I climb into the driver's seat. My hands shake. "Is Daddy mad?" Maddie asks.
"No, baby," I lie, my voice thick. "Daddy’s just protecting us."
But as I pull onto the road, heading back toward the mountain, I wonder who will protect me from him. Or rather, who will protect me from the fact that even now, even after seeing the monster unleashed, my pussy is still overflowing, the lace of my panties heavy with the hot evidence of my absolute possession.
He claimed me. Publicly. Violently.Property of the Sergeant at Arms.The words echo in my head like a dark command, making my engorged clit twitch with a terrifying, primal hunger. I am his. Owned. Marked. My pussy is a soaked mess of hot cream, craving the heavy weight of his cock and the violent way he marks what belongs to him.
As I drive up the winding switchbacks, I see a black SUV parked on the shoulder near the turnoff to the eastern cliffs. The windows are tinted pitch black. I feel the weight of a gaze following us.
Stay away from the eastern cliffs.
I pull into the driveway and hurry Maddie inside, locking the door behind us with a heavy thud. I lean my back against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor. I close my eyes, and Shane’s face dominates the dark behind my lids.
I'm not scared of him. I'm scared for him. And I'm scared of how much I loved the way he looked when he told the world I was his.
8
SHANE
The wind screams in my ears, a deafening roar that fails to drown out the chaos in my head. I tear around the switchback, the rubber of my rear tire protesting as I lean the bike dangerously low. Asphalt scrapes the metal of my boot, a shower of sparks briefly illuminating the darkening woods. I twist the throttle harder, demanding more from the machine, needing the vibration of the engine to rattle my bones until the image of Kyle’s face crunching under my fist disappears.
The rage remains, simmering in my gut like a pool of acid.
Worse than the anger is the memory of her face. Bianca. Standing in the gravel parking lot, her chest heaving, her eyes wide as she watched me dismantle a man for the crime of breathing her air. She looked at me and saw the monster beneath the man, the violent enforcer who breaks bones for a living. I did her a favor by roaring off and leaving her in the dust of her own yellow car.
If she’s smart, she’ll pack her bags. She’ll take her little yellow Beetle and drive back to Philly, back to a world where men usewords instead of fists. A place where safety is a guarantee, not a privilege defended by blood. My chest aches, a hollow, thumping pain behind my sternum. The thought of her leaving feels like tearing off a limb without anesthesia. But I’m poison to her. I proved that today. I brought my war to her feet and expected her not to bleed.
I bank hard around the final curve leading to the private road up to my cabin. The sun dips low, casting long, bruised shadows across the pines. Brake lights flash red ahead.
A quarter mile up, right at the base of my driveway. A black SUV. Sleek, tinted windows, expensive. It doesn't belong here. Tourists drive rentals or Subarus. Locals drive beat-up pickups that have seen more mud than pavement. This is a predator sitting in the tall grass.
Costa.
The name freezes the blood in my veins before boiling it into fire. They were watching the tavern. They saw the "new girl." They saw me claim her. Now they’re here to see if she’s the weakness they’ve been looking for.
Instinct takes over—the predator responding to a threat. I downshift, the engine screaming as I launch the bike forward. I’m doing eighty on a road meant for thirty. I’m going to rip the driver out of that seat and dismantle him piece by piece. The SUV spots me. Tires screech, kicking up a plume of dust as it peels away, accelerating hard toward the eastern ridge road.
Chase or protect?
My eyes dart to the winding gravel road leading up to my cabin. To Bianca. To Maddie.
Protect.
I curse, slamming the bike into the turn and fishtailing onto the gravel. Rocks spray behind me like buckshot. I push the bike to its limit, bouncing over ruts that threaten to throw me over the handlebars. Every second is a lifetime. If they were sitting there, they were watching the house. If they were watching, they know she’s alone up here.
The cabin comes into view, dark timber against the violet sky. Her Beetle is parked crookedly in the drive, a splash of defiant yellow in the gloom. I skid to a halt, killing the engine and vaulting off the bike before the kickstand is even down. I draw the Glock from the holster at the small of my back, racking the slide with a metallic clack that echoes through the trees.
"Bianca!" I roar her name as I slam into the front door.
Unlocked. Fuck.
I kick the door open, sweeping the room with the barrel of my gun. The living room is empty. Toys scatter across the rug—the same rug where I had her screaming my name. The fire is low, casting flickering orange light against the walls.
"Daddy?"
The small, sleepy voice comes from the couch. I freeze, lowering the weapon instantly as Maddie sits up, rubbing her eyes. Safe. Untouched.
"Maddie." I breathe her name, air rushing back into my lungs like a physical blow. "Where’s Bianca?"
