Loaded_ A Bad Boy Romance - Roxie Noir

LOADED A BAD BOY ROMANCE

ROXIE NOIR

CONTENTS Copyright New Releases 1.

Alex

2.

Tessa

3.

Alex

4.

Tessa

5.

Alex

6.

Tessa

7.

Alex

8.

Tessa

9.

Alex

10. Tessa

11. Alex 12. Tessa 13. Alex 14. Tessa 15. Alex 16. Tessa 17. Alex 18. Tessa 19. Alex 20. Tessa 21. Alex 22. Tessa 23. Alex 24. Tessa

25. Alex 26. Tessa 27. Alex 28. Tessa 29. Alex 30. Tessa 31. Alex 32. Tessa 33. Alex 34. Tessa 35. Alex 36. Tessa 37. Alex 38. Tessa

39. Alex 40. Tessa 41. Alex 42. Tessa Epilogue: Tessa New Releases ABOUT THIS BOOK Also by Roxie Noir About Roxie Bonus Book: Shifters & Soulmates One: Nathan Two: Leah Three: Nathan Four: Leah

Five: Nathan Six: Leah Seven: Nathan Eight: Leah Nine: Nathan Ten: Leah Eleven: Nathan Twelve: Leah Thirteen: Nathan Fourteen: Leah Fifteen: Nathan Sixteen: Leah Seventeen: Nathan Eighteen: Leah Nineteen: Nathan

Twenty: Leah Twenty-One: Nathan Twenty-Two: Leah Twenty-Three: Nathan Twenty-Four: Leah Twenty-Five: Nathan Twenty-Six: Leah Twenty-Seven: Nathan Twenty-Eight: Leah Twenty-Nine: Nathan Thirty: Leah Thirty-One: Nathan MAILING LIST

Copyright © 2016 by Roxie Noir All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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ONE

ALEX

“

ome on,” the brunette says to her C friend. “You wanna do a body shot?” I grin and lean back in the leather booth. The music from the club below is pumping up through the floor, making the

soles of my feet vibrate as the blond pretends she’s not sure about doing shots off her friend in front of me. She’s sure. She wants to. They always do. “Go ahead,” I say. “Live a little. Bottle’s on the table.” The brunette looks over at me, her plump red lips pursing, and lifts the Patrón off the table, along with a shot glass, then makes a show of pouring it out. “Where should I put it?” she asks me, her voice low and slow. The glass hovers over her barely-covered cleavage, but then she moves it to one shoulder. “Here?”

“Lower,” I say. She balances it on a collarbone, swishing her hair out of the way. “Here?” “Lower,” I say again, my eyes on her firm, round breasts, her nipples obvious through the tight dress she’s wearing. “Here?” she asks, finally nestling the shot glass between them. “Perfect,” I say, and my voice comes out as a throaty growl. The blond looks at me again with that faux-shy blink, then puts her hands behind her back, presses her face between her friend’s tits, and does the

shot with practiced ease. “Mmm,” she says. She licks her lips slowly, looking at me from the corner of her eye. “That was delicious.” The brunette is backed up against the table in front of me, and now the blond presses herself into the other girl, biting her lip and looking her up and down. “Can I get a taste of you?” she says, stroking the other girl’s hip. “With him watching?” the brunette says, with the same pretend modesty. The blond kisses the brunette, openmouthed, lots of tongue. She slides her hand down the brunette’s breast and

tweaks her nipple. I’m halfway hard already. The brunette moans theatrically, and I grin. I know when a show’s being put on for my benefit. “Do I get to have a little fun?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. The brunette opens her mouth to answer me, but there’s a racket on the stairs to the VIP area and she turns her head. Someone is bellowing over there. It sounds like a fucking animal’s gotten loose. The blond looks over, alarm on her face, and a drunk guy charges up the stairs and

throws himself past the bouncers, practically roaring. “Whore!” he shouts, pointing at her. He’s a total meathead, almost steroidlevel jacked. His face is bright red and the veins are popping out of his forehead, like a cartoon or some shit. “You fucking slut, I knew I’d find you up here —” “Dylan, please,” the blond says, her hands out in front of her. I’m already out of my seat and heading toward this asshole. My brass knuckles are heavy in my pocket but I’m not gonna need them.

Guys like this go down easy. “Who the fuck are you?” he says, looking me up and down. “Fuck off, you cholo motherfuck—” I hit him right in the nose, the crunch of cartilage satisfying under my knuckles. He reels backward, stumbling. Blood spurts out and onto his ugly shirt, and for a second he just looks confused. Then he looks mad again, and I swear to god his face turns purple. I do my best not to smile, but I don’t think it works. This guy might go to a boxing gym once a week, but I grew up in the roughest neighborhood in East

L.A. He doesn’t stand a fucking chance. “Motherfucker!” he shouts and charges toward me, coming in heavy with a wide right hook. I dodge. When he swings past me he throws himself off balance, just enough for me to come in close and hit him as hard as I can in the solar plexus, right beneath his rib cage. He goes over like a domino. The whole thing took maybe thirty seconds. I hope I haven’t killed him or something, but I’m not quite concerned enough to check. I look at the knuckles on my right

hand, flexing them. Bruised, but I missed his teeth. I’m not bleeding. At last the guy heaves a breath. He sounds like a goddamn dying fish, and security closes in around him. “Are you okay?” the blond asks breathlessly. Her fingertips brush the back of my knuckles as she presses her body against me. Right, I think. The girls. Nothing turns a woman on quite like beating up her ex. This kind of woman, at least.

“That’s why they call him the Scorpion,” the brunette says, keeping her voice low. She’s on my other side, and I can feel her heat on my body. “He’s fast and lethal,” the brunette goes on, one pert nipple sliding along my bicep. I look down at them, and the erection I lost during the fight comes back in full force. The blond looks at me, and this time her uncertainty is real. She wasn’t sure I was the Scorpion, and she’s really not sure that her friend was supposed to say it out loud. I’m dangerous, after all. “I’m fine,” I say.

I slide my hands down their bodies until I’ve got one cupping each ass, and I give them a slight squeeze. “Now, where were we?” A couple of the guys are looking my way, making sure that I’m good, but they see that I’ve got two girls, shrug, and look away again. Just another night out with the Scorpion. The girls exchange glances, and then the brunette folds herself into my semiprivate booth, tugging me and the blond with her. “I think we were here,” the blond says. I’ve got one kneeling on either side of

me, and they kiss again. I reach up and pull their tops down, watching their tits bounce out. They’re either drunk or horny enough that they don’t care this is happening in semi-public. I reach up and squeeze the full, round globes. Definitely fake, but that just makes me harder. I like the kind of woman who’ll get surgery just to turn me on a little more. One of them moans with a high-pitched whimper, and then they uncouple, both looking at me, their lips swollen and heavy. The blond pushes her face close to mine,

biting her lip. “There’s something I want to do,” she whispers. “What might that be?” I ask, my voice low and gravelly. I lace my hands behind my head and don’t even bother to look at her face, just her perky fake tits. She slithers to the floor, until she’s kneeling, tits still out. Then she runs the palm of her hand over my erection. A surprised look crosses her face, and she’s not faking this one either. It’s a wait, seriously? look.

An I’m not totally sure I’m prepared for this look. Let’s just say I’m used to seeing it by now. After all, there’s another reason I’ve got my nickname. A scorpion’s got a big appendage that packs a hell of a wallop. Still sitting next to me, the brunette reaches over and caresses my clothed cock as well, her eyes hungry. I lean back a little, grinning. This night’s going even better than I anticipated. Then, out of nowhere: my fucking boss’s voice. “Alejandro.”

Goddamn it, I think, and close my eyes for a moment, hoping that maybe I’m hearing things. When I open them both girls are bright red, staring up at Manny. He’s short and squat. He has the worst fashion sense I’ve ever seen a human have. Right now he’s wearing socks, sandals, plaid shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt that couldn’t be louder if it had a megaphone. He’s also one of the most dangerous men in Los Angeles. “Any chance this can wait?” I ask. “Sorry,” he says, his gaze flicking to the

girls and back to me. “I promise it’s important.” The girls look at each other. Then they pull their dresses back up, and I stand. “Give me a few minutes,” I growl at them. “Don’t go anywhere.” I follow Manny toward the office at the back of the club. “How many kids you got now?” he asks, half-joking. “Can’t get someone pregnant through the mouth,” I say. He snorts, unlocking the office door. It’s a nice office, with a wide mahogany desk and a massive one-way mirror, the

whole nightclub visible on the other side. When he shuts the door, the pumping music behind us vanishes to a hum, and he gestures at a leather chair in front of the desk, before collapsing into the matching one behind it. “You should watch out,” he says. “They got DNA tests and everything these days.” “I’ve seen Maury,” I say. “I’m not knocking anybody up.” That gets a faint smile out of him, and then he’s all business. “I need you to go to a wedding,” he says.

Not what I was expecting. “A wedding?” I say, frowning. I’m not really a wedding guy. I mean, I like open bars and horny girls as much as the next guy, but I’ve got a bad habit of getting caught balls-deep in someone else’s girlfriend in the bathroom. That means I’ve also got a bad habit of giving out black eyes. “They found the accountant’s daughter,” Manny says. “And she’s attending a wedding tomorrow night.” Well, at least that’s good news. Sort of. “Accountant still missing?” Manny just nods, looking tired.

About a year ago, we hired a new accountant, a guy with less morals than money, to do the cartel’s books. Fast forward, and we hear a rumor that he’s had a change of heart. He’s thinking about spilling everything to the feds, and that would be very, very bad for us. Naturally, we’d like to convince him otherwise. Then he disappeared before we could find him, so we’re doing the next best thing: taking his daughter until he can be convinced to see reason. “You need me to take her a message?” I ask. “I need you to take her,” Manny says.

I stare at him for a couple of seconds. “I know I promised you,” he says. He flattens his hands on the desk, and I think about how many guns are in that desk. Seven or eight, easy. “Isn’t this what we’ve got foot soldiers for?” I ask. I thought I was done with this. I thought I’d been promoted out of just being muscle for the cartel, the guy who they call when they need damage dealt. “You’re not wrong,” he says, lacing his fingers together. He’s got three massive rings on each hand, and they catch the dim light.

“This is a delicate situation, Alejandro,” he goes on. He’s the only one besides my mom who ever calls me by my full name. “This girl’s our last resort. You know we don’t kidnap civilians, at least not in the States, but her dad’s left us no choice. I need someone I can trust doing this for me.” Flattery will get you everywhere, I think. “Also, the wedding is at the Beverly Hills Resort,” he says. My eyebrows go up, and I let out a low whistle. There’s expensive, and then there’s Beverly Hills Resort wedding expensive.

“I need to send someone who can blend in,” he says. “You need someone who doesn’t look Mexican,” I counter. Most of the guys are full-blooded Latino, but my dad was white, so I’ve got blue eyes and black hair. I can pass as a welltanned Caucasian guy most of the time. “I need someone who doesn’t talk like he drove there from Chavez Heights in his El Camino,” he says, calmly. “And I’ve heard that they’ll be serving some very good Scotch.” Why the hell am I arguing? I think. When else am I gonna get to go to a million-dollar wedding with top-shelf

pussy? “All right,” I say. “What do I do with the daughter? Hit her on the head and drag her out?” Manny reaches down and opens a desk drawer. I think he’s smiling a little, but he’s got the best poker face in California. He places a vial of white powder next to a photograph on top of the desk, and I lean forward to look at them. “That’s her,” he says. “Tessa Fulbright.” I don’t say anything for a moment, because I’m just staring at this photo, caught totally off-guard.

Tessa Fulbright is smoking hot. Like holy shit hot, walk-across-hotlava-for-a-chance-at-that hot, and she’s not even my type. The picture was obviously taken from far away, because she’s crossing a street in black pants and a blazer. She’s looking to her left, her auburn hair drifting in front of her face, but I can still tell that she’s got killer green eyes and perfectly plump lips. “That’s Ned’s daughter? The one who’s an architect?” I ask, mostly thinking about those lips wrapped around my dick while she looks up at me with those big green eyes.

