21. Jetmir
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JETMIR
My wife’s warm body slumped against my chest, her head falling into the crook of my neck as though she’d chosen to sleep there instead of being drugged into unconsciousness.
At her feet, Dozer sprawled across the fluffy white blankets with all the concern of a creature who trusted the people around him wholeheartedly. He hadn’t so much as lifted his head.
Of course, it was because I’d had him first. I’d spent weeks getting him used to Anya’s scent, then mine, rewarding him with treats and teaching him not to bark at my presence.
Tonight, that training paid off.
I bent carefully, tucking the French bulldog beneath one arm like a football while making sure he was comfortable. He gave an annoyed grunt and scrunched his nose, then settled against my side as if midnight kidnappings were part of his bedtime routine.
Then with Anya cradled securely against my chest, I slipped out of the bedroom.
The Santos estate was silent.
Early morning light spilled through the tall windows lining the hallway, throwing pale bars across the polished marble floors.
Family portraits stared down from gilded frames as I moved through the house, every footstep measured, every breath controlled.
Somewhere deeper in the mansion, an old grandfather clock ticked steadily toward the hour, each swing of the pendulum sounding louder than the last.
I kept glancing down at Anya.
Her platinum hair spilled over my forearm like strands of white gold, brushing against my wrist every time I shifted her weight. Her lashes rested against plump cheeks that looked almost luminous, her lips parting slightly with each shallow breath.
Christ.
Just looking at her made something inside my chest ache.
She was finally back in my arms, and the terror of losing her again sat like a knife wedged between my ribs.
My fingers found the pulse beneath her jaw. It was strong and steady.
I let out a relieved breath.
Running into someone in this part of the manor at this hour wasn’t likely, but if we were discovered, there would be questions. Questions became witnesses. Witnesses became bodies.
I’d already turned one guard, paying him to disappear right alongside me and Anya. By tonight, he’d be somewhere warm with a new identity and more cash than he’d ever dreamed of making.
Worth every damn cent.
Still, I wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until we were out of Florida.
The back staircase creaked beneath my weight despite my careful steps. Every groan of old wood made my muscles tighten as I listened for any sign of life. But there was nothing. Only silence.
I eased through the side entrance and stepped into the cool morning air. Mist glittered across the stone walkway leading toward the service drive.
A black SUV waited in the shadows and the driver—Elira—started the engine immediately.
I climbed into the back seat with Anya still in my arms, setting Dozer onto the cushion beside me. The puppy’s yawn was so wide his little pink tongue curled, then he promptly fell asleep against my thigh.
Worst watchdog in history.
“There’ll be hell to pay for this,” Elira muttered as she pulled away from the estate, tires crunching over gravel, before navigating onto the empty road.
I barely heard her.
My attention never left the woman slumped by my side. My wife. The only woman I’d ever wanted. The last one I’d ever touch.
She looked ethereal, like something carved from marble instead of flesh. My gaze drifted lower despite my best intentions to the gentle rise and fall of her chest and the soft curve of her breasts.
I pressed two fingers against her neck again, my fingers catching on the strap of her thin tank top.
“Don’t fucking tell me you gave her too much sedative,” Elira snapped, eyes on me through the rearview mirror. “If you killed her, I’m leaving your ass on the side of the road.”
“She’s breathing.” I glanced away. “Watch the road before you kill my wife and our dog.”
Elira scoffed. “It’s her dog, not yours.”
A shiver rippled through Anya then, and her shoulders hunched as if she were cold. I took her hand in mine and realized it was frigid.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I should’ve grabbed a blanket, but I’d been so focused on staying stealth that I hadn’t thought beyond carrying her safely out of that house.
Sliding out of my jacket, I draped it carefully over her, tucking it around her arms before breathing warmth into her hands. I hauled Dozer over so he’d share his body heat with Anya.
She shifted with a little sigh while a soft moan escaped her lips.
It punched every ounce of common sense straight out of my body and my cock hardened to attention.
Yeah.
I was a sick bastard. Or maybe just a desperate one.
The drive to the clearing took ten minutes, and then another thirty in the chopper before we were lowered next to the private jet waiting with its engines already running.
Anya never woke.
By the time the sun rose fully over the horizon, we were gone.
I’d stolen my wife back.