Doyle. Big time.”

“Yah, I know I do,” I reply, pulling out my wallet and handing him the stack of bills inside.

Sam takes the cash with a nod, then glances toward the van where Savannah is still sound asleep. “You’d better take care of her. She’s the kind that’ll haunt you if you don’t.”

I don’t respond, just watch as he loads the body into his van and drives off into the night. The street is quiet again, but the weight in my chest hasn’t lifted.

I glance toward the van, where she’s still dead to the world, blissfully unaware.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper to her, even though she can’t hear me. “No matter what it takes.”