I’ve met Ned, briefly. The girl clearly got her looks from her mother. Manny just nods, then pushes the vial toward me. “This’ll knock her out,” he says. “Just get some in her drink. She’ll think she’s too drunk, so you play the gentleman and assist her out of the wedding.” I give Manny a long, hard look. He fucking knows how I feel about getting women involved in this shit. “I don’t drug women,” I say. “This is an emergency, Alejandro,” he says. He leans forward over the desk,

sincerity beaming from his gentle brown eyes. “I swear I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” I know perfectly well that it doesn’t make any sense to have some ridiculous sense of chivalry toward women in this business, but I do. I have to draw the line somewhere, right? “And I get her to the guy waiting in the SUV?” I say. “Exactly,” he says. “Then you go back to the wedding and...” He waves one heavily-ringed hand in the air, and we both know he means get

your dick wet. “Do as you like,” Manny says. “She won’t remember you when she wakes up in a safe house.” I don’t like it, and something deep inside me is fighting against it. Why not? I think to myself. What does it matter that she’s a woman? “If Ned talks, we’re fucked,” Manny says, and I know how right he is. “Just this once,” I say, reluctantly. I reach out and take the vial, putting it in my pocket. “Just this once,” he says solemnly.

That’s why this man is so dangerous: not only does he have an armory the size of a mansion, command a ruthless paramilitary organization, and have a shocking number of cops on his payroll, but he could sell ice to an Eskimo. He’s that convincing. I look at Tessa’s picture again, trying to memorize every line of her face and every curve of her perfect body. I wonder what she’d look like naked, beneath me on a bed or even on top, riding my cock as her tits bounced. God, what does she sound like when she comes, does she talk dirty or just moan —

“You’re good?” Manny asks, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m good,” I say, standing. For a moment I want to ask if I can take the picture with me — for research — but I know I can’t be found with it. “You’ve got a tuxedo fitting tomorrow at eight,” he says. “Get some rest before your big day.” I nod, then walk to the door. As my hand touches the knob, Manny speaks up again. “Alex,” he says. “Thanks for doing this. We’re really in a bind.” I turn around and thump one fist against

my left pec, just below my collarbone. Manny does it back. We’ve got the exact same tattoo in that spot. Everyone in La Carretera does. I turn and head out the door. The two girls are still standing by the booth, talking to each other, while the other guys ogle them but don’t approach. They know better. The girls are still hot and still ready to go, but suddenly I don’t feel like it anymore. It’s almost two in the morning, and this wedding is actually fucking important. If the accountant goes to the feds, shit’s

gonna get ugly, so I should get some sleep. Tessa Fulbright and her sensible business outfit don’t have a goddamn thing to do with it. I turn and take the back stairs down to the street, then drive home with the stereo blasting.

TWO

TESSA

“

ddie,” the bride says, her voice E shaking as she speaks into the microphone. “I was falling and you were my parachute. You are my rock, my fortress, my life preserver in troubled

waters.” God, this is cheesy, I think. I have to look away for a moment, I’m so uncomfortable. I’ve known Karen for years, and I always knew she was one of those hopeless romantics, but this is really over the top. “I love you like a fat kid loves cake,” the bride goes on, her voice breaking. I hold my breath. Did she really just say that? I try to look around surreptitiously, just to see if anyone else is hearing this, but they’re all staring straight ahead, some of them dabbing at their eyes with

tissues. Totally enthralled by a crying girl wearing white. Shoulders shaking, the bride hands the microphone back to the officiant, and he starts droning on about something else. I shift in my chair yet again, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel like it’s breaking my spine. No luck. These chairs obviously look a lot better than they feel. At least it’s almost over, I think, and look around at the other guests. They’re all crying. Am I an unfeeling monster? I wonder. Everyone else seems really touched.

“I now pronounce you,” the officiant says. He takes a dramatic pause. Come the fuck on, I think. “Man and wife! You may kiss the bride.” Eddie grabs Karen in his arms and swings her backwards. She flails, clearly not expecting this, and my hands fly to my mouth involuntarily. Her veil catches on something on the wedding arch and tears off of her head. Eddie goes into the veil face-first and then shakes his head back and forth, holding Karen in his arms, trying to get the gauzy white fabric off of himself. It’s

a long couple of seconds, and then it finally works and he kisses her. I clap automatically, relieved that this part is finally over. Karen and Eddie walk back down the aisle, followed by their enormous wedding parties. The veil’s still hanging on the arch like some kind of dead bird. I feel weirdly bad for it. The guests start filtering out, and as they do, I swear to God I can feel someone watching me. I stare straight ahead, holding my clutch with both hands. It’s just Andrew again, I think. Trying to figure out what he’s going to tell Nick

about how I’m doing. Nick, my most recent ex, isn’t here, but his best friend is, and he’s a grade-A dickbag. He’s the one who convinced Nick that I only wanted him for his money. Fuck you and your tiny penis, Andrew, I think. I hope you get syphilis and it falls off. I can still feel him staring. Finally, I give up and look. No. I glare. It’s not Andrew. It is very, very much not Andrew — Andrew is short and scrawny, but the guy staring at me is a

good six-foot-plus of man. His eyes meet my death glare and I my heart hitches in my chest. I look away as fast as I can, my pulse racing. I don’t know what to do. Very hot men don’t stare at me, not ever, and definitely not when they’ve got blue eyes, black hair and a jawline straight out of a black-and-white movie. I glance to my right, trying to figure out who he’s actually looking at, but it’s a mix of old ladies and kids. Maybe one of them is his mom or something, I think. I take a deep breath and look over again. He’s walking into the aisle with the

throng, not looking at me anymore. He can seriously fill out a tux, though. I tend to like my guys in jeans and t-shirts, but I’d be willing to change my ways for that. Behind me, someone clears her throat and I realize my row is empty, so I quit my perverted staring and join the other guests walking into the reception.

After two glasses of champagne, I feel better. The guy passing trays looked at me funny when I grabbed them both at once, but fuck it. I barely know anyone here besides my ex-boyfriend’s douchebag bestie, what else am I

supposed to do? I sidle up to a conversation with a couple of people whose names I think I might know, and they’re polite enough to act like they recognize me. Karen and I were freshman roommates in college, and even though we stayed friends after that year was over, we don’t have any other friends in common. Well, except Andrew, who she introduced me to, who introduced me to Nick. They all went to high school together in Santa Monica, some swanky private school, while I was at public school in Encino. Now I’m at Karen’s half-a-

million-dollar wedding. “Oh, I know,” a girl in the group I’ve infiltrated says. “I would never go to St. Bart’s in March, of course not!” She laughs, showing off a mouthful of teeth so white and perfect they’ve gotta be fake. I smile into my glass and drain it, then step away, searching for the guy with the tray. There’s an open bar, but the line is still on the long side. I have to walk carefully, lifting my dress out of the way of my feet with one hand. The wedding is black tie, of course, and I ended up renting a dress for it — meaning I couldn’t get it hemmed and had to wear four-inch heels instead.

I’m beginning to regret that choice, especially since it’s still a touch too long. At last, I spy the tray of champagne. I put my empty glass down on a cocktail table, grab my dress in both hands, and follow him like I’m a panther, my eyes on the prize, stalking my prey through the jungle. I will have you, I think to the champagne tray. You are my prey. You will be mine. I slip through the crowd unimpeded, and the tray is ten feet away. There are two glasses left, and then someone takes one. I grit my teeth.

Then I go flying. One second I’m walking and the next my arms are in the air and I’m hurtling toward the ground with no warning, totally off-balance and ungainly, like a newborn giraffe instead of a panther. The only thing I have time to think is oh, fuck. Out of nowhere someone catches me with an arm around my waist and I’m just staring down at the floor. For a moment I stay still, not at all sure what the hell just happened. Then he pushes me up to my feet, and I look at Mister Quick Reflexes.

It’s the blue-eyed, black-haired dreamboat. He looks at me, and his face breaks into a mocking grin. “Easy, tiger,” he says in a low, almostraspy voice. “Might wanna ease off that champagne a little.” “Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry,” I hear from behind me. I turn to see a middleaged woman with both hands over her mouth. “Did I step on your dress? Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I say. Dreamboat still has one arm around my waist and his hand on my bare shoulder,

and I wish he wouldn’t. I’m turning bright red and everyone’s staring at the girl who just tripped, and now he’s telling everyone that I’m trashed. “I’m really sorry,” she says again, and I shake my head and wave her off. “You can let me go,” I tell Dreamboat. I’m already humiliated, and I don’t need some guy standing around like I’m an invalid. But when he does let me go, there’s a tiny twinge of disappointment. “And I’m not drunk,” I say, as if I want to make extra special sure he’s not interested in me. “My dress is just too long.”

“If you say so,” he tells me. “But if you’re on the dance floor later grinding with someone’s grandfather, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I snort. “I don’t know how many women you know, but we’re not all two-drink drunks,” I say. I’m two-drink tipsy, I think. He smiles. “All right, you win,” he says, then backs away and sweeps his hand to one side, in an after you gesture that still manages to be sarcastic. “Don’t let me get between you and alcohol again. Lesson

learned, tiger.” I look at him stiffly, gather every remaining shred of my dignity that I can find, and walk away. The guy with the champagne is long gone, but I pretend I’ve got a destination and walk towards it with a purpose. Moments later I’m looking a wall, because that’s what you find when you walk with a purpose indoors. Bathroom, I think. Just act like you’re looking for a bathroom. No one questions that. Just as purposefully, I find the women’s room, head still high. Even the bathroom is fancy as hell, but I walk past a few

other girls and into the handicapped stall. Then I exhale, slumping against wall. Each stall in this place is a mini-room, tiled walls and all - no plastic stall separators for the Beverly Hills Resort. This one’s got a picture of flowers over the toilet. For a moment I wonder if it’s supposed to symbolize a vagina, or if I’m reading too much into it. Probably reading too much into it. The tile is cool against my exposed shoulder, and I try to gather myself, just a little. It feels good to be here, all alone, where no one is looking at me or thinking I’m too drunk or deciding what

to say to their best friend about me when they leave. I wish I hadn’t come, I think, but it’s not quite true. I’m glad I showed up for Karen, even if her vows were awkward and I already mouthed off to another guest after he prevented me from falling on my face. Seriously, though. Why are the hot ones always assholes? Why couldn’t he say, Hey, are you all right, instead of Reel it in, you crazy drunk? I wonder if he’s here with someone, I think. He probably is. Even when they’re

assholes, men that good-looking never last in the wild. Quit thinking about it, I tell myself, taking a deep breath. Don’t talk to him again, have a couple more drinks, and leave the second they cut the cake. You can make it through this. I pee since I’m already in the bathroom, then wash my hands and look at myself in the mirror. For a sloppy drunk I’m not bad. I was afraid a one-shouldered gown might fit funny, but it actually looks pretty good. Even my hair is holding up for once. Okay, I think. Let’s do this.

I leave the bathroom, head high, and go back into the wedding reception.

THREE

ALEX

essa shoots me another glare and then T walks off, head high, shoulders straight. I follow her with my eyes for longer than I should, just watching the way her dress moves around her legs as she walks.

I really, really shouldn’t have caught her, but what else was I supposed to do? Just let her fall in front of everyone? But now she knows my face. She can identify me later. Even if I’m not the one who actually kidnaps her, she can identify me. Fuck. I turn back to the group I’ve been talking to, a couple of white guys in their thirties and forties. “So then,” says the guy to my left, “Jim tells me that we were wrong about that hole — it’s par three, not par two! Can you believe it?”

The other three men laugh uproariously, so I laugh along with them even though I have no idea what’s so funny. I’ve never even played mini-golf. “That Jim is a card,” says the guy who was telling the story. “No kidding,” says another guy. Yeah, sounds like a real loco motherfucker, I think. But I just nod along, until one of them nods at me. “You golf, Brent?” he asks. I’m looking past the men at the hallway that Tessa disappeared into. It takes me split second to hear him, and then to remember that right now, I’m Brent.

“Hardly,” I say. “Who has the time anymore?” I shrug, figuring they’ll fill in the rest. Each man nods in total understanding. “Last year, I told the missus I was going on a business trip for a couple days, but me and the boys went out to Palm Springs and hit the links every day,” another one says. “It was heaven.” The others act like it’s the baddest thing they’ve ever heard. I drain the last of my Scotch, the ice cubes sliding against my lip. “I gotta grab a refill,” I say, putting the glass on the cocktail table. “Nice meeting you fellas.”

“See you around, Brent!” one says, holding up a glass like he’s toasting me, but I’m not paying attention anymore. I’m watching the edges of the room for a girl with auburn hair and a long black oneshouldered dress. Drug her now, I think. I’m already making my way toward the open bar. The line’s finally gotten shorter, and I know this is my chance. Do it now and she probably won’t remember you, I tell myself. Get her a drink to say you’re sorry for being a dick, roofie her, escort her out to the car, then you can come back here and have some fun.

