When she sees me, the rolling pin doesn't lower. "Who—Blake?"
"Pack a bag," I say. I don't ask.
She blinks, her breath hitching. "What? Blake, you can't just burst in here?—"
"There was a man at your back door," I interrupt, stepping into her personal space. I need to be close to her. I need to inhale her scent to wash away the metallic taste of adrenaline in my mouth. "Black sedan. Two guys. One was picking your lock."
Her face goes paper-white. The rolling pin clatters to the floor. "He found me," she whispers. The sound is a jagged shard of glass. "Oh God, he found me."
She takes a deep breath, forcing the tremor in her hands to stop. She squares her shoulders. "He found me." It’s an acknowledgment, not a surrender.
I can’t have that. I reach out, my large, rough hands engulfing her upper arms. I’m careful not to squeeze, but I hold her firm enough to ground her. "Look at me."
She stares at my chest, eyes unfocused.
"Tiffany. Look at me." I give her a gentle shake.
Her gaze snaps up to mine. Blue eyes swim with tears. "He’s going to kill me, Blake. He said if I ever left..."
"He’s not going to touch you," I vow, the promise vibrating through my ribs and into hers. "Nobody touches what’s mine."
The words hang in the air between us. Heavy. Absolute. Confusion wars with the fear in her eyes.Mine. She heard it.
"Yours?" she breathes.
"We don't have time for the conversation you want," I say, releasing one of her arms to grab her hand. Her fingers are cold, delicate. I could crush them without trying, but instead, I lace my fingers through hers, claiming the space. "You have five minutes. Get your purse. Get a change of clothes if you have them here. If not, I’ll clothe you."
"Where are we going?" She moves because I’m pulling her, towing her toward the small office where I know she keeps her bag.
"Up the mountain," I say. "To the Peak."
She resists, digging her heels in slightly. "Blake, I can't. The bakery—I have orders for tomorrow morning. The sourdough starter needs to be fed, I have to?—"
I stop, turning on her so fast she bumps into my chest. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. The contact makes my cock buck against my fly, a thick, demanding weight that wants to bury itself in her heat. She’s soft everywhere I’m hard, her tits crushed against the rough leather of my cut, the nipples likely peaking into hard points I can feel through the fabric. I can smell her pussy from here—soaked in fear and the sweet, musk of a woman who hasn't been claimed in years.
"Fuck the sourdough," I say roughly, staring down into her face. "If you stay here tonight, they will come back. And next time, I might not be watching the feed fast enough. Do you understand? They will take you."
She trembles, a tear spilling over and tracking through the flour on her cheek. "I... I don't want to go back to him."
"You’re not going back to him." I lean down, my mouth inches from her ear. I inhale the scent of her—warm cinnamon, honey,and woman. "You’re coming with me. And once I get you up that mountain, Tiffany... you’re never going to be afraid again."
She looks at me. She sees the permanent scowl etched into my features. She sees the darkness that lives in my eyes. And for some insane reason, she doesn't pull away. She leans in.
"Okay," she whispers.
"Good girl."
The praise slips out automatically. I see her pupils blow wide, swallowing the blue. A flush rises on her neck, pink and lovely. Even in terror, her body responds to me. That knowledge settles the monster in my blood better than violence ever could.
I march her into the office. She grabs her purse and a tote bag.
"My phone," she says, reaching for it on the desk.
I intercept her hand. "Leave it."
"But—"
"They can track it. GPS. If he found you, he has resources." I pick up her phone and drop it into a pitcher of water sitting on her desk.
