I wanted her naked and spread out beneath me, her braid undone, and my fingers delved into the silky strands. I wanted to taste every inch of her heated skin. To feel her breath stutter against my mouth while she writhed under me, bare and begging, back arched, whispering my name in ecstasy.
My hands itched to grip her hips, pin her down, and claim her. Hard, slow, and thorough. Until she forgot every man who came before me.
Fucking hell. Pull it together, man.
I swallowed hard, furious at myself for reacting like this to a surveillance recording. But the instinct was primal. Bone-deep.
Exhaling slowly through my nose, I hit play again.
She said something to the men, and they marched to a booth without any reaction. A few seconds later, she approached with menus and an innocent smile. Nothing seemed amiss until she went to check on them after they’d been served their burgers.
Her posture changed midway through their approach. She paused, just for a second, her shoulders stiffening and her smile faltering as her chin dipped.
Whatever those men were hiding, she felt it.
I rewound, slowed the footage, and watched her again.
It was just a slight change, small enough that most people wouldn’t catch it. But I did.
And so did one of the men in the booth.
He looked up, caught her hesitation, and stared longer than necessary.
Not flirty. Not friendly.
Assessing.
My jaw flexed as I paused the footage again. Zoomed in. And right then, I knew.
She hadn’t seen anything. Not really. But she was unforgettable. Alone, unprotected, and soft.
And she’d looked right at them. Registered that something about them wasn’t right.
That was enough.
The subtle awareness marked her. Even if she couldn’t explain it and just shrugged it off as a weird vibe, those men wouldn’t.
They’d clocked her. And if they were who I suspected, the threat would be taken seriously. They wouldn’t want her talking. Couldn't have her describing them to the local sheriff. Or worse, drawing our attention.
The pulse at my temple throbbed as fury lit behind my eyes.
They’d just marked her as a threat. A liability. Someone to be handled.
They’d come back. Or send someone.
To silence her and erase the only witness who could describe a face that didn’t belong.
My hands curled into fists on the desk.
Fuck that.
Maren didn’t even know what she’d walked into, and she wouldn’t until it was too late. Unless someone stepped in first to make damn sure that whatever these bastards were planning didn’t reach her.
My spine locked, and every protective instinct I had kicked in like a wall of fire. Possessive didn’t even cover it. This wasn’t about territory, witnesses, or club business anymore.
This was about her.
She was mine.
