My stomach twists as the weight of my reaction settles in my gut. What am I doing? I am a shark. I am a weapon. But apparently, I am also prey. And the hunter across the aisle just decided I’m the only trophy he wants.
The meeting drags on, a blur of bureaucratic noise. Every time I speak, Chase watches my mouth. Every time he speaks, I analyze the timbre of his voice, imagining those rough commands whispered in the dark. By the time the gavel bangs to end the session—adjourned until next week for "further review"—my bones feel heavy, the marrow drained by the sheer force of his presence.
I white-knuckle the handle of my leather briefcase and bolt for the lobby. I’m ten feet from the heavy oak exit doors when a shadow eclipses me. "Miss Preston." I freeze. The heat of his massive chest radiates against my back, trapping me without a single touch.
I don't turn around. "Mr. Gunnar."
He leans down, lips close to my ear so no one else hears. "You fought well today," he says. "But next time, bring backup. Because I’m done playing fair."
"I don't need backup," I say, gripping my briefcase handle until my knuckles strain.
"Everyone needs backup in these mountains," he says. "Drive safe, Cassandra. The roads are slick."
He pulls back. The loss of his warmth chills me immediately. I walk out the front doors, the cool mountain air slapping my face. I get to my car, unlock it, and slide inside, locking the doors immediately. I look up at the rearview mirror. Chase stands on the steps of Town Hall, watching me. He tips his fingers to his brow.
I start the engine and peel out of the parking lot, driving faster than I should. My pulse still pounds. My skin still buzzes. Hate coils in my gut. But my body screams for his return.
2
CHASE
The impact of the heavy bag against my knuckles is the only thing keeping me from tearing the town apart brick by brick.
Thud.
Cassandra Preston.
Thud.
Her name is a jagged rhythm in my head, synching with the violence of my punches. I can still smell her. It’s been fifteen hours since I cornered her—fifteen hours of me staring at the ceiling and feeling my own skin itch with the need to mark her. It makes my blood roar and my cock throb with a heavy, restless ache.
"You're going to break the chain, Chase."
I throw a right hook that makes the heavy bag groan, the chain rattling ominously against the steel beam of the gym ceiling. This part of the clubhouse—the iron paradise tucked behind the garage—is usually where I find clarity. Today, it’s a furnace for the primal need to hunt. My cock is a thick, leadenweight against my thigh, engorged and demanding, fueled by the memory of the way her pulse jumped under my thumb.
"Chase."
I catch the bag on the backswing, my chest heaving. Sweat drips from my nose, landing on the scarred concrete. I turn. Logan leans against the doorframe. My cousin. Our President. He has that look on his face. He knows exactly what kind of hell burns a hole in my gut because he’s been there. He went through it with Savannah. Austin went through it with Courtney.
The Gunnar curse. The Thunderbolt.
"The lawyer filed an injunction this morning," Logan says, his voice a low rumble like an idling Harley. "She's trying to freeze the permit process for the expansion. Says she needs an environmental impact study that could take six months."
My teeth grind together so hard I feel it in my jaw. "She's not waiting six months."
"She's good, Chase. She's got the council spooked. Mayor Thompson is wobbling." Logan crosses his massive arms. "We need this expansion. The search-and-rescue center isn't just for PR. The winters are getting worse. We need the facility."
I unwrap the tape from my hands, the sound ripping through the quiet air. "I know what we need."
"Do you?" Logan tilts his head. "Because yesterday you looked like you wanted to eat her alive in that meeting. And not in the diplomatic way."
"She's mine." The words come out before I can check them. Guttural. Final.
Logan doesn't blink. He doesn't laugh. He just nods. In our family, when you know, you know. There’s no courting period. No dating. There is only the recognition of the other half of your soul, followed by the ruthless, unwavering drive to secure it.
"Then handle it," Logan says, pushing off the doorframe. "But get my permits, Enforcer. Don't let her bury us in paperwork while you're chasing her tail."
"She won't bury us," I growl, tossing the tape into the trash. "She won't have the chance."
