Tracker’s Sin Read Online Free PDF Page B

should be here. He was much better with hysterical women. Women trusted Sam even when they shouldn’t. It was those blue eyes of his and
    that devil-may-care smile. But he’d met his match in his wife. They’d been to hel and back, but they’d come out together and they were happy.
    “Vincente!” Tracker yel ed. “Venga aquí!”
    No response came from the house, but Ari took a breath and launched another one of those soundless screams. He fol owed the
    trajectory of her gaze. The knife. She was aware he stil held it behind his back. He didn’t want to speculate on why, but he couldn’t help a quick check of
    her hands, her neck, her face. Not that there had to be scars where a man could see. Tracker knew too wel how creative a Comanchero could get with a
    knife and an unwil ing woman.
    He moved his hand from behind his back, watching her expression as the weapon came into view. It didn’t change. Just because the
    knife had been out of sight didn’t mean it had been out of mind.
    “Sorry about the knife. I forgot.” Hel , now there was a calming thing to tel a terrified woman. He looked toward the house. Stil no one
    coming. Very slowly he reached down and slid the knife back into its sheath, attempting a smile.
    “It’s just your luck to get scared out of your bloomers by a man who doesn’t know what to do with your fears.”
    He didn’t real y think she heard him, which was probably a good thing. He was pretty sure decent men didn’t refer to a woman’s
    bloomers. Tia would have had his head if she’d heard, because lord knows, she’d tried to teach him better. Sometimes he just had a hard time
    remembering the rules.
    Ari didn’t respond to his smile or his words. She just kept staring at the knife in its sheath, stil screaming in rasping pants of soundless
    terror.
    Time to try something else. Grasping the knife between his forefinger and thumb, Tracker made a big production of removing it. She
    stopped breathing altogether. Holding his hand as far away from his side as he could, he reached back and set it on a ledge behind him.
    “It’s okay, ma’am. No one’s going to hurt you.” Least of al him. How could anyone hurt a woman like that? Tracker had had the same
    thought when he’d first seen Desi huddled in Caine’s coat over a year ago, wearing her fear like a second skin. Now, looking at Ari, he experienced it al
    over again. She was so delicately formed, she made him think of fine china. The kind a man was afraid to touch, but felt compel ed to because the sheer
    fragility of it demanded cherishing. Protecting. Because what it represented was what kept every man hoping.
    He stepped to the left, away from the knife.
    Ari’s focus switched from the blade to his face. Tracker debated trying another smile, but as wild as he must look to her, al dark and
    scarred, he opted for remaining expressionless. At least she’d stopped screaming.
    As she panted for breath, he had a chance to study her more closely. Each angle of her face was cut with precision, the fine grain of her
    skin reflecting the sun like cream, the blue of her eyes shining with the brightness of a summer sky. Her lips were plump and soft and as silky looking as a
    rose petal. He remembered a poem he’d read once where the author compared his love to a red, red rose. Ari was like that. A beautiful flower that
    flourished no matter how much shit had been thrown at her. He might never know how much, but the Moraleses had started her healing, and being at Hel ’s
    Eight would finish it. There was no judgment there, just acceptance. A lot of lost souls came to Hel ’s Eight and found peace. Ari would, too. She had a
    sister and a niece to love her. A family waiting to claim her. Al Tracker had to do was get her there.
    Looking into her terrified eyes, he remembered that silent scream that couldn’t find a voice, imprisoning her in a memory from which he
    couldn’t save her. Tracker wanted to promise her that he’d hunt down