Beck watches from the doorway as I gather my things, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She's wearing one of my flannels buttoned just enough to cover her breasts, her legs bare and tempting. Makes it hard to leave, even knowing I'll be back soon.
"Be careful," she says, moving to straighten my collar. Her fingers linger on my chest. "Please."
I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. "Always am."
"No, you're not," she argues with a small smile. "You're reckless and dangerous and?—"
I silence her with a kiss, deep and possessive, my hands gripping her waist to pull her flush against me. When I release her, she's breathless, pupils dilated.
"And yours," I finish for her. "I'll be back before dark."
She nods, worry still clouding those hazel eyes. "I love you," she whispers.
The words hit me like a physical blow, just as they did last night when she first said them. I'm still not used to hearing them. Not sure I ever will be. Not sure I deserve them. But I'm selfish enough to take them anyway.
I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. "Mine," I growl, the closest I can come to returning the sentiment. She understands. She always does.
The drive into town takes forty minutes, winding mountain roads that would make most people nervous. I take them at speed, the truck handling the curves with practiced ease. My mind keeps drifting back to Beck—to her love confession in the middle of the night, to the way she surrendered to me after, to the feel of her inner walls clutching my cock as I emptied myself inside her.
I never expected this when I first saw her picture in that bounty file. Never expected to become obsessed, to track her, to claim her, to?—
To love her.
I don't say the words. Don't know if I can. But the feeling is there, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, like a muscle I've never used before. She doesn't need the words anyway. She sees it in the way I touch her, protect her, claim her.
The bondsman's office is in a strip mall on the edge of town, sandwiched between a vape shop and a discount liquor store. Classy. I park directly in front, making sure my truck is visible through the front window. A message. I'm not hiding.
The bell over the door jingles as I enter. The reception area is empty except for a bored-looking woman filing her nails behind a desk.
"Here for Jim," I say, not bothering with pleasantries.
She looks me up and down, taking in my size, the hardness of my expression. "Down the hall, last door on the right."
I find Jim Cowell exactly where I expect—behind a cheap desk in a cramped office, the walls covered in framed bounty notices. He's in his fifties, overweight, with the red-veined nose of a heavy drinker. He looks up when I enter, recognition flashing in his eyes.
"Gray Maddox," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Been a while."
I've worked with him before, bringing in skips, collecting bounties. Never liked him, but he pays on time and doesn't ask questions. Until now.
"Jim." I remain standing, using my height to advantage. "Got something for you."
I toss the folder onto his desk. He eyes it warily before opening it, scanning the contents with practiced efficiency. His expression gives nothing away.
"Interesting," he says finally. "But I don't see how this is my problem."
"You put out a bounty on an innocent woman." I rest my hands on his desk, leaning forward. "That makes it your problem."
He snorts. "Clerical error. Happens sometimes. System's not perfect."
"It's been weeks." My voice drops dangerously. "Plenty of time to correct it."
"Paperwork takes time." He shrugs, unconcerned. "Besides, from what I hear, you've been keeping the Monroe girl real close. Personal interest, Maddox?"
My hand moves faster than he can track, fisting in his shirt collar, yanking him half across the desk. "Careful, Jim."
Fear flashes in his eyes, quickly masked. "Let go of me or I'll call the cops."
"Go ahead." I release him with enough force that he falls back into his chair. "I'm sure they'd be interested in how many of your bounties end up with mysterious injuries. Or how many are brought in without proper documentation." I lean closer. "Or how many never make it to lockup at all."