It’s obviously the best plan, and probably the only way I’m going to keep from fucking this up massively. So why the fuck don’t I want to do it? Was it the way she looked at me like she was challenging me? The way she argued back? The line moves forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see what I’ve been looking for: deep red and a swish of black. “What can I get you?” the bartender asks, the very picture of politeness. I scan the bottles one last time. “Ardbeg on the rocks, please,” I say.

There’s a mirror behind the bar and I sneak a peek at myself. James fucking Bond, I think. Bond wouldn’t fuck up his mission, though. Fine. “Could I also get an Old Fashioned?” I say, as he puts my drink in front of me. He nods, and a minute later, hands over the second drink. I take them and turn away from the bar, heading to an empty cocktail table in the corner. The vial’s heavy in my pocket, and I have this sense of dread. I put the drinks down, take a sip of mine, and reach into

my pocket, looking around. I spot Tessa. She’s not far away, alone at another cocktail table, looking at her phone. I stare for too long, looking at the curve of her neck and thinking about the noise she’d make if I put my lips there. The vial rolls between my fingers, small but heavy. You have one job, I remind myself. One. Fucking. Job. I know what happens when Manny’s disappointed, and it’s not pretty. La Carretera has plenty of guys who are missing their pinky fingers. Manny’s got

an outbuilding on his property in Malibu set up just for that, with drains and everything. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it in action. I like having all my fingers. Tessa looks up from her phone and around the room and I think again about those goddamn perfect lips, her tongue sliding along my cock, and I think of what a shame it would be to drug her. I don’t fuck girls who can’t say — no, scream — yes. That’s a hard line. I let the vial slips through my fingers and I take my hand out of my pocket, pick up both drinks, and walk over to Tessa.

I can still kidnap her if she’s not drugged, I tell myself. She looks up as I slide the Old Fashioned toward her, then down at the drink. Her phone goes back into her bag without another glance from her. “For me?” she asks. Her green eyes are skeptical, and she doesn’t touch the glass yet. “I don’t see anybody else at this table,” I say. “What is it?” “It’s a drink.” “You don’t have to be a smartass,” she says, but there’s a smile creeping onto

her face, starting in her eyes. “It’s an Old Fashioned. A serious drink for a serious drinker,” I say. I know I shouldn’t try to press her buttons, but goddamn I can’t help it. It works. She flicks me an irritated glance. “It’s none of your business how much I drink,” she says, her voice going brittle again, the smile disappearing. “And a more suspicious person might wonder why you’re suddenly bringing me drinks.” I laugh. “It’s an open bar, tiger,” I say, and I

swear I watch her shoulders rise an inch. “They’re free.” She still hasn’t taken a sip, and now she’s watching the drink like someone might have spit in it. I laugh. “You think I’m trying to roofie you?” I ask. “That’s not what I meant,” she says, getting defensive. I reach out for her drink, thanking all the saints that I didn’t doctor it, and take a sip. Then I put it back in front of her. “You think I’d roofie you to get you to sleep with me?” I ask, my voice going

low and dangerous. I’m just messing with her, but she doesn’t know that. Tessa’s bright red. She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “If I wanted to sleep with you, you’d already be up against the wall in the elevator,” I say. “I don’t need drugs.” She stares at me for another moment, mouth open. Then her eyebrows go up, and she starts laughing. “You’re a cocky motherfucker, I’ll give you that,” she says. She really has no idea.

“Are you like this with all the single girls at weddings?” she asks, and lifts the drink to her lips. “Only the ones drunk enough to fall into my arms,” I say. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now. “That lady stepped on my dress. You watched her apologize.” “You sure you weren’t making a lastditch leap at the final glass of champagne?” She looks over one shoulder for a moment, then back at me. That challenging look is back in her eyes, like

she’s about to dare me to do something. “If I’d thought it would work, I might have,” she says. “There’s only so long I can listen to rich bitches go on about the perfect spot for a vacation house.” “I was going for the champagne too,” I admit, feeling confessional. “Now the truth comes out,” she says. Her green eyes are practically sparkling. “Let me guess, you were escaping a dick-measuring contest over who’s got the best car?” “I wish it had been a dick-measuring contest,” I say, grinning. “Don’t get saucy,” she says. “I’m a nice

girl, and we’ve already established that you’re not going to get me to sleep with you.” The Old Fashioned is taking effect. “Did we establish that?” I ask. I take a sip of my Scotch, letting it slide down my throat. “Well, I’m not currently, what was it, up against a wall in an elevator? So I believe we did,” she says. I try not to imagine it, but it’s impossible: my body against hers, the cool metal wall behind her, her legs wrapped around me. Her heat against my cock as the floors tick upward.

My cock stiffens. Fuck. I look away and think about Manny, with his fat fingers and Hawaiian shirts. “It could be arranged,” I say. Socks with sandals, I think. She laughs again, but it’s not derisive. It’s like she’s daring me to get her into that elevator, and holy fuck it’s hot. Plaid shorts, I tell myself. “I’m not really the ‘fucking in the elevator’ type,” she says, taking the last swallow of her drink. “Historically, I’m more ‘missionary under the covers with the lights off.’” Now I raise my eyebrows, and she turns

red again, like she let the drink get the better of her for a minute. “I’ll get you another drink if you tell me more about missionary with the lights off,” I say. “I think I’ll hold off for now,” she says. “You never even told me your name.” “I’m,” I say, and very nearly say Alex. “Brent.” “Tessa,” she says, holding out her right hand. She squeezes mine hard and looks me dead in the eye as she does. “You know,” I say slowly, “I don’t think you’re the missionary-in-the-dark type.” “I promise I am,” she says, leaning her

elbows on the table. “Grade-A, one hundred percent prude, right here.” I also lean forward on my elbows. Now our faces are even closer, less than a foot apart. “I think you’re fucking the wrong people,” I say. She doesn’t back down, just looks me dead in the eye. “You’re not wrong about that,” she says. “How long were you with your last boyfriend?” I ask. “Nosy,” she says. “I already know how you like to fuck,” I

tease. She laughs. “Three years,” she says. “I bet you showed up in bed with a vibrator and handcuffs a couple of times,” I say. She doesn’t answer right away, so I go on, ignoring the raging hard-on I’m getting at the thought of Tessa, naked and standing next to a bed, handcuffs dangling off one finger as she grins. “And he’s the one who looked at that, reached over, and turned out the lights.” Her eyes narrow slightly, like she’s trying to think of what to say, and I know

I’m right. A young woman in a server’s outfit steps up to us, saving her for a moment. “Dinner will be served shortly,” she says. “We’re moving everyone into the ballroom.” “Thanks,” Tessa says, and I nod, then look around. Most everyone else is already in the other room, seated at their tables. I was so focused on her that I didn’t even notice. “What table are you at?” she asks, pulling her own place card out of her bag. I fish mine out of my pocket.

Brent Parker, Table 8, it says. The real Brent Parker is a low-level finance guy who owes Manny a lot of money. Manny inspired him to give up his seat at this wedding. “Eight,” I say. She holds up her card. Tessa Fulbright, Table 8. “Guess you’re not rid of me just yet,” I say. “You’ll have to wait until after dinner to find someone to fuck in the elevators,” she says, but she’s laughing. Then she turns and walks into the ballroom and I follow, the sway of her

hips almost hypnotic. I have no fucking idea how I’m going to pull this kidnapping off. Every second I go without drugging her makes it harder, but I can’t bring myself to slip the stuff into her drink. Jesus Christ, I think I’m fucked.

FOUR

TESSA

able eight only has two seats left, on T opposite sides, and I have no idea how I feel about that. It’s some kind of way, for sure, but I’m half relieved and half disappointed.

On one hand, the hottest man I’ve ever met can’t keep teasing me about my sex life, at least for another hour or so. But on the other hand, the hottest man I’ve ever met can’t keep teasing me about my sex life for another hour. It’s complicated, is what I’m saying. I sit down and say hello to the people next to me. They look very, very vaguely familiar, so we chat until we figure out that we took the same art history class sophomore year. In the middle of the table is a massive flower arrangement. Even standing in four-inch heels, it’s taller than me.

Brent’s exactly opposite, and all I can see of him is the tips of his shoulders and sometimes his hands. He’s sitting next to a girl I don’t know, so I’m surreptitiously watching her instead. Trying to figure out if the guy next to her is her boyfriend or what. Wondering if she’s the kind of girl who’d be down for a quick elevator fuck. I’m managing to make polite conversation with Brittany, the woman next to me, but I’m distracted as hell. I wasn’t lying when I said I was a missionary-in-the-dark kind of girl — but Brent wasn’t exactly wrong, either. Nick, my ex, had his bright spots but he

sure as hell wasn’t lighting anything on fire in the bedroom. Honestly, I didn’t think I minded. I figured I wasn’t that sexual of a person anyway. I’m starting to think I may have been wrong about that. I try to sneak another glance at Brent, but he’s behind the flowers, so I nod at Brittany again, wishing like hell I could hear what he’s talking about across the table. It seems like ages before the band leader steps up to the microphone and announces Mr. and Mrs. Hazeltine, and finally Karen and Eddie come in through

the huge double doors. She looks so happy and utterly radiant that I instantly forget her awkward vows and the lost veil, and in that moment, I’m so glad I came to her wedding. She and Eddie head onto the dance floor. Karen’s gone starry-eyed and she’s walking like she’s in a dream. Everyone stands from their tables and gathers around the floor as the band starts playing. “For their first dance,” the band leader says over the opening chords, “The brand new Mr. and Mrs. Hazeltine will dance to Crash Into Me, by the Dave Matthews Band.”

I frown, just a little. I don’t know the song that well, but I wasn’t sure it was a love song. The guitar starts, and then Karen and Eddie are swirling around the dance floor, looking at each other like the rest of the world doesn’t even exist. I tear up. It’s only a little, but I do. It’s for Karen, and because deep down I’m really kind of a sap, and because I really thought I’d be doing this with Nick someday, at least before he turned out to be a douche. It’s a sweet moment. My friend got married to the love of her life. I can fucking shed a tear.

Then someone steps close to me, and before I can move away, he’s whispering in my ear. “Your tag’s out,” Brent says. His lips almost brush my ear and a shiver sweeps down my spine. “Want me to fix it?” “Thanks,” I say, and then his hand is on my bare skin. Apparently the tag is very complicated, because his hand lingers there, his fingers hot against my back. Not that I mind. I lean back and turn my head, and he bends down so he can hear me.

“This song’s a little racy for a wedding,” I murmur. “Tied up and twisted?” he says, every word another spike to my core. “That’s more your style, tiger.” “Don’t call me tiger,” I say. “But you’re feisty,” he says. Karen and Eddie are still on the dance floor and my eyes are glued to them. My mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dirty and getting dirtier. “It’s a nickname you’d give a little kid,” I say. People around us are starting to glance over, and I’m rigidly pretending that I don’t notice.

“I disagree,” he says. Then he leans even closer and I swear to God I can feel other people staring. “Grrrrrr,” he growls, right into my ear. It’s totally ludicrous, and worse, it works. I’m heated up like lava is flowing through me. I can’t think of a single thing except what it would feel like to be pressed face-first against the wall of an elevator, Brent’s hands up my skirt, his mouth on my neck... The song ends. Thank Christ, the song ends. People clap, and I clap along, doing my best to pretend that a super

sexy total stranger didn’t just growl into my ear. I also try to ignore him and pretend I didn’t like it. Maybe I did. A little. I turn around and drift back toward my table. Brent got separated in the crowd, somewhere, but just before I take my seat I feel his hand on my bare shoulder. “Save me a dance if you’re still on your feet by then,” he says. “You won’t be balls-deep in an elevator?” I ask. My grin matches his and I know I’m taunting him, which is not a thing that

nice girls do to men they’ve just met. It’s not like he’s nice, though, so I don’t care. “You make it sound like I’m going to fuck the elevator,” he says. “I don’t know your life,” I shoot back. “People are into all kinds of things.” “You’d know, tiger,” he says. His blue eyes are glinting and he walks around the table and takes his seat where I can’t see his face any more. I can only see his hands as he talks to the woman next to him. Somehow, I make conversation with Brittany and her husband, as well as the

middle-aged couple on my other side. It feels like the world’s slowest dinner: first there’s salad for about twelve hours, then a day of an amuse-bouche, then a week-long main course. Brittany tells me about decorating her living room. The middle-aged man on my other side is talking about his consulting business, and I’m being polite as hell, using the right fork, sitting up straight, and not paying them the tiniest bit of attention. I’m just watching his hands. Sometimes his shoulders. Every so often I can hear his laugh from across the table, and one time it stops me mid-sentence as I wonder who he’s laughing with.

