Pain. Sharp, cracking, radiating outward. I wince. My grip loosens for a half second, and he twists free and bolts for the side gate.
I catch him in three strides. My hand closes in his hair, and I yank him sideways so hard his feet leave the ground. He groans.
“I swear to God if you make any noise, I’ll rip out your tongue.”
He trips and hits the grass on his side, gasping, and I’m darting to grab his bag. I’m back on him before he can roll, hauling him upright by his shirt, dragging him toward the oak tree at the back of Claire’s yard.
“You’re done,” I growl. “You’re so fucking done.”
His face blanches as I pin his back against the trunk, then wrench his arms behind it as he tugs against me. “Let me go, you fucking lunatic,” he sneers. The rope from his bag is in my hand, the rope he brought for Claire, and I lash his wrists together behind the tree. “Please?—”
“Shut up.”
I grab the bag. Rip it open fully. A hunting knife in a nylon sheath. A roll of tape. My vision narrows, and my hands shake from the effort of not beating this man unconscious against this tree.
What was he going to do to Claire?
I wrench the tape from the roll. Tear off a strip and press it across his mouth. His breathing goes ragged through his nose, and he thrashes against the tree, wrists pulling at the rope.
“Now be a good boy,” I say, my voice dead calm, “and wait right here until I come back to deal with you properly.”
He’s groaning behind the tape, his eyes streaming.
“Because I swear to God, Louis.” I lean close enough that he can see exactly what’s in my eyes. “If you make one sound, I’ll come back out here and give you a reason to scream.”
I step back, the knife going into my hand. I’m not leaving it with him. Then I run toward the house and snatch the lock-picking tools up too. Once inside, I shut the door slowly and lock it. My pulse is deafening.
I stash the knife and tools under the sofa cushion, buried deep. Then I pull my phone from my back pocket and send Corey and Brody a message.
Get the hell up! Louis is tied to a tree in Claire’s backyard. He tried to break in. Had rope, a knife, tape. Come get him. Now. Don’t let Claire see. Keep him at our place until I return.
I hit Send. Switch to silent. Shove it back into my pocket.
For five seconds, I stand in her living room and let myself feel the full weight of what just happened. What would have occurred if I’d remained next door?
Breathe. Handle it. Don’t bring this mess to her.
I wipe the sweat from my face, roll my shoulders, force the tension out of my jaw, and walk down the hallway.
The bedroom is dark. Moonlit. Claire is on the bed, and I lose my breath.
She’s completely stripped for me, lying on her side, one hand resting against a pillow next to her, and the moonlight traces every curve. Her waist, the flare of her hip, the soft weight of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach. The shadow between her thighs.
I grip the doorframe. My lungs empty and don’t refill.
“Thought you got lost out there,” she says, her voice lazy.
“I would have found my way back to you if aliens had abducted me.” I swallow. Hard. “Fuck me, Claire. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
“Well.” She stretches, deliberately, her chest pushing out. “I’m currently naked, and you’ve still got clothes on.” Her gaze falls to my tenting jeans. “So I’d say the impact is visible but underperforming.”
I’m laughing, which is a miracle because thirty seconds ago, I was tying a man to a tree. So I toe off my shoes, my fingers fumbling with the button of my jeans, then the zip, and I shove my pants down. Nothing underneath.
Her gaze drops, and I stand proud, wanting her to see every inch of it, hard and aching and entirely hers.
“Come here,” she says, and there’s a purr underneath her voice that reaches into my chest and squeezes.
I go as a man possessed.
