by Pam Godwin
A towel sat on the vanity, along with a clean pair of her pajama pants and an unfamiliar t-shirt. She hurried through drying, dressing, and using the toilet, left her ruined clothes in the bathtub, and stepped into the narrow hall.
Glancing toward the bedroom, she noticed the bed had already been stripped and replaced with clean bedding. Meticulous as ever, he would undoubtedly have all traces of Paul’s blood gone from his property by nightfall.
How strange to be inside this house after hearing about it for ten years. It was exactly as he’d described—dark, cramped, cozy. And quiet.
The scent of food invaded her nose. She’d guzzled water and apple juice when she woke, but the gnawing emptiness in her stomach screamed for substance.
Her pulse quickened as she entered the front room.
Tommy sprawled on the couch, a sun-browned hand hanging casually over the armrest. Steam rose from a bowl that sat on the table before him, the aroma of delicious spices pervading the air.
Chili. Out of a box, a can, wherever it came from, she didn’t care. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and her belly churned with ravenous need.
“Where’s Cole?” She tugged on the oversize shirt, fighting the impulse to attack the food.
“Out.” His gaze followed the action then lifted to hers, hard as polished gold. “Sit.”
The front door beckoned, but the chili promised instant relief.
She crossed the room and sat across from him, her eyes on the bowl.
He straightened, leaning toward the table, and grabbed the spoon.
“Let’s start with your bed partners.” Scooping a huge helping of beans and meat, he held it between them and wet his lips. “How many men have you fucked since you started reading my emails?”
For a bite of that food, she could give him an estimate. A staggering number, to be honest, especially for a woman who thought she’d married her one and only. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexual history or her voracious libido, but none of it concerned Tommy. If she told him about her past hookups, it would turn them into suspects and put them in his crosshairs.
“I’ve had one lover in the past year.” She didn’t want to look desperate, but her gaze kept drifting to the spoon, pulling like a magnet. “Evan isn’t a criminal. He knows nothing about you. There isn’t a chance in hell he’s involved in this.”
“Who came before him?”
She shook her head rapidly, frenzied in her hunger. “Tommy, please. I’m starving.”
He veered the scoop toward his mouth and wrapped his mean lips around the entire bite, humming as he chewed.
There were a million words in the English language, but not one could adequately express how badly she wanted to stab him with that goddamn spoon.
She could try to take the bowl from him, but she was operating at a fraction of his strength and speed. If she behaved, maybe she wouldn’t have to fight him at all. Maybe he intended to share with her.
He shoveled a second helping of chili and hovered it before her. “Give me names.”
“Douchebag. Fuckface. Jackass. Mouth breather.”
The spoon slid between his lips, another bite stolen.
She saw red. “You want to know why Paul followed me here? Look at your own history, the people you’ve murdered, the women you’ve fucked, and the ruthless company you keep. That’s where you’ll find your answer.”
“I’m looking at all connections, but the most glaring one is you. The more you cooperate, the quicker this ends.” He ate another spoonful, twisting pain through her stomach.
“Who I’ve slept with has no bearing on this.”
“You have no family or friends. It seems the only people who come into your life are the ones who come between your legs.”
“That’s not true.” A hot ember flared at the base of her throat.
“Then tell me, Rylee.” He spooned more chili, eating it cruelly in front of her and talking with his mouth full. “Among your acquaintances, who hasn’t been in your pants?”
“God, you’re such a prick.”
He continued eating, watching her with callous indifference as the bowl slowly emptied before her eyes. She could almost taste the hearty beans as they disappeared in his mouth.
“My colleagues.” A prickly burn swarmed the edges of her eyes. “I don’t sleep with them, and they’re my friends.”
“Colleagues,” he echoed in an acidic tone and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “Define your relationship with them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have any of them been to your house? Or called you on the phone just to shoot the shit? Or invited you to hang out or grab a beer after work?”
“No.” Not once. “I don’t make friends like that easily. I’m shy. Reserved.”
“A shy woman doesn’t show up at a known criminal’s house by herself. But you’re not alone, are you? Whoever you’re working with sent Paul to check on you, and when he doesn’t return, they’ll send someone else.”
“Jesus, you’re all over the place with your theories. Which is it? Am I being tracked by an enemy, a lover, or some cohort who is helping me plot your demise?”
“You tell me.”
“None of the above. I’m so damn shy and guarded it took me ten years to work up the nerve to talk to you. Luring you here to meet you in person is so far out of my comfort zone. I told no one about you or where I was going. I just…I thought you were in danger with the cartel, and I panicked when you said goodbye in your last email. I don’t have friends like you do. I’m not good at letting people in.”
“You don’t have friends because you’re a lying, deceitful—”
“I’m afraid of being hurt again.” The confession blurted on a rush of anger.
He stared at her like she was the village idiot. Maybe she was. She’d made a terrible mistake coming here. Too late to take it back. But she was educated. Trained to listen to criminals and understand their motivations, views, thoughts, and actions.
If he didn’t view her as a person, he would continue to hurt her. She needed to remind him she was human.