I don’t touch my glass of wine. I think I’m going to need my wits about me. What’s left of them, anyway.

FIVE

ALEX

I’m losing my mind. Tessa’s on Ithethink other side of the huge fucking flower vase, and all I can see are glimpses of auburn hair and her white shoulders. Every so often she laughs, sometimes

politely and sometimes not. I’ve been in La Carretera for almost ten years. I’ve killed and hurt more people than I can count. I’ve exchanged dope for guns in abandoned lots, outnumbered ten to one. I’ve carted pounds of blow to Las Vegas all by myself, the stuff hidden in a spare tire. I’ve seen friends and family die in front of me, but I’ve always gotten my shit done. Manny sends me to do something, and no matter what, I deliver. Except now, apparently. Because of some accountant’s daughter from the valley. I don’t have a plan anymore. I’m

supposed to be drugging her, but that ship has sailed. “My ex did Krav Maga,” the girl next to me says. She’s pretty and decked out in ice that looks real. “You look like you do Krav Maga.” I’m pretty sure that’s a martial art, but it could also be some kind of bongo drum I’ve never heard of. “I used to,” I hazard. “I’ve been too busy lately, though, so it’s just the gym for now.” “At least your firm is doing well,” she says. “My ex was a money manager, but then he got caught trading...”

She keeps talking but I’m not paying attention. The band is back on the stage, talking and laughing and picking up their instruments, and I’m wondering if they’re going to start playing again. I lift my whiskey glass to my mouth again, but it’s empty, and then I realize the girl next to me is looking at me like she expects an answer. “Really,” I say, the most neutral word I can think of. She giggles. “Yeah, he was a real winner,” she says. She purses her lips and looks up at me sideways, through her eyelashes. I hold up my glass.

“I need a refill,” I say. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” Jiff seems like a thing Brent would say. I order another Scotch, and as the bartender is handing it to me, I hear her voice. “You sure you should be going that hard?” I turn and there she is. “You know what sneaks up on people?” I ask her. “Are you going to say tigers?” she asks. The bartender puts a napkin on the bar as if to remind her what she’s doing, and she orders a club soda with lime.

I raise my eyebrows at her. “I’m a responsible adult,” she says. “I’m taking a break.” “It’s because I’m here, isn’t it?” I ask. “Now you feel like a lush when I’m around.” “There’s no winning with you, is there?” she asks. We both step away from the bar, and now we’re the only ones standing on this side of the room. Everyone else is finishing dinner, the servers clearing away plates. The band is warming up. Across the room, the bride and groom are going from table to table, hugging

people and shaking hands. I wish I could remember their names. Brent probably knows their names. “You never did tell me how you know Karen and Eddie,” she says. Her lips close around the straw in her drink and she takes a sip. Then she licks a droplet from her top lip, and fuck it’s distracting. All I can think about are those lips sliding over the shaft of my cock, that pink tongue flicking the underside. “I worked with Eddie at his first job out of college,” I say. It seems safe. There’s no way she knows all his coworkers from his boring office job, right?

Instead, she tilts her head to one side. “When he was a wilderness ranger?” she asks. I look over at Eddie again. He’s slightly pudgy and barely taller than his wife. “That’s right,” I say. “You were a ranger too?” she asks. “I was his boss,” I say. I’ve had plenty of Scotch by now, so why the fuck not. “I was in charge of all the wilderness rangers in his, uh, division, actually.” I try to remember everything I know about forest rangers. There’s not much. My family went camping once before my

dad left us, probably when I was seven or eight. I hardly remember it. “What was your favorite part of being a wilderness ranger?” she asks, her eyes dancing. She takes another sip, and I force myself to look away this time. “The wilderness,” I say. “I fought a bear once.” “Did you?” she asks. “It was pretty dire, but I kicked his ass,” I say. “Bears learned not to come at me that day.” “So he told all his bear friends not to fuck with Brent,” she says. “Brent, the bear fighter. I forgot your last name

already.” Me too. “I’m just saying, no more bears picked fights with me.” “Undoubtedly,” she says. “How do you really know them?” I glance over my shoulder at the bartender, but he’s ten feet away and not paying us any attention. What I’m about to do is fucking stupid, not to mention reckless as hell. And yet, I feel like I’m careening downhill with no brakes, straight toward this girl.

“You want to know a secret?” I ask, dropping my voice. “What kind of secret?” she asks. “Is it about your predilection for fucking elevators?” “It’s for fucking in elevators,” I say. “And that’s not a secret.” “Well, not anymore,” she says. “I’m not really Brent,” I say. Her eyes go wide, and she glances from side to side, making sure there’s no one around us. Then she puts one hand on my arm, and I can feel the heat of her skin even through my jacket and shirt.

“Are you a spy?” she whispers. For another moment, she looks up at me with those wide green eyes, admiration and fascination in them. Then she dissolves into giggles. She leaves her hand on my arm, though, so it’s impossible to get mad. I take another drink and wait for her to stop laughing, remaining as cool and calm as I can. “I’d be a terrible spy,” I say, when her laughter starts to die down. “I lasted, what, two hours with my fake identity?” “True,” she said. “Though you look very James Bond in a tuxedo.”

“I thought so too,” I say, and she rolls her eyes again, even though she’s smiling. “Okay, so who are you?” she asks. “And how did you bust into the society event of the year?” I shrug and come up with something on the spot. “Brent’s a friend of a friend,” I say. “And he got the flu yesterday, and told my buddy to come in his place. But then my friend had a family emergency, gave me the invite, and now here I am.” “So you just came to some stranger’s wedding,” she says.

I hold up my Scotch glass. “I’ve drunk about seventy dollars worth of Scotch so far tonight,” I say. “I’m never getting invited to another wedding at the Beverly Hills Resort. Why wouldn’t I come and see how the other half lives?” She considers this for a moment as I hold my breath. There’s no way she’ll guess what I’m actually there to do, but she could have me kicked out if she wanted. “I’d probably come too,” she said. “Just to see what kind of wedding five hundred grand gets you.” I let out a low whistle.

“Really?” I ask. “Oh, at least,” she says. I know how many guns or cars that much can buy you, or how much blow. Weddings? Not so much. “You’re telling me this wedding cost more than the house I grew up in,” I say. “Probably,” she says, then shrugs. “I guess, if you’ve got the money, you can spend it on what you like.” I open my mouth but then the band all starts playing at once, some oldie that I half-recognize. The other guests all get up and head to the dance floor, finally liquored up enough to get their grooves

on. “You save me that dance?” I ask. “You gonna tell me your real name?” she asks. “You gonna dance with me?” “I see we’re at an impasse,” she says, and finishes her club soda. She sets it on a table behind her, and she’s giving me that little smile again. The one that just dares me to do something. “You said you’d dance with me if I wasn’t already balls-deep in someone else, if I recall correctly,” I say. I take a step closer to her, and now we’re only a couple inches apart. She’s

looking up at me and not backing down, that same challenge in her eyes. Any other girl would be bent over the sink in my hotel room by now. I’m not bragging, it’s just true. But Tessa’s standing here, fully clothed, and it fucking unleashes something inside me. “I just asked whether you would be balls-deep,” she says. “I didn’t make any promises.” She takes a tiny step forward. “Elevator-fucker,” she says, her body only a couple inches from mine. I am not about to fucking let her win

this... whatever this is. “I always make sure the elevator comes first,” I murmur. Her cheeks turn faintly pink but she doesn’t back down. I’m starting to get hard. “So you’re a gentleman elevatorfucker,” she says. I drain the final sip of scotch, and then reach around her to put the empty glass on the table behind her. She still doesn’t move, and I’m starting to wish she would. I try desperately to think about something else, but it isn’t working, and my dick is just getting

harder by the second. “I’m wearing a tuxedo,” I say. “Of course I’m a gentleman. I always call the elevator the next day.” That part’s just a lie. I don’t fuck elevators, but I never call women the next day. Hell, I never even get their numbers. Usually I don’t get their names. “Liar,” she says. “Yeah, you got me,” I say. “I’m an elevator virgin.” “You don’t call, either,” she says, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to one side. “I can tell.”

“Then we’re even,” I say. “I don’t call the next day and you’re a cocktease who’s keeping me from getting lucky with some trust fund girl. Are you going to dance with me or what?” “I still don’t know your name,” she says. Goddamn, her spine is made of steel. Kind of like my dick. I break first. I walk around behind her and take her shoulders, one bare and one with a strap on it, and lean down, my lips almost touching the shell of her ear. She smells like flowers and cinnamon. “My name,” I say, “Is Alejandro Felipe Paolo Velasquez de Monteca.”

Mostly not true. “But you can call me Alex,” I growl. “Now, are we going to fucking dance, or what?”

SIX

TESSA

W e fucking dance. Like I’m going to say no to Alejandro Felipe Something Something, looking like pure man candy in a tux, telling me his name like it’s a litany of the filthy

things he’d like to do to me. The moment we get on the floor the band switches moods and I hear the familiar strains of Kiss From a Rose, a chorus of oooohs coming from the bridesmaids. It’s not the song I had in mind. It’s kind of... sweet and romantic, which isn’t exactly my mood right now, but Alejandro Felipe — Alex — already has one hand at the small of my back and the other closed around my own, and there’s no way I’m getting out of this. “See?” he says. “Is this so bad?” “I guess it’s all right,” I say. “I’ve had better.”

That’s not true, but if there’s something I like better than pressing his buttons, I haven’t found it yet. “Is that a challenge?” he asks. “Just a statement of fact,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. He waits a few more beats, and then suddenly he steps back and pulls my arm over my head and I almost go offbalance as I twirl around, my skirt rippling out to the sides, and then he catches me against his chest and we’re dancing again like nothing happened. A few people glance over, and I pretend not to see them.

“You’ve gotta warn a girl,” I say with fake indignation. “Especially a girl in four-inch heels. That could have been deadly.” He just laughs. “Does anything please you?” he teases. “Of course,” I say. “Nice men who don’t lie about their names, who call the next day, and who don’t try to kill me on the dance floor.” There was a time that I thought I liked those things. That time was this afternoon. “I’m sure this wedding is full of nice men,” he says. “And here you are.”

“You dragged me onto this dance floor,” I say. “You followed me to the bar,” he points out. The singer is really wailing now, putting his all into this sappy old song. Alex spins me again but this time I’m expecting it. More people are looking but I don’t give a shit. “Fast learner,” Alex says. “I’m pretty quick,” I say. The song gets to its final bars and Alex presses me against him even harder. My heart is beating so hard that I’m sure he can feel it, and I look up at him.

He’s going to kiss me, I think. Kiss me. Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me. He looks down. He smiles. Then I’m falling backwards. I goddamn squeal and throw my arms around his neck, but of course he’s got his arms around me and I’m not about to go crashing to the floor. At the bottom he pauses for a moment with an absolutely wicked grin on his face, like he’s won something. I’m nearly horizontal and something raw and primal surges through me, like we’re in bed and I’ve got my legs wrapped

around him. I’m breathing hard. I lick my lips. “Fucker,” I say. He lifts me back onto my feet, and I’m still pressed against him, the heat of his body radiating through his shirt and jacket and into my skin. I feel like I’m melting, and as the band kicks into Hey Ya I shake my head a little in an attempt to regain my composure. “Fancy enough for you?” he asks, his lips close to my ear again. I take a deep breath. All I can think of is him, tossing me onto a bed and crawling over me, his mouth covering mine.

My whole body practically pulses with need. I’m nearly dizzy with it. I’ve never felt like this, not even close. I wonder if I’m dying or something, I think. Probably not. “That was good, but I expect more of someone with four names,” I say. He pulls me in by my hips and the song gets too loud for us to talk, so I just let myself go, moving in time to the music. I groove. I shimmy. I shake it like a Polaroid picture. Our hips are grinding together, and I can feel him getting hard, right there on the

dance floor of this very fancy wedding. He’s got his hands on the bare skin of my shoulder, on my waist, and then I’m reaching inside his tuxedo jacket and pressing my hands against his sides. Even through his shirt, I can feel that he’s pure muscle. He could definitely toss me onto a bed, I think, and then I blush. He keeps stiffening beneath his rented tuxedo pants, and I shouldn’t, but I fucking love it. I love that no matter what he says, he can’t control his own dick in public, not when we’re dancing dirty like this. The song changes again and Alex takes off his jacket and throws it onto a chair.

