“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I increased my pace, driving into her with relentless precision, angling my hips to hit that spot inside her that made her whole body tremble. “I’ve thought about this every night for six months. How tight you are. How perfect you feel around my cock.”
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice breaking on the word. “Fuck me harder.”
I obeyed, slamming into her with enough force to make the headboard bang against the wall. The sound of our bodies coming together, slick and urgent, filled the small room. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I watched her come apart beneath me.
Her eyes were closed, head thrown back, lips parted. She was close—I could tell from the way her breathing changed, from the flush spreading across her chest, from the way her pussy clenched and released around me in quickening pulses.
“Come for me, Evelyn,” I commanded, pressing harder on her clit as I drove into her. “Let me feel it.”
Her body tensed, back arching off the bed, thighs clamping around my waist. She was right there, right at the edge, her breath hitching in that way that drove me wild. I could feel her inner walls fluttering, tightening?—
The window exploded inward, showering us with glass.
CHAPTER 6
EVELYN
I was right there,right at the edge, and in danger of falling completely apart in Trent Dalton’s arms?—
A crack split the air as something punched through the window.
He threw me off the bed, his weight slamming me into the floor hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Glass rained down on his back, red lines opening across his shoulders, blood welling up as he covered me with his body.
Another crack.
My ears rang. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I needed to get up. I needed to?—
A bullet drilled into the wall inches from his head.
Oh. My. God. Someone was shooting at us.
“Stay down!” Trent’s voice was hot against my ear, his arm pressing across my back to keep me flat against the thin carpet.
Another shot tore through the room, punching a hole in the wall above us. Plaster dust sprinkled down like snow, coating my hair and sticking to the sweat on my neck.
My heart hammered so hard I thought it might crack a rib. I turned my head sideways, cheek pressed against the rough carpet that smelled of old cigarettes and cheap cleaning solution. Through the jagged remains of the window, I could make out a figure standing in the parking lot with a rifle. But I didn’t understand what I was seeing.
Carol Ruper. Her hair was pulled back in that severe bun she’d never worn before today. Blue top. Khaki pants. And a hunting rifle pressed against her shoulder, aimed directly at the motel room.
“Carol,” I gasped. “It’s Carol.”
Trent shifted, raising his head just enough to confirm. “Shit.”
Her face was completely blank, eyes fixed and vacant as she mechanically worked the bolt to chamber another round. No expression. No anger. No anything. Just empty purpose as she raised the rifle again.
“Move!” He grabbed my arm, yanking me toward the bathroom as another shot splintered the headboard where we’d been seconds before.
We scrambled across the floor, broken glass slicing into my palms. I was completely naked, every inch of skin exposed. My clothes were scattered somewhere behind us—jeans kicked off near the bed, shirt lost in the chaos. Trent stayed half-covering me, one arm extended back with his gun drawn. He wasn’t shooting, just ready. His jeans hung loose around his hips, zipper open, shoved down just enough that the fabric bunched at his thighs.
“Why is she—?” I couldn’t complete the thought. Sweet, gossipy Carol with her never-ending stories and her collection of ceramic cats. Carol, who brought soup to sick neighbors and remembered everyone’s birthdays.
“It’s not her,” Trent said grimly. “It’s what they’ve made her.”
Another shot, this one punching through the mattress, springs, and stuffing bursting outward. Trent pulled me faster, and we finally reached the bathroom doorway.
He shoved me inside first, then followed, slamming the door behind us. He immediately pressed his back against it, bracing it shut with his weight.
“That won’t stop bullets,” I said, my voice coming out higher than normal. I looked around frantically for something to cover myself with. A towel hung on the rack. Thin, rough, motel-grade. I grabbed it and wrapped it around my body.
