Page 59 of Steel Vengeance
Recruiting a stunner like Sloane had probably been fun for him. She was single, available, maybe a little lonely. Easy pickings for a smooth-talker like Matthew. He’d wined and dined her—dinner at his place—then seduced her. He’d kissed those cherry-red lips, wrapped those long legs around him...
Stitch threw the pillow back on the bed with a sudden flash of anger.
Jesus.
Then, after he’d reeled her in, the bastard had sent her off on a dangerous mission to a foreign country where she didn’t know anyone and was totally alone. Hell, there were a few things Stitch would love to say to Matthew Fuckhead Sullivan, if he ever got the chance.
Stitch pulled off his shirt and stripped down to his boxers. The carpet didn’t look too clean. God knows when it had last been vacuumed. This definitely wasn’t the Hilton. And Sloane still hadn’t moved.
She was right, there was more than enough room. With that in mind, he checked the door, turned off the light, and climbed onto the bed.
Stitch roundeda bend in the mountain road and saw the smoke. It rose in a thick, dark column into the sky, filling him with panic.
He floored the Land Cruiser, kicking up dirt and skidding around corners until he reached the village. The closer he got, the thicker the smoke became.
“Soraya!” He jumped out of the vehicle, the back of the military jeep loaded with supplies from town.
It was like running straight into hell.
The inferno tore through the village, consuming the thatched houses, burning the trees, destroying everything in its path. Gunfire cracked in the distance. He sprinted through the flames, dodging burning debris, heading straight for the house where he lived with his wife.
Thank God, it wasn’t on fire. Not yet.
Smoldering embers on the roof told him he only had seconds before it, too, would go up in flames. He barreled through the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges.
“Soraya!”
No answer.
He ran upstairs to the bedroom—and froze.
She was lying on the floor next to the bed, shot multiple times.
No. No! Soraya!
He dropped to his knees, frantically checking her for any sign of life. Nothing. He was too late. There was too much blood.
He pulled her lifeless body into his arms and screamed to the sky, his voice raw with agony.
The heat around him grew unbearable. He couldn’t breathe.
Still sobbing, he lifted her up and carried her outside, away from the burning house.
“Soraya,” he choked, laying her on the ground. But she could no longer hear him.
“Stitch?”whispered a voice beside him.
She was alive!
“Soraya,” he murmured, reaching for her.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re having a bad dream.”
Thank God. It had felt so real.
“I thought you were dead.” He pulled her into his arms. She lay against his chest, her breasts pressed into him.
“Stitch, wake up.”