He loosens his tie, and surprise surprise, he looks just as good disheveled as he does buttoned up. There’s something just barely peeking out of his sleeve at his wrist. A tattoo. I only see it for a split second and then he pulls his sleeve down and grabs me again, not even pretending to play nice any more. Before I know it I’m spun around, my back pressed against his torso and his erection against me, his hands still digging into my hips, holding me as tight against him as he can. For the first time I look around the dance floor, and I’m a little relieved to realize that other people are getting down too.

Then I catch Andrew’s gaze. He’s standing at the edge of the dance floor, not moving at all, a drink in his hand and his nose in the air. While we’re looking at each other, he smirks and says something to the guy standing next to him, a guy I sort of recognize as one of Nick’s friends. For a moment it works, and I miss the beat, my muscles suddenly not working right anymore. I misstep in my heels and probably look like a weird ostrich. Then I think: Fuck it. Go ahead, tell Nick that you watched me practically fuck some guy on the dance floor. That it proves I’m some

kind of gold digging slut. I reach up behind me and put my hand around the back of Alex’s neck. It’s hot and just a little damp with sweat, and then I move my hips back and writhe. There’s no other word for it. Alex makes a low noise in his chest and moves with me in perfect time and I let my eyes slide shut, not taking in a single thing besides the feeling of his body against mine, the perfect way we’re moving together, his hands on me, raw and powerful and needy as hell. I’m fucking wet. I feel like my whole body is a raging river of seething want.

The song ends, the music stops and I’m breathing hard. Other couples move apart but not us. Alex keeps me right where I am, bends down, puts his lips against my ear. “Where’d that come from?” he asks. Andrew’s talking to someone else now, not looking at me, so I lick my lips and try to catch my breath. My feet are starting to hurt and I can feel the sweat forming at my hairline, threatening to trickle down my neck and into my dress. “Would all the single women please congregate on the dance floor!” the band leader says into the microphone. Nope, I think.

I’m not about to stand in front of everyone and jump for some flowers. “Let’s get some air,” I say, and head toward the patio. I grab my clutch from my chair and Alex grabs his jacket and his drink. Just as Karen is standing in front of a gaggle of women, urging them to make more noise, we leave through the doors to a wide, empty patio. It’s cool outside, but the air feels good against my overheated body. On a terrace below is the shimmering pool, surrounded by $3,500-a-night tile-roofed bungalows. There’s no one else outside, and I glance back at the doors to the ballroom,

wondering if this was a bad idea. Alex just laughs at me, and I can hear a cheer go up from inside the building. “You gonna tell me what that was or not?” he asks. “It was nothing, really,” I say, but he just laughs again, like he knows I’m lying. “Sure,” he says. I blow a strand of hair out of my face, and I can feel a bead of sweat trickle down my neck. “My ex’s best friend is here,” I say. “The one who convinced my ex that I was only dating him for his money.”

“Were you?” “Of course not,” I say. He holds his hands up, whiskey still in one, and his face is oddly serious. “No judgment,” he says. “We all gotta live somehow.” “That wasn’t it,” I say. I want to talk about anything but my ex right now. “So you saw this guy and went buck wild on me,” he says. “I’m not sure whether I should be pleased or insulted.” “You felt pretty pleased,” I say.

“Hard not to be, tiger.” “Interesting choice of words.” He takes another sip of his drink, and I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows, the muscles in his throat contracting. “What kind of whiskey is that?” I ask. “Scotch,” he says. “Smoky as hell, not suitable for delicate ladies.” “I’m not delicate,” I say, and he holds the glass out toward me. Something possesses me. I glance into his eyes, and then, instead of taking a sip like a normal person, I dip a finger into the glass.

Then I suck the whiskey off my finger, staring straight into Alex’s eyes the whole time. I feel like someone else entirely has taken over my body, because this is not a thing that Tessa Fulbright does. But the truth? I like it. I like the way all the nerve endings in my body feel like they’re sparking and I like the look that crosses Alex’s face, the moment of surprise and raw lust. “It’s good whiskey,” I say.

SEVEN

ALEX

essa sticks her finger in her mouth, T and I swear time slows down as she sucks the whiskey off, her perfectly plush lips making a pouty circle as she looks straight at me.

I know my guy Andres is waiting for me in the parking lot. Any minute now, he’s expecting me to bring a drugged Tessa out and stuff her into the SUV so he can drive her to the safe house. Except I didn’t actually drug her, and now it’s way too late. I have to think of something else, but she’s standing there, sucking whiskey off her fingers, and to be honest I’m having a rough time thinking about much else. But I’ve still got a couple minutes before I have to do something. Besides, once she’s in that SUV, I’m never going to see Tessa again. If we’re gonna have some fun it needs to

be now. “It’s good whiskey,” she says, looking up at me with a little smile on her face. “Take another sip,” I say, and dunk a finger in the glass. It’s barely out of the liquid when Tessa sucks it into her mouth and licks the whiskey off, her hot wet tongue swirling around my fingertip, her teeth barely clamping onto the first joint, just enough to remind me that she doesn’t have to let go. Now I’m rock hard. The second she lets my finger go, I bend down and crush my mouth against hers. I

kiss her hard enough that her teeth catch just a little on my lip. I think maybe she’ll pull back but instead she leans into it, parting her lips against mine. I toss my glass onto the grass, not caring if it breaks. I taste whiskey as her tongue curls into my mouth. I meet it with my own, winding them together. Her body against mine is soft and warm and I run my hands down her back and cup the perfect twin globes of her ass beneath her dress. Tessa pulls away and bites my bottom lip, so I grab her ass even harder and lift her off the ground. She pulls her skirt up and wraps her legs around my waist and

then I’m carrying her around the corner to a blank spot on the wall between two bougainvillea bushes. The heat between her legs is tight against my aching erection, and the friction only gets worse with every step. She makes a slight noise when her back hits the wall, but then her thighs squeeze my hips. I’m kissing her, my tongue in her mouth and hers in mine. She puts her arms around my neck and curls her fingers through my hair, pressing my face against hers. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My hand starts at her knee and slides up the inside of her thigh, fingertips

skimming over the soft, supple skin there until I find the place where her hip meets her thigh. Her hand tightens in my hair and she bites my lip, so I brush my thumb over her panties. Surprise, surprise: they’re soaking wet. I pull back from the kiss and move my thumb again. When I reach her clit she lets out a tiny gasp and closes her eyes. With her skirt up I can smell how aroused she is, and it only turns me on more. I want to take her, right now. I want to hold her up against this wall and watch

her come under my fingers. I want to taste her. I want to fuck her and feel her cum around me. I want her to shout my name. My real one. That last thought makes my cock twitch, and for a moment, I’m afraid I’m going to come in my pants for the first time since I was thirteen. “We’re in public,” Tessa murmurs, her eyes still closed. “You’re right,” I say, and slide my thumb over her panty-covered clit again. “We should stop.” She makes that noise again and I slide

my fingers under her panties, her slickness getting on my fingers. “Do you know how wet you are?” I ask. “Of course I do,” she murmurs back. “Do you know you’re hard as a rock and I’m hardly even touching you?” Touché. “Not yet,” I say, and I move my thumb to her clit, skin on skin. Tessa inhales sharply again, and then her tongue just barely flicks past her top lip. Her eyes are still closed. I don’t think she knows she’s doing it. Over to my left, there’s a brief glint of light. A car driving by.

I realize that we’re not far from the parking lot. I don’t need to get Tessa out of the wedding and past the lobby and through the valet line. I just need to get her thirty feet to the left. If I can get her close to the SUV, pushing her in before she can scream is child’s play. She sighs, her lips parted, and I feel a little bad as I bite her earlobe, my thumb still caressing her. I push her panties aside and stop for a moment, sliding two fingers the length of her slit before pushing them inside her. “We’re gonna get caught,” she murmurs. “Only if you start screaming,” I say,

pushing deeper. Her breathing gets ragged. “Are you a screamer?” “I don’t know,” she says. She opens her eyes and looks up at me again, pleasure written all over her face. “I don’t usually finger bang strangers at a wedding.” “Well, try to stay quiet,” I say, and crook my fingers inside her warm, wet channel at the same time that my thumb strokes her. It’s a little tricky, doing this with one hand while holding her up with the other, but it’s nothing I’ve never done before. Her breath catches in her throat like she’s getting close. A tiny pang of sadness snakes through

me: I’m never going to get to fuck her. I’ll still remember this fondly. “Faster,” she whispers, and I speed up even though my hand is starting to cramp from the odd angle. “Bossy,” I whisper, but then I can feel her muscles starting to flutter. Her breathing speeds up and she clenches her fists in my hair, pushing our lips together with wild abandon. I wouldn’t stop if a tornado came along right now and picked us up. She pulls her head back, eyes shut, mouth open. “Fuck,” she whispers, and then she

comes, her muscles clamping down around my fingers as her thighs tighten around my hips. I’m afraid she might break my wrist, but I don’t stop. At this point, nothing could make me stop. Her mouth parts and she arches her back, but the only noise that comes out is a small, soft oh! as she turns her head to the side, panting. I don’t stop until the muscles squeezing my fingers together finally let go and Tessa’s whole body relaxes. I pull back carefully and her legs slide down me until she’s on her feet again, leaning against the wall, breathing hard and blushing.

I lift my fingers and smell them, grinning. Tessa clears her throat and straightens her dress, but when she looks up I slide both fingers into my mouth and lick them off. For a moment I wish I could really taste her, but that’s not part of the plan. She watches me, already flushed, so it’s impossible to tell if she’s blushing more. Now I have to get her to the parking lot. It’s that or Manny’s wrath for fucking this up so completely. I think of the men I know without pinkies. The pit of my stomach goes cold.

I look at Tessa again as her hand slides down my torso and onto the front of my pants, then over my aching erection. There’s the look of surprise I’m used to, the is that a flashlight or something? look. “We didn’t get caught,” she murmurs. I feel bad for what I’m about to do, but I’d feel a lot worse if I disobeyed Manny. “Not yet,” I say. “Come on, I want to show you something.” She laughs. “Is it the inside of your hotel room?” she asks. “Predictable.”

“Not exactly,” I say. “You don’t even have a room here, do you?” she asks. “That was Brent, not Alejandro Felipe.” “It’s a surprise,” I say. Technically, that’s very true. She rolls her eyes. “What kind of surprise?” “I just made you come outside at a wedding and you’re asking me what kind of surprise?” I ask. “The fuck do you think it is?” She blushes and laughs all at once.

“Fine,” she says. Apparently orgasms make her slightly more agreeable. I lead her out from between the bushes. There’s someone on the patio now, and they look over at us. Tessa scampers back and grabs her bag, but the guy doesn’t say anything to her, and we sneak between the main hotel building and a bungalow to the parking lot. Finally. I just want to get this over with. I feel shitty that I nearly fucked up this whole mission and shitty that I’m doing this to Tessa, who probably doesn’t deserve it. I just need to get back inside and find some pretty rich girl who can take care

of my hard on, and I’ll be fine. I slide my hand down and cup Tessa’s ass, one last time, and think this one’s for the spank bank. She shoots a flirty look over her shoulder as I guide her toward a big SUV that’s parked diagonally halfway between two street lamps, in the darkest possible spot. “What, now you think I’m going home with you?” she asks, teasingly. “That’s not the surprise,” I tell her, and give her ass one final goodbye squeeze. I unlock the SUV with the key fob in my pocket, and she raises her eyebrows. We’re almost up to the bumper now. It’s

got dark-tinted windows, so I can’t see anyone inside, but I’m assuming Andres is in there, because he has to be. Tessa frowns, and she actually starts to look nervous, so I rub her back. I open the back door, pick her up, toss her into the backseat, and close the door again, all one fast, practiced motion. She’s so surprised that she doesn’t even fight back until the door is closed again. Once she does, the SUV starts rocking a little on its wheels. She’s screaming too but even standing right outside, I can barely hear her. It’s a specialty vehicle, one we jokingly call El Hostagemobile. Manny had someone

drive it up from Mexico last night. I take a deep breath and lean against the side of the SUV for just a split second, relieved that it’s finally done. I can still smell her on my fingers, and as I inhale, I feel an odd pang of guilt about Tessa. Her handbag is on the ground and I pick it up. I shake it off. They’re not going to hurt her, they just need her dad to fall in line. Killing an innocent young woman in the States is much too risky, even for La Carretera. I’ve still got a problem. Andres isn’t here. He’s not in the front seat of the SUV, he’s not standing around

looking at his phone. He’s not anywhere in the whole parking lot. I pace around the Escalade as it rocks slightly on its wheels. I think Tessa is kicking at the windows, and for a split second, I’m oddly proud of the fight she’s putting up. Where the fuck is Andres though? I pace up and down the parking, but there’s nothing and he needs to get Tessa out of here now. Every second that she’s here in the parking lot is another second for someone to realize what’s going on. Just as I turn back to the SUV, I see a familiar form stumbling down the length of the parking lot. Andres has something

in his hand, and after a moment I can make it out: a bottle in a paper bag. Jesus, he’s fucking wasted. “Alex!” he says, waving one arm with an exaggerated motion. “What took you so long?” “You’re drunk,” I say. He shrugs, then grins. “This thing is indestructible, man,” he says, coming up to me. I grab the front of his shirt in both hands and I can hear it tear when I lift him off the ground and slam him against the back of the car.

