Panic.
At one point in my life, I’d been faced with panic attacks. The period had been short lived and I’d quickly learned how to drive them away with breathing exercises and even counting numbers.
Not this time.
I didn’t need any light to know who’d slipped from the eerie depths of the shadows, wrapping his arm around my neck. My sense of his identify was based in a past I’d tried so hard to forget: his touch, which had always been forceful, without any concept of tenderness.
The feel of his body pressed against mine, once exciting with the way his cock had throbbed between my legs, now created nothing but repulsion.
And his scent, the exotic and very musky aroma that had fueled many fantasies, enough to create my love of erotic fiction.
That fragrance now disgusting in a way that turned my stomach.
Franklin.
A man associated with the word nightmare. Only he was very real.
And very deadly.
With the precision of an assassin, Kendrick turned to face us.
“Well. Well. If it isn’t Catcher,” he said, the jesting tone of his voice surprising me much like the violence I’d witnessed only seconds before.
As I’d experienced throughout our time spent together, tiny thrills tickled every nerve ending. He’d kept his promise, doing everything in his power to protect me.
Only with a gun pointed at my head, there was little wiggle room for my hero to do anything. I knew Kendrick at least well enough to know he would never risk my life. Even to take out a monster.
“You were told to leave things alone,” Franklin told him. Where Franklin had always been a master of controlling his emotions, I sensed something entirely different furrowing around his well-coiffed exterior.
Fear.
Maverick’s campaign had gotten to him. He was running scared.
With my hands wrapped around his arm, I glanced down at the duffle bag. I’d managed to pull the zipper, my fingers wrapping the sheath of the knife I’d seen Kendrick toss inside. With the glow of the lights shimmering in through the front windows, I could still see the carved handle in plain view.
“Since I’m a man of the law, I just couldn’t do that. Call it a necessary evil I must endure given my profession.” Kendrick took a calculated step closer, both hands firmly wrapped around his weapon.
Everything about the moment was surreal, including the three dead bodies lying in pools of blood only feet away. Like powerful, dark artwork carefully positioned for maximum effect.
As well as enjoyment.
Maybe there truly was something twisted inside, a desire for the macabre because I almost laughed. I was thrilled the bastards’ blood was staining the beautiful hardwood maple floors.
“A man of the law who crossed a line. How very noble of you.” Franklin laughed.
“Which is nothing you could ever claim. You’re a conniving son of a bitch.” The sarcastic words dripped from my mouth followed by a short laugh.
“Be careful, my sweet. I do have your life in my hands.” Franklin squeezed his arm, the pressure suffocating.
“How very cowardly of you,” Kendrick threw out, inching even closer. He never allowed his eyes to leave me, but I sensed he was as eager to end this as I was.
That would take careful coordination, working together as we’d become very good at doing. There was no time for fear or hesitation. I couldn’t allow the past to haunt me any longer. My sister was still trapped by monsters determined to keep her from experiencing the life I’d help ensure she would have.
Fuck the asshole.
“I do what I need to keep my world the way I like it.” Franklin’s laugh was full of ire, maybe even amusement from the trouble we were putting him through.
“I hate to tell you this, Franklin, but your world is about to come crashing down. Would you like to tell him, my sweet slave?” Something I hadn’t discovered until tonight about the sexy man was his sense of humor.