“I pretend I don’t need anyone.” She swallowed, her vision blurring with tears. “I keep everyone at a distance. But deep down, I still dream of finding a life partner, someone who loves me enough to be loyal. Faithful.”
“Is that why you’re fucking Evan? You want him to love you?”
“No.” She wiped at her wet cheeks and looked away. “He’s charming and nice and…”
Too perfect. Too doting. Too much like Mason. That scared the crap out of her.
“Women love him,” she said. “I’m not his only lover. I mean, we don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re just neighbors.”
“With benefits.” His judgmental tone added insult to his narrowed glare.
“You’re not in a position to look at me like that. You fuck whomever you want and make those women hurt. Your words. Don’t you dare shame me for having a sex life.”
With a grunt, he turned his attention back to the chili and ate another spoonful.
There was only one bite left.
She balled her hands so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “You’re not going to let me eat?”
“Give me the names of your sexual partners, and I’ll feed you.”
“I don’t know their names.”
“You don’t know who you’re fucking? How did you meet them?”
Her hunger outweighed her pride, making it easy to answer. “Dating sites and hookup apps. Their usernames were probably not their real names, and I don’t remember any of them anyway.”
“Where’s your phone?”
He already knew her identity. There was nothing in that duffel bag worth hiding.
“Buried in the ruins of the Milton house,” she said. “Southwest corner.”
He shoved the bowl toward her.
She fell upon it like a rabid dog, sucking the last bite off the spoon until it gleamed. Heavenly flavors exploded on her
tongue as she dropped the utensil and dragged her fingers along the bottom of the empty bowl, frantically scraping out every drop.
“Where are you?” He stood with his phone to his ear. “Okay. Swing by Caroline’s house on your way back.”
As he recapped the conversation about her duffel bag, she cleaned every speck of chili from the bowl with her fingers and tongue. It didn’t come close to putting a dent in her hunger.
He ended the call and turned toward her. “Are the dating apps still on your phone?”
“Yes, but I swear, Tommy, I never told anyone about you. Don’t hurt those guys. They were just one-night stands.”
“Let’s go.” He gripped her arm and wrenched her from the chair.
“Go where?” She tried and failed to escape his grip as he dragged her toward the bedroom. “Wait! I’m still hungry.”
“Not hungry enough.”
“What do you mean?” She dug in her feet and stumbled with the force of his forward motion. “I answered your questions.”
As he hauled her away from the kitchen, it became horribly apparent that one bite of chili was all he would give her.
Eating was imperative. But more than that, she felt the overpowering instinct to run.
She went wild, thrashing, punching, biting, kicking, and somehow, she broke free. Her thoughts spun into chaotic indecision, but her body took the reins, bolting through the house and toward the front door.
Blood pounded in her ears, her pulse spastic and breaths bursting.
Running into the desert would be suicide. She needed her keys and scoured every surface as she flew past the front room. Nothing. But she didn’t slow.
Outside, she slammed into a wall of hot air, the sky pitch black and her truck nowhere in sight.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
She darted around the side of the house, searching for anything that might help her escape this miserable wasteland. Where was her fucking truck?
If she sprinted in the direction of the Milton house, could she find her way in the dark? Did she have the strength to travel two miles on foot? Then what? She’d dig up her phone, but it didn’t have a signal. And she needed the map in her truck to find the closest town.
Fuck!
“You’ll die out there.” His chilling voice fell against her back, terrifyingly close.
She spun, backing away from his towering silhouette. “Where’s my truck?”
Only a few feet separated them, and he stayed with her, prowling forward as she reeled backward.
Twilight threw the hollows of his cheekbones into shadow and accentuated the handsome planes of his face. He was a vigilante criminal, a lawless punisher, with righteous murder pumping through his veins.
His dangerous lifestyle was echoed in the strength of his hands, the cruelty from his lips, and the sheer power of his body as he trapped her like the sun in the barren desert. Inescapable heat, nowhere to run, and she was starving, the looming threat of another day here as brutal and unforgiving as the man himself.
“Let me go, Tommy.” Her heart hammered, and she retreated another step, trembling. “I know you think I’m a loose end, and you’re meticulously good at your job, always finishing every task set upon you, even the ones that are bothersome and undesirable. But I’m not a job. You’re starving an innocent woman and holding her captive. That violates everything you and your friends are doing. If there’s someone truly after me, you should be protecting me not hurting me.”
He stepped forward, slow and menacing.
Revenge was his life, in his blood, and he intended to punish her in payment for a wrong that had been done. He was beyond listening.
She turned and ran.
Rocky sand bit into Rylee’s bare feet as she sprinted through the dark. In normal circumstances, she would’ve been terrified of stepping on a scorpion. But there was a deadlier threat on her heels, breathing down her neck, closing in—
His fist caught her throat, his other twisting in her hair. The punishing grip wrenched her off her feet, dragging her knees and scraping her hands along the ground as he hauled her back into the house by her hair.
No amount of fighting or screaming slowed him down. By the time he wrestled her into the bedroom, she was out of strength, out of breath, and he hadn’t broken a sweat.
He tossed her onto the bed like a rag doll and followed her down, straddling her legs and pinning her arms above her head.