“Hey!” he says. The car stop shaking on its wheels. Tessa can probably see us. “You were going to drive three hundred miles drunk?” I ask. I keep my voice low, but I want to roar in his face. His face goes slack, and he doesn’t answer. “What was gonna happen if you got pulled over, with her in the car? You gonna outrun the cops? You gonna have yourself a shootout with the police?” “Fuck you, man,” he starts, but I slam him against the car again and he shuts up. I want to rip his fucking throat out.

“You put everyone at risk so you could get drunk, you fucking idiot,” I say. I let him down and he stands there, staring at me. I wish I had my brass knuckles. “Took fucking forever,” he mutters. Whatever he was going to say, he doesn’t finish as my fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head to one side. Andres stumbles back, looking baffled. He touches the side of his face and spits blood. I stalk after him. The next fist gets him in the stomach, and he doubles up and falls onto the ground.

The SUV has stopped rocking back and forth. “Chinga tu madre puta, pendejo,” he gets out, and I kick him once before I can stop myself, fire surging through my veins. “Pinche puto,” I say. He sucks air in through his teeth and doesn’t respond. Good. One more word and I’m ready to kick his goddamn teeth in. I step around Andres, unlock the front door of the SUV, and climb in. Someone still has to get the hostage to the safe house, and since Andres can’t do his

fucking job, I guess it’s me. For a second, I consider taking the gun from the glovebox and finishing Andres right there, but I control myself. There’s a partition between the front seat and the back seat. Like a taxi, only more bulletproof. I turn and look through it, and Tessa’s sitting right in the middle of the back seat. She’s flushed pink, her eyes are wild, and I can already see bruises blooming on the knuckles of her right hand. She swallows, still staring at me, completely terrified. “What the fuck is going on?” she finally

asks, her voice shaking. “I’ll explain in a bit,” I say, starting the car. I adjust the rear view mirror so I can look her right in the eyes. “This will go better if you don’t try to make a scene,” I tell her. I’ve been careful about how I talk all night, but I can hear Chavez Heights slipping into my voice now. “Trust me on that.” Her eyes flick to the window, where Andres is still on the ground outside. I take that as her agreement and back out of the parking spot. I pull out onto Sunset

Boulevard and take that to the freeway. It’s nearly midnight on Saturday, so there’s no traffic. In no time at all, we’re out of Los Angeles.

EIGHT

TESSA

distract myself by keeping track Ioftrythetoroute we’re taking. We took Sunset to the 405 to the 5, and now we’re taking the 14 through the desert mountains, my ears popping. My mind is spinning out of

control, and I’m remembering every TV show and movie I’ve ever seen where someone got kidnapped. Keeping track of where we’re going seems like a good idea, and more importantly, it’s the only idea I have. I’m shaking and crying and trying not to do either. I put my seatbelt on even though it seems like I’m going to die. My feet are sore from kicking at the windows in my heels. I have no idea what the fuck is going on: I was at Karen’s wedding, and things got a little crazy with this guy, and then he shoved me into this car. When someone tried to stop him, he beat

that guy senseless, and now Alex or whatever his real name is won’t even speak to me. I feel like I’m in a nightmare, only it’s obviously real. Knowing what highway I’m on feels like it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality and keeping me from spinning out every terrifying possibility. It’s the one thing I can actually do right now. Is this some sort of horrible, horrible prank? Are Nick and Andrew behind this, somehow? Am I being kidnapped? Sold into sex slavery? Are we bound for some weird desert

cult, where I’m going to be a bride for the cult leader and have to bear him ten children or something? That’s the same thing as sex slavery, I think. I take a deep breath and let it out, shuddering. I didn’t think middle-class white girls got kidnapped into sex slavery, I think, staring out the window. Then I immediately feel bad for thinking I’m above it. It’s just... I have friends and family who’ll raise the alert, I think. There has to be someone easier to kidnap.

He’s listening to a rap station, but suddenly the volume goes down and he clears his throat. “You don’t know what this is about,” he says. I can see his ice-blue eyes in the rear view mirror. A wave of revulsion passes through me, and I clench my fists, furious at myself. I do not, as a rule, let strangers finger me at weddings. Of course the one time it happens, it’s with the worst possible person. I shake my head at him. “Well, you can blame your dad,” he

says. I blink. My eyelids feel like they’re covered with sandpaper. My dad? I think. My dad has glasses that were last cool in the 1980s, exclusively wears shortsleeve button-down shirts, and has eaten a bologna sandwich with horseradish and mayonnaise for lunch every day that I’ve been alive. He listens to Rush in the car and plays the air drums very enthusiastically at stop lights. For a moment I’m too confused to be scared. “What?” I ask.

“Your father took on some accounting work for a... criminal organization,” he says. I stare. Then I burst out laughing. I have no idea why. It feels like someone else is in my body, and I’m just sitting there watching it happen, but that’s just so fucking ludicrous that there’s no other response. “No, he didn’t,” I say, between hysterical giggles. I can barely even get the words out. “He fucking loves — oh god...” I’m laughing so hard I can’t speak. Tears

are running down my face. Somewhere, I’m aware that I must be losing my mind. “He fucking loves Fleetwood Mac,” I finally get out, gasping for air. I snort when I inhale. I’m starting to get a stitch in my side, and I massage it with one hand. “He’s not working for criminals,” I say, wiping tears from my face. Then, a glimmer of hope. “Did Andrew and Nick put you up to this?” “Your ex and his friend?” he asks.

Please say yes, I think. I’ll fucking murder them, but it’s miles better than any alternative. “No,” he says. “Your father does our books, and he’s threatening to go to the feds.” I try to make my face serious, but I can’t stop laughing. I don’t even want to laugh. I don’t think this is funny, not at all, but it feels totally beyond my control. “That’s fucking ludicrous,” I say, taking a deep breath. A giggle escapes, and my voice pitches higher. “I don’t think he’s ever gotten a speeding ticket.”

“People will do surprising things for money,” he says, softly. Still half-giggling despite myself, I lean forward and cover my face with my hands. “You have to have the wrong person,” I say. “There’s just no way. There’s no fucking way.” “Patrick Fulbright, West Valley Circle, Encino, California?” he asks. “Worked at Smithman Associates for thirty years?” I look up but don’t answer. “Wears a lot of short-sleeve button down shirts?”

Finally, I stop laughing. I try to wrap my brain about this but I can’t. It still seems like it’s happening to someone else, in a dream. “Have you seen your dad in the past few days?” I think. The last time was Tuesday, when he took me to our favorite burger joint for our weekly dinner. He refuses to call it a date, because he thinks that’s creepy. I don’t answer Alex, though. “He’s missing,” Alex goes on. “You’re leverage so he doesn’t talk.” I rub my hands over my face again, because touching myself grounds me

somehow. “What does that mean?” I finally ask. “It means that he comes back, doesn’t go to the feds, and we let you go,” Alex says. “Easy as one, two, three.” “Bullshit,” I mutter. “We don’t kill innocent American girls,” Alex says. “That tends to bring the law down, you know.” “You just kidnap them?” I say. “Not usually,” he admits. “Then what the fuck do you have a kidnap car for?” I ask. “There’s no way out of this backseat. It’s not for moving

pot or guns or whatever the fuck business you’re in.” He doesn’t answer, and I regret mouthing off immediately. What kind of idiot argues with the guy driving her kidnap car? Alex doesn’t answer me, not that I expect him to. I get the impression that he’s already told me too much, or at least more than he was supposed to. We’re both quiet for a long time. Then I see a sign coming up: Palmdale, next five exits. I have an idea.

“I have to pee,” I say. I don’t, but I’ll try anything. He fucking smiles. I can see it in his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Look under your seat,” he says. I fish under the seat, then pull out two adult diapers. I stare at them. Fuck this, I think. Fuck this guy, and fuck his organization, and fuck my dad for doing this bullshit, and fuck Karen and Eddie for getting married and fuck the Beverly Hills Resort for having no goddamn security. Fuck pissing in a diaper in the back

seat. I sink my fingers into a diaper and pull, trying to tear the thing apart. Someone’s screaming with rage and then I realize it’s me, screaming and tearing at a pair of Depends. My fingernails pop through the plastic lining and then I just fucking tear at it, scraps of cotton filling or whatever the fuck is in an adult diaper coming out and flying around the back seat. I scream and shred the thing until the backseat is covered in tiny pieces of white fluff, it’s on my dress and in my hair, and I’m breathing hard. In the driver’s seat, Alex is chuckling.

“Fuck you,” I spit. “Never seen anyone do that with the diaper,” he says. “You’re going to fucking jail,” I say. I know I should shut my goddamn mouth, but I can’t. “You’re gonna get caught, and you’re gonna go to jail and I swear to god I will help put you there, and then some big guy named Tony is going to bend you over in the shower and fuck you in your asshole until it bleeds while his friend Joe shoves his cock down your throat.” He’s looking at the road, not me. “I hope you get gang-raped every day in prison,” I say.

“Won’t happen,” he says quietly. I snort. “Who do you think controls the prisons?” he asks. I frown. I don’t even know what that question means. “It’s not the guards,” he says, still quiet. I feel like I’m looking down a well, into some kind of underworld that I’ve never seen before. I’ve never given a single thought to who controls prisons. Isn’t it... the police, or something? “What are you talking about?” I ask, suddenly uncertain.

“Gangs run prisons,” Alex says, his voice still quiet. “Even if I go, I’m wellaffiliated.” Then he fucking smiles. “Don’t worry about my asshole, Tiger. It’ll be fine.”

NINE

ALEX

od, I can still smell her on my fingers G as I drive. Her scent is still there, still intoxicating, and I have to fight my hardon. Tessa rages in the back seat, and I just

let her do it. She can’t hurt anything back there — except the adult diaper, apparently — and if there’s one thing I understand, it’s being put in a shitty position by your own father. Besides, it’s kind of hot. There’s something I never thought I’d say: I’m watching a kidnap victim scream and tear apart a diaper, and I’m kind of turned on. I drive through Palmdale and Lancaster, the last outposts of civilization, and then we’re in the empty desert. Tessa looks exhausted, slumped against the window, watching the darkness roll by. Every so often, a tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away.

I feel bad. I do. She doesn’t deserve this, but I’m just doing my job, and if I thought too much about who deserved what, I’d have gotten a bullet to the head a very long time ago. She moves her head against the glass of the window, and I can see her eyelids flicker. We’ve still got another two hours in the car, and I glance at my tuxedo jacket in the passenger seat. What’s wrong with you? I wonder. Have you not fucked up this job enough yet? Is that it? Her green eyes slide shut, then pop open, and she blinks.

There’s an exit ahead. It’s nothing more than an off-ramp to a dirt road, but I get off on it anyway, and Tessa sits up straight in the back seat, looking from window to window like she can memorize where we are. I pull over to the side of the road and stop the car. She’s wide awake now. “Can I trust you not to do something stupid?” I ask. “Probably not,” she says. I ignore that. “I’m going wind your window down and give you my jacket,” I say. “I don’t want it,” she says.

