Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,93
tsked and shook his head. “That skirt was Vera Wang, Ricky. Vera Wang. I’d have stabbed you too.”
Ricardo managed a soft laugh, though it made him wince. “Covered in blood and sobbing your eyes out, eh?”
“I will have you know I gave an Oscar-worthy performance.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I did.” August paused, and in an unusually serious moment of candor, he added, “Wasn’t entirely acting, though.”
“What?”
August broke eye contact and stared down at their interlaced fingers. “I thought you were dead. Or that you weren’t far from it. I seriously didn’t think even you were stubborn enough to survive something like that.”
Ricardo stared at him. “I’m pretty sure you’ve said a few times you wanted to kill me.”
“Well, yeah.” August met his gaze again. “You think I’m just going to let someone else come in and do it for me? Especially Victor?”
They locked eyes for a few silent beats.
Then the corner of August’s mouth twitched, and they both laughed. Ricardo didn’t even mind that it hurt. August was here, and he’d come up with a ridiculous only-August-could-possibly-pull-this-off way of making sure Ricardo walked free, and… And August was here. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been all that long since he’d wanted to kill August too.
Today, that didn’t have quite the same appeal.
He squeezed August’s hand. “Thank you. For coming back for me.”
August sobered again, and he gazed right into Ricardo’s eyes. “You came for me. Twice. You could’ve run like hell and never looked back.”
Ricardo was already shaking his head. “I wasn’t leaving you in Victor’s hands. Even you don’t deserve his level of sadism.”
Rolling his eyes, August said, “Such a charmer, Ricky.”
“Don’t call me Ricky.”
“Or what?” August arched an eyebrow. “What exactly are you going to do about it?”
Ricardo let go of August’s hand, grabbed his collar, and hauled him down into a kiss. The motion tugged at some of his many scrapes and bruises, but it was worth it for the startled gasp followed by the soft moan.
He released August’s shirt, and August pushed himself partway up, staring breathlessly down at Ricardo.
“Oh,” August panted. “Well. If it’s gonna be like that, we’ll—”
“Mr. Mason?” A voice from the doorway made him stand bolt upright and almost made Ricardo jump painfully out of his skin. The administrator stood beside a nurse. “Mr. Mason, if you could come with me, we just need to sort out a few things, and then the police will be on their way.”
August hesitated. “But you’re going to let him leave?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said with a nod. “Once the doctor agrees he’s ready to be released, he’ll be free to go.”
August exhaled, and he exchanged glances with Ricardo. Nodding, he said, “All right. Let’s do this.”
“And while they do that,” the nurse said brightly, coming toward Ricardo. “It’s time for you to go for a walk!”
Chapter 20
August swam against the current toward the beach in the distance, feeling the water drag at him, trying to sweep him out to sea. It wasn’t a riptide, but it was strong enough to give him some trouble. That was why he’d picked this area to swim, beyond the rocky enclaves that protected the inner portions of the small, private bay available to guests of the Maltese villa he was renting. He liked the challenge of handling something that had the potential to kill him, something that forced him to be sharp in order to keep his life. Easy wasn’t interesting. Hard was better. Dangerous was best of all.
That probably explained a lot about his attraction to Ricardo, honestly. Speaking of…the sun was edging the horizon, and that and the fatigue in his body told August it was almost dinnertime. Shame Ricardo wasn’t up to swimming, and he definitely wasn’t up to swimming, according to Elodie’s husband, Paschal, the doctor who’d kept Ricardo alive on the way to the hospital.
“No swimming, no bungee jumping, no skydiving,” he’d warned like the buzzkill he was. “Nothing that could rip a stitch. Do you understand, Augustus?”
“How about sex?” August had asked with a leer.
Paschal had looked at him with the skeptical gaze of a person who knew August too well. “I wouldn’t push my luck, if I were you.”
Not push his luck? Who did his brother-in-law think he was talking to? Too late. Luck pushed. The stitches held. They’d tested them five times now, and they were holding just fine.
August dipped his head underwater, swimming sideways to the current until—ah. Free, finally. The water went from a coursing wave to a gentle