“You fucking psycho!” She wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “This is wrong. This isn’t you. Please, Tommy. Stop this madness!”
The sound of metal clanked above her. She twisted her neck and glimpsed handcuffs in his grasp.
“No!” She renewed her fight, but it was a wasted effort. “Get away from me!”
Within seconds, he shackled her arms to the wrought iron headboard. His thigh pushed between hers. His hand covered her mouth. Then he gave her his weight. All of it.
Fucking God, he was muscle-heavy. Hard. Dense. Utterly immovable. His heat, his strength, every inch of him pressed her into the mattress, making her whimper against his palm. And his eyes. Damn those eyes. They were so shockingly, brilliantly gold. Gorgeous. Mesmerizing. Vicious.
He radiated rebellious, bad-boy intimidation coupled with a virility so potent it made every warmblooded woman’s head turn and mouth water.
This was the closest she’d ever physically been to him, and while she loathed him for hurting her, it wasn’t enough to dampen her reaction to his masculinity.
A sharp, carnal tug pulled inside her, dirty and wanton. There was a wicked wildness about him that called to her filthiest desires. After accusing him of hate-fucking women, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining him doing that to her. Didn’t mean she wanted it. No way in hell. But the naked possibility of such a thought messed with her head.
His hand moved from her mouth to wedge beneath her nape, tightening at the base of her skull and yanking her toward his sinful lips. Not to kiss her. He just held her mouth against his, breathing, seducing, making her squirm between want and repulsion.
He’d written in detail about his captivity in Van’s attic. Eight weeks of brutal sexual instruction. Van had whipped him and taken his virginity. Liv had taught him how to kiss and suck a cock, but she never fucked him. He didn’t have intercourse with a woman for the first time until years later.
The intimate position made it impossible not to think about everything he’d endured. Everything he’d learned. He was trained in sexual pleasure and knew how to use it to lure and torture. He was tormenting her with it now, arousing her, confusing her. Just to be a dick.
“I know what you’re doing.” She jerked her face away.
He gripped her jaw and yanked it back.
She drank in the youthful texture of his skin, his symmetrical, rough-hewn features, the flavor of his breath, the faintness of beer, spicy meat, and all man. The delectable, warm scent of him enveloped her like a fantasy.
While she reeled from his overbearing proximity, she wasn’t the only one affected. Electricity writhed between them, twisting the dynamic of their tumultuous relationship and weaving layers of toxic complexity.
They had no business staring at each other like this. There was too much animosity and resentment in the air. But neither of them looked away, their breaths melding into shimmers of hot, poisonous attraction. It punched through her, almost causing the last of her senses to desert her. Christ, she was shaking.
He responded to it by sliding his touch along her jaw, studying her with his fingertips, feathering them along her cheekbones, her nose, her lips. Then his touch grew heavier, harder, pressing against her skin until his entire hand was squeezing her face.
Anger. His reaction to her was pissing him off. Or maybe this was what he’d meant in his emails. When he was intimate with women, he always hurt them.
“Tommy.” She shook her head, gasping and trying to break his cruel grip. “You’re hurting me.”
He was all biceps, abs,
and rock-hard thighs, bearing down on her like a brick wall. He must have felt her shifting beneath him because he removed his hand from her face. Then he stared at her mouth, watching her gulp for air under his heavy body.
Lifting slightly, he transferred some of his weight onto his elbow and leg. It was such a small thing, a tiny glimpse of thoughtfulness.
He wanted to make her pay, but that wasn’t how his mother raised him to treat a woman. Nor was it the first time he’d shown a trace of compassion.
“I know you put sunscreen on me before leaving me in the desert.” She peered into his eyes from inches away. “Why?”
“Your skin is flawless. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His gaze traveled along her throat, the neckline of the shirt, and returned to her eyes. “It would be a shame to ruin something so beautiful.”
That was the nicest thing he’d said to her, but she needed a lot more than a compliment from him.
“Keep starving me, and there won’t be any flesh left on my bones.”
“Starvation is a very slow, agonizing death.”
“Three weeks.”
“This will end before then.”
“How will it end? I know you’ve killed horrible men, but do you have it in you to kill me?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
She drew in his threat on a sharp inhale. “This is why I filed a protective order against my ex-husband.”
He glanced at her arms. “Because he handcuffed you?”
“No. He forced his way into my house. Then he forced himself on me.”
The heat, the intimacy, and the weight of his body vanished, leaving nothing but cold vulnerability in its wake.
She should’ve been relieved to gain the space. But she was still restrained to the bed and knew that when he left the room, she would be stuck here with nothing to distract her from the hunger pangs.
“He raped you?” He stood beside the bed, his expression unreadable.
“No. He got aggressive and handsy and wouldn’t leave. It scared me enough to call the cops and file a restraining order.”
“This happened last year. Yet you divorced him a decade ago.”
“He never wanted the divorce and has been trying to get me back ever since. He’s a relentless pest, but that’s all he is. He shows up at my house, at my work, calls and texts and sends gifts. But it’s all harmless. He’s not a threat.”