I ignore that, too, and wind her window down four inches. Before I can open my door, she’s got her arms out of it, her face against the opening, and she’s screaming bloody murder. It doesn’t matter. There’s no one around but me. I stand by the car patiently, jacket in hand. After a few more screams, she stops and just looks at me. “You done?” I ask. She doesn’t answer. After a few moments, she scoots away from the window. I shove my jacket through the opening and hear it fall onto the seat on the other side, and I get back into the

driver’s seat. “Watch your fingers,” I say. Her hand is still out the window. “It’ll break all your fingers,” I tell her. “Seen it happen.” “You probably did it,” she says. She’s right, but I don’t respond, I just wait. After a moment she pulls her hand back into the car. I put the window up and drive back onto the highway.

It’s a little after four in the morning when

I pull off the highway and onto a gravel track. Tessa finally drifted off to sleep, and even though she refuses to use my jacket for a pillow, in her sleep she’s clutching it in one hand. I’m always amazed at the places people can fall asleep: airplanes, bathrooms, in a car while being kidnapped, though in her defense, she’s half-drunk, totally exhausted, and lots of people fall asleep in cars. When we start rumbling over the gravel, she wakes up but doesn’t say anything. The plan called for blindfolding her, but the plan also called for Andres doing this part while I went back to the wedding, and I didn’t think to get the

blindfold from him. Besides, it’s dark, she’s half-asleep, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. The gravel road is pretty slow to drive, even in this car, and it’s about fifteen miles long. The radio signal has been gone for hours, so the car is dead silent. “Are you sure you’re not going to kill me?” she finally says, so softly I can barely hear her. “If I were going to kill you, you’d be dead already,” I say. “I’d have done it back in Los Angeles.” She nods and looks at the window, but I know she can’t see a damn thing.

“If I killed you it would be to send a message,” I say. “I wouldn’t take you to the middle of the desert when no one will ever find you. I’d want you to be found.” I can just barely see her nod in the back seat. You’re probably not making her feel much better, I think. We don’t speak for the rest of the drive, until I pull up to a house. It’s a doublewide, pre-fab with white vinyl siding, and the desert is already starting to take its toll. There’s a six-foot chain link fence around it, and I stop the car, get out, open the gate, and drive through.

“We’re here,” I tell her. She’s leaning forward, peering through the windshield. “Where’s here?” she asks. “Our safehouse,” I say. “We’re fifteen miles from the nearest road. The closest town is Ballarat, California, and it’s a ghost town that’s thirty miles away. During the day, it usually gets up to oneten, one-fifteen out here.” I’m looking through the partition at her, and finally her eyes meet mine. “You’re telling me there’s nowhere to go,” she says. “You got it,” I say.

“Are you gonna tell me that the car’s got a thumbprint lock, too?” “No,” I say. “But the keys are in my pocket, and if I were you, I wouldn’t try to get them.” She nods slightly, her eyes flicking back to the house. “Can I get out now?” she asks. I get out of the car and close the gate. I don’t worry about locking it; she can’t go anywhere, and I hate feeling trapped. I open her door and offer my hand, which she ignores. She’s covered in wisps of diaper material, and her long dress is wrinkled, her hair half falling

down. I can’t help but take a moment to appreciate how hot she is, even now, and I think about her legs wrapped around my waist and that soft oh! she made when she came. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “Like what, tiger?” I ask. She’s looking at everything around us, not me, as she answers. “Like there’s a chance we’re still gonna fuck,” she says, her voice hard and cold. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. I don’t think there’s an actual chance.

I’m pretty sure I blew that by kidnapping her. Doesn’t mean I can’t look at a nice ass. “Come on,” I say. “Inside. Ladies first.”

TEN

TESSA

have no idea where we are, besides Isome kind of gang safehouse in the middle of the desert. I still don’t feel like I know what’s going on, only that it’s completely beyond my control. I’m a

pawn in some bigger game and there is nothing I can do about it. I don’t think about what happened earlier with Alex. If I do, I think I might lose my mind. The thought of getting close to him makes my stomach turn. I can’t believe I fell for it. I should have known the minute the hottest guy at the wedding started talking to me that something was going on, because guys who look like Alex don’t talk to sad, lonely, single girls at weddings who fall over their own feet. They just don’t. At worst, I figured he wouldn’t ever call. I didn’t have the slightest suspicion that he might kidnap me.

Alex unlocks the front door to the safehouse and makes a grand gesture, so I walk over the threshold and ignore him. It’s actually kinda nice. You know, for what amounts to a desert shack. The house seems relatively new, and it’s cleaner than I thought it would be. I recognize the sparse furniture from Ikea: a couch, a dining room table with chairs. It’s got an open plan, so the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room are just one big space. To the left there’s a short hallway, and on the right side of the room is another door with three padlocks on it.

Weapons, I assume. No decoration, nothing on the walls. Easier to keep an eye on hostages, I think. I walk to the couch, sit, and take off my heels, leaving them in the middle of the floor. The couch is facing a black Ikea coffee table and an old cathode ray TV with a VCR built in. There are stacks of VHS tapes around it, half in Spanish and half in English. A small bookshelf has a handful of books, mostly thrillers, though there’s one that looks like a romance novel. Alex closes the door, flips on more lights, and walks into the kitchen.

“You want coffee?” he asks. I shrug. At this point, I just feel blank, like the past couple of hours — ever since I got to that stupid wedding — have wrung every single emotion out of me, and I’m just an empty shell of a human. That’s probably overdramatic, but everything is pretty fucking overdramatic right now. I can’t even bring myself to be scared. I’m sure I will be later, but I’m in a house with Ikea furniture and — I tilt my head — The Princess Bride on VHS. Compared to the rest of my night, it’s a cakewalk.

“I’ll make a pot,” Alex says, standing in the tiny kitchen. I don’t answer. It’s not like it matters what I say, after all. As he goes through the few cabinets, looking for the coffee, I lean forward and look at the tapes. Most are neatly stacked, with one or two scattered around. There’s The Princess Bride, which is almost surprising, but who doesn’t like that movie? A lot are in Spanish. There’s Sorority Sluts 1, 2, 3, and 5. What’s wrong with Sorority Sluts 4? I

wonder. They’ve got Bad Boys, Bad Boys II, Point Break. The Fast and the Furious. More or less exactly what I’d expect from a gang’s safehouse. I push a stack aside and look behind it at more dumb movies with explosions, scanning the titles to the bottom, then I snort in surprise. Pretty Woman and Casablanca. “You can watch something if you want,” Alex says. “There’s not really much to do here.” No shit, I think.

I open my mouth to ask if he’s got a preference, then shut it the second I remember that he’s kidnapped me and I don’t care what he thinks. I pop in Pretty Woman. I’ve never even seen it, I just know it’s the one where Julia Roberts plays a hooker who goes on a shopping spree. Outside the window, the sky is just turning light gray, and I wonder what time it is. As the opening credits roll, the coffee maker beeps and Alex comes over with two mugs and sets them on the coffee table. “There’s no cream or sugar,” he says, and sits down next to me.

I scoot half a foot away and I’m not subtle about it, but he pretends not to notice as he rolls his shirt sleeves up his thick forearms, the muscles flexing as his fingers work. He’s covered in ink, and I can’t help staring at his tattoos. There’s something rough about them — they’re well done, but for a reason I can’t pinpoint, I find them a little unsettling, a little threatening. Probably because he kidnapped you, I think. “You look like you’ve got a question,” he says. I want to ask if he’s had those all night,

but I know that’s stupid. “Gang stuff?” I ask. He grins and picks up his coffee, amused that the white girl said gang stuff. “Some,” he says. “Some I just like.” He holds out his left arm, the one closest me. Wrapped around it, from his elbow down to his mid-forearms, is a rattlesnake, mouth open, fangs dripping. “That’s my most recent one,” he says. “You like it?” I have to fight the urge to put my fingers on his forearm and trace the black lines on his skin.

“It’s kind of cool,” I admit. “Does it mean something?” “Nah, just thought it looked badass.” I nod at his other arm. “Same with the scorpion?” It’s tattooed on the inside of his wrist, just below two sets of dates. “The scorpion’s very personal,” he says. “That’s my nickname.” “The Scorpion?” I say, dubiously. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “I’m fast and lethal,” he says. A smile plays around his eyes as he takes another sip of his coffee. Outside, the sky is

lighter still, and he gestures at my mug with his own. “I promise it’s not poisoned.” I almost refuse to drink it on principle, but what’s the point? I’m fucking tired but too keyed up to fall asleep, so I pick it up and take a sip. It’s not exactly good, but at least it’s strong. “What are the dates?” I ask, looking at the inside of his forearm again. For a second, he looks at me funny, and then at the screen where Julia Roberts is wearing shiny, thigh-high boots. “Someone who died,” he says.

“Sorry,” I say, and I am, because someone dying is hard even if you’re a gangbanging asshole. “Thanks,” he says, and goes quiet. In silence, we watch Pretty Woman as the sun comes up.

ELEVEN

ALEX

ven though she drinks half her mug of E coffee, Tessa’s asleep before Julia Roberts and Richard Gere even get in bed together. Her head’s back on the sofa and her mouth is open, and she’s

snoring lightly. Her snores are almost cute. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. It’s the first time in hours and hours that I don’t feel her eyes on me, glaring and furious, the first time that I can relax a little and actually feel some sympathy for her. I don’t like this part of my job, the part where I have to hurt innocent people, and I was relieved when Manny promoted me to Lieutenant. Now I tell the guys below me to hurt people instead of doing it myself, and frankly, that’s preferable. Four years as street muscle was plenty.

A lot of people don’t survive half the time that I did. But most people don’t get a nickname like The Scorpion either. Tessa snorts in her sleep, then clears her throat and turns her head so she’s facing me, her cheek on the couch. I wouldn’t mind taking a nap, but I’m at work, so I stand up and get another cup of coffee. I stand at the front window for a while and watch the sun come up over the mountains. I half-watch the rest of Pretty Woman while Tessa sleeps. My mother loves this movie, and I get why: it’s pure cotton candy fantasy about a rich man rescuing you and taking you away from your life into one where you can buy

pretty dresses and sip champagne all day long. There’s romance, too, but I know that’s not what resonates with my mom. When it ends I pull it out, put it in its cardboard case, and stick it back on the pile. Tessa stirs on the couch in the sudden silence and opens her eyes to look at me. “Did I fall asleep?” she asks, her voice soft and sleepy. I nod. “What time is it?” Time doesn’t really matter here, but I glance at the clock on the microwave.

“Almost seven,” I say. “Oh,” she says, and rubs her eyes. When her hands come away, her eyes are ringed by black smudges, and she looks at her fingers. “Shit,” she says. “Where’s the bathroom?” I point at a door, and she stands. “You need to come watch me?” she asks. She still sounds sleepy, but her words have a bite to them now. “You’re fine,” I say. “Just don’t take too long.” She swishes into the bathroom, dress trailing behind her.

I peruse the tapes and finally grab Point Break. When Tessa comes back, I’ve already started it. She grabs her coffee mug, looks into it, takes it to the kitchen, and pours herself a new mug before coming back to the couch. “There’s nothing to do here, is there?” she says. “Not even a puzzle.” I shrug. We watch the movie. In twenty minutes, she’s asleep again, her head flopped back and to the side. When I get my fourth cup of coffee, I sit closer to her than she let me when she was awake and put my feet up on the coffee table. By the time Keanu Reeves is shouting

that he’s an FBI agent, her head’s on my shoulder. I’m pretty sure she’s drooling on me, but I don’t want to wake her. Letting her sleep seems like the least I can do — and besides, from this angle I can see down her dress, just a little, her breasts swelling with every breath she takes. I think of her saying oh! again for a moment. Her pussy squeezing my fingers so hard I couldn’t move them, the flush that crept up her cheeks. I imagine that I can smell her on my fingers even over the smell of coffee, and I feel my cock stiffen. Well, I think. There’s nothing to do

here... I look down her dress again, but I’m not stupid. If there’s one girl in the world who’s not going to fuck the guy who kidnapped her, it’s Tessa, even if she’s drooling onto my shirt right now. I sigh, and try to concentrate on the movie.

She wakes up when Point Break ends and wipes off her mouth. She glares at me, but doesn’t say anything, even when she adjusts the dress she’s still wearing. I get off the couch and stretch, then walk into the kitchen.

