Dalton wrapped my hand in a clean, white bandage. “Alright, baby girl. Don’t get that wet.”
I smiled like a love-drunk teenager at him, and he gave me a funny look. “What?”
I shrugged, leaning back into Mac’s chest.
“I dunno, I just figured you wouldn’t call me that as much when we weren’t alone.”
I felt Mac’s chest vibrate as he grumbled, and I smacked him in the thigh without turning to look at him. I was having none of that jealous shit. I had enough problems as it was.
Dalton smirked at his brother, and then looked at me. “You’re mine. Well, ours. I think we’ve made that pretty clear, Vixen.”
For the rest of the day, I didn’t leave Mac’s room other than to make lunch and, later, dinner. The upstairs area was evidently where Mac and Dalton lived, having sold their family home after their dad passed. They kept the cabin, but everything else… Too many memories, I guessed.
They pretty much left me to it, coming in to check on me now and then but refusing to let me clean despite my insistence that my hand was fine. Mac dropped me off at home that night because my bike evidently needed more work than I thought.
If it weren’t for the haze of happiness I was in, I probably would’ve noticed the figure in the dark corner of my apartment before locking the door behind me.
Chapter 11
I headed toward the kitchen, craving something sweet to chase the leftover adrenaline from the day. But something made me stop. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill went down my spine. I glanced around my apartment. Nothing. But the darkness weighed on me.
Frowning, I went over by the stove where a pan I had cleaned this morning sat. I made a show of looking in the cabinet for snacks. I hadn’t seen anything, but every cell in my body knew something wasn’t right. A cop’s instincts were what kept them alive. I trusted mine, and right now? Red flags. Which is why I was almost prepared for the figure that came lunging out of the shadows.
Almost. But not quite.
I grabbed the pan. A swing and a miss as the figure went low, tackling me to the ground. I hit my shoulder hard and used my bad hand to brace myself. “Fuck!” I hissed as the pain from my burned palm shot up my arm. But I didn’t have time to dwell.
He was on me in a second, hands closing around my throat like a vise. My vision blurred at the edges as I thrashed, groping blindly for the pan I’d dropped. There. I grabbed it, swinging it as hard as I could and knocking him in the head. He fell to the side with a curse.
That voice. I knew that voice.
I scrambled to my feet and, hurrying over to the light switches on the wall of the kitchen, I flipped every one of those suckers on. My apartment lit up like Las Vegas. My eyes adjusted to the light, and immediately I recognized my attacker.
Daniel was blinking hard, trying to force his eyes to acclimate to the sudden onslaught of light. I had left my phone on the coffee table, where I had first tossed it when I came inside. I cursed myself for not paying attention, forbeing so slack. I had let my guard down. I just hoped it wouldn’t get me killed.
Turning, I ran to the living room, but Daniel’s dumb ass was a lot quicker than I gave him credit for. He grabbed me by my ponytail and yanked as hard as he could. I cried out, stumbling but managing to keep my footing. We circled each other.
“Surprised to see me?”
“Surprised that you’re this fucking stupid,” I snarled. “Would’ve thought you had learned your lesson when I set your damn Harley on fire.”
“Fuck you, bitch. You ruined my fucking life. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? No bike, no leather. I wasthisclose to becoming a Saint, this fucking close and you ruined everything!”
“Maybe you should learn to listen, then. You did it to yourself.”
He lunged for me, and I darted to the side. I was still lightheaded from him choking me, and my reflexes weren’t as good as they’d been a few months ago. I had a rigorous workout routine as a cop—one I hadn’t thought to keep up, and now regretted.
When he pulled out a knife from under his jacket, I eyed it warily as he brandished it at me.
“I’m going to make you wish you had said yes, bitch. We could’ve had some fun. But, now I’m going to make you beg.”
I glared at him. “You fucking wish.”
This time, when he lunged, I wasn’t quick enough. A trail of blood bloomed across my stomach as the long blade sliced through my thin top. The cut was deep, and it burned like hell. I tried again to make my way to my coffee table, to my phone, but he kept blocking me. I knew under my couch, I had stashed a knife of my own. I had to get there. I grabbed a decorative box off a nearby shelf—it wasn’t much, but it was heavy. Wistfully, I thought of the 9mm I carried when I had my badge.
He darted forward again, leaning low like last time, and I sidestepped, bringing the box corner down with all the force I could muster onto his back. It broke apart with a resounding crack, and I cursed the stupid, useless thing. But it did the trick.
“Fucking cunt!” he hollered.