“How long are we going to be here?” she asks. I glance at the disposable cell phone in my pocket. I have one bar of service that keeps flickering in and out, but it should be enough to at least know if I’ve missed a call. “That depends on your dad,” I say. “How long do you usually hold innocent people hostage for?” “The only other time I had a hostage, it was under twenty-four hours,” I say. Back then, I’d just started. Another guy kidnapped a rival cartel boss’s wife, and it was my job to stay with her in a

basement in Fullerton until the guy relented. The poor woman had been a mess, sobbing and begging me for mercy the whole time, sobbing that she didn’t want to die yet. I felt bad for her for a while, but then I just got annoyed. I was pretty glad when we let her go. “So by tonight, you think?” she asks. I shrug. “Maybe tomorrow morning,” I say. I open a cabinet and look inside: dried pasta, jarred pasta sauce, boxed macaroni and cheese, and lots and lots of canned soup.

“People will know I’m missing,” she says. “People saw us together at the wedding.” “I’m sure the real Brent will be getting a visit from the cops,” I say. “And then, a visit from my boss.” “Who’s your boss?” she asks. “Sorry, classified,” I say. “But nice try. You want chicken noodle soup for lunch?” “I guess,” she says. She pulls her feet onto the couch and sits cross-legged, staring out the window. “What happens if my dad doesn’t do what you want?” she asks, and suddenly

she seems fifteen years younger, like she’s a kid. “He’ll do it,” I say, searching the drawers for a can opener. “But if he doesn’t?” “No one has ever picked their sense of guilt or justice or whatever over their own kid,” I say. I open another drawer and paw through it. “Especially when the kid is all they’ve got.” “I hope you’re right,” she says. There’s a long, long pause as I finally find a shitty can opener in the back of the drawer and crank it against a can. “Are you gonna be the one who has to

kill me?” she finally says. The simple answer to that is yes. I’ll get a call, and Manny will give me the goahead. “If your dad goes to the feds, we’ll probably find out when the DEA lands a helicopter outside,” I say. It’s not outside the realm of possibility: we’d find out when the DEA or the FBI or the ATF, or maybe all three, attacked. But they wouldn’t be likely to hit here first. “So you’re not actually in contact with him,” she says. “Not technically,” I say. “But he knows

you’re missing by now. And he knows who did it, and how to make it right.” I dump the soup into bowls and put them in the microwave, then turn around and look at her. “Everyone gives in when it’s their kid’s life in danger,” I say. “Everyone.” She looks at me and her eyes fill with tears. “Thanks,” she says.

TWELVE

TESSA

on that damn couch all day. It turns Ioutsitbeing kidnapped and held hostage is a little like airplane travel: long periods of boredom, of waiting, punctuated by short bursts of intense stress. Only more

so. I pick Die Hard, and then Alex picks The Fast and the Furious. I’m bored to tears of watching movies, but the only other thing to do is read, and I’m too sleep-deprived and rattled to concentrate on a book. “I’ve got that car,” Alex says, suddenly. “What car?” “The charger,” he says, nodding at the screen. “Which one’s the charger?” I ask. He looks at me. “Seriously?” he says.

“I’m not a car person, really,” I say. “The charger is a major plot point in this movie,” he says. “It’s one of the stars. They mention it like a thousand times.” I look back at the screen. “Is it that one?” I ask, pointing at some character’s red car. “Oh my god, Tessa,” he says. “Yellow?” I ask. “You’re killing me.” “The black one?” “Finally,” he says, and looks over at me with a teasing grin. “I bought it after my

first big bonus.” “You get bonuses?” I ask. I’m only halfwatching the movie. It’s a bunch of people driving cars really fast, and then there’s some plot thrown in. “I did a big job, so I got paid extra.” “What kind of job?” Earlier I was fishing for info, trying to find something that I could use to help the police track him down later, but now I’m just making conversation for lack of something better to do. “I coordinated a trade,” he says. “Guns for cocaine?” I guess.

“Cotton candy for puppies,” he says. I have no idea what that means, and I look at him, frowning. “Is that like... drug slang?” I ask. Alex grins. Then his grin becomes a laugh as he looks at me, and I’m increasingly bewildered. “No,” he finally says. “It was a joke, because I’m not telling you what the trade really was.” “Oh,” I say, feeling like an idiot. I turn back to the movie. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m not really hip to the drug slang,” I

say. He laughs and it’s hard not to feel pleased. “I did coke once in college, though.” “Just once?” “Yeah,” I say. “Coke’s expensive, and I thought my heart was going to explode, so I prefer to just get high on life.” “I’ve done it more than once, but I’ve never been a fan,” he says. “Too many people fuck their lives up for that shit.” On screen, two men are gunning their engines at each other and making serious faces. I haven’t been paying enough attention to this movie to know who they are.

“What’s your deal?” I ask, my eyes still on the screen. “My deal?” I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and he’s just looking at me, his perfect face closed. I can’t quite articulate what I’m trying to ask, so I give it up. “Never mind,” I say. There’s a long stretch of silence, and I start getting mad at myself. You’re not friends, I tell myself. And doing what you did at the wedding doesn’t make you lovers, either. You’re kidnapper and kidnapped.

He isn’t forgetting that and you shouldn’t either. “I grew up in a dangerous place, and I have a dangerous job for a dangerous organization,” he says, his voice low and serious. “And I’ve survived it longer than a lot of people I knew. That’s my deal.” “Does that make you dangerous?” I ask. That’s the thing: I’m not an idiot. I watched him beat someone to a pulp, and I have no doubt that he’d kill someone in a heartbeat. I know he’s not a nice person. Nice people don’t kidnap others.

But in spite of everything I know about this man, it doesn’t feel dangerous to be around him. If anything, it feels oddly safe. I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome, I think. “Danger is my middle name,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “I thought it was Felipe.” “Good memory, tiger.” I roll my eyes, but a prickle travels down my spine as I remember him growling those words into my ear. “I forgot the rest,” I admit. “Everything but my first name was a lie

anyway,” he says. I look at him, skeptical. “I doubt your real name is Alex,” I say. “Or Alejandro, or whatever.” On screen, two cars scream down a straight stretch of road. I have no idea who I’m supposed to be rooting for. “I swear on my life it’s true,” he says. “Why would you tell me your real name?” I ask. He crosses his feet on the coffee table and goes silent. After a long moment, I turn my head from the screen and realize he’s looking at me.

“What?” I ask. “You really want to know?” he asks. “Or you just gonna get mad again?” “Tell me and we’ll find out,” I say. “I thought I could get you in bed before I had to nab you,” he says. “I didn’t want you screaming some other fucker’s name.” It’s weirdly possessive, and it’s hot, but it also makes my stomach turn. I don’t need the reminder of what I was dumb enough to do with him, so I stand from the couch and take my soup bowl into the kitchen, even though it’s only ten feet away.

“You kidnap me and leave a man for dead in a parking lot, but you didn’t want me getting your name wrong?” I ask. “That’s a weird place to draw the line.” “I didn’t want you thinking someone named Brent made you come as hard as you did,” he says, his voice low, barely audible over the TV. I look out the window over the sink, trying to get the wild beating of my heart under control. He’s not wrong, and that’s the worst part: that, for years to come, probably, I’m going to be fantasizing about the man who kidnapped me. Trauma makes people do insane things,

I think. It’s not really me who feels this way. “Would you feel better if I told you it was a lot harder than I thought it would be?” he asks. “If what was harder?” I say, still not looking at him. “Getting my panties off?” “You don’t give it up easy, tiger,” he says. I look over my shoulder, hands gripping the counter, bowl forgotten in the sink. He’s stretched out, feet on the coffee table, hands behind his head. The end credits are playing on the TV. “That says a lot more about the women

you’re used to than it does about me,” I say. He just laughs. “Maybe,” he says. “I think it’s my charm and my good looks.” “So you’re used to teasing girls about being drunk until they fuck you?” I can hear him getting off the couch, and my spine goes rigid. “It worked on you, didn’t it?” “We didn’t fuck, did we?” I say. “Were you going to say no?” he asks. I hear him taking the tape out of the VCR.

“Not until you shoved me into a car,” I say. “That’ll change a girl’s mind pretty quick.” “It doesn’t have to be a deal breaker,” he says. “You just let me know, tiger. You’ve got an open invitation to la casa del Escorpión.” I don’t believe for one second that anyone calls him ‘The Scorpion.’ “I’ll pass, thanks,” I say. “The first time didn’t end so well for me.” “I thought it ended pretty well,” he says. “On the other hand, I had blue balls for an hour.” “Sorry I didn’t give you a reach-around

in the kidnap car,” I say sarcastically. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice totally serious. I roll my eyes, knowing that he’s just trying to make me angrier. It’s working. “I guess I was just upset about getting fingered as part of my own kidnapping plot,” I say. “That’s something they never warn you about in school, you know. I thought I might get herpes or something, not seduced into getting kidnapped.” He’s silent, and I like that least of all. I turn my head and he’s standing, in front

of the snowy TV screen, staring at me. I stare back. Without speaking, he walks to the chair where his tuxedo jacket is hanging. He reaches into one pocket and then the other, and he finally comes out with something in his hand. Then Alex walks over to me, his eyes dark and flashing. He grabs my arm and jerks me until I’m facing him, and I yank my arm from his grip. He holds up the vial. “Are you threatening me?” I ask. I feel threatened as hell, but I don’t think I have anything to lose at this point.

“This is enough rohypnol to knock you out for twelve hours. I was supposed to stick this in your drink, wait until it started working, then pretend to be the gentleman walking a drunk girl to her car,” he says, his blue eyes boring into mine. “So you’re a prince for not giving me roofies,” I say, because I’ve never known when to shut my mouth. “Is that what you want to hear?” “No,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything. I just want you to know that I was supposed to drug you and then shove you into a car and let someone else bring you up here while you were passed out.”

I get the message, loud and fucking clear. “And you didn’t want some other man to take what you thought was yours,” I spit out. “So you beat that guy up and brought me here yourself, and now you’re telling me that you can drug me into putting out any time you want.” I know that I should shut my goddamn mouth, but I’m shaking with fury, an earthquake rattling through my very core. He’s got every single advantage right now: he’s bigger, he’s stronger, he’s got the weapons and the way out. But he can not make me shut my mouth. “You think that’s what I’m saying?” he asks, and the vial disappears into his

fist. He grabs my arm again, and then he’s hauling me out the door, down the three wobbly steps in front of the hours, and we’re standing out on the hard desert dirt. I’m barefoot but his shoes are still on. The wind is strong out here, and it whips my long dress around his legs as he stalks a few paces in front of me. Then he turns and holds the vial up again, like he’s demonstrating something, and then he throws it to the ground, raises his foot, and stomps on it. He stomps and stomps until it’s in a zillion little pieces, but now he’s really

getting into it, kicking at the spot until the white powder and glass shards are combined with the light brown desert dirt. Finally, he stops. He’s breathing hard, and one extra button of his shirt’s come undone, tattoos peeking out, and he just looks at me. “That’s what I’m saying,” he says at last. “I’m saying I’m not going to drug you, and anyone who tries is gonna have a long, hard talk with me first.” Then he walks back into the safe house, closing the door behind him, and I’m alone outside in the desert, not quite sure what just happened.

I think he just said he was going to protect me, but that can’t be right. I cover my face and take a deep breath and remind myself that men who kidnap women for gangs probably aren’t the most sane of people. After another breath I open my eyes and look down. The winds scatters the dust a little more, until I can barely see where the vial was at all. I turn around and take in the scenery. I’m surprised he left me out here alone, and for a moment, I wonder if I should run. I can’t even see another building, though. It’s the house, me, the fence, and the SUV. I try the door of the SUV, but it’s

unsurprisingly locked, so I walk around the house once. The scenery doesn’t really change: hard packed dirt under my feet. A line of mountains to the east and, further away, to the west, and the rest of the horizon is long, flat, featureless desert. Probably longer than I could walk before I died of dehydration. The sun is lowering over the mountains to the west. It’s beautiful, and I wish I could actually appreciate it. I turn, walk up the steps to the house, and push the door open. Alex is washing out our lunch dishes, and he turns his head to look at me. I swallow.

“Want to watch The Princess Bride?” I ask. He nods. “Okay.”

THIRTEEN

ALEX

no idea who put this movie in the Isafehavehouse. It sure as hell wasn’t me. I’ve never seen it before, and to be honest, I’m barely seeing it now. It’s been about thirty-six hours since I

last slept. I’ve stayed awake for much, much longer, but it’s always right about now that I start to get a little jumpy, a little irrational. Tessa’s not helping matters, and sitting on the couch with her, pretending to watch this movie, I get pissed at Andres all over again. It was supposed to be him here, watching her and making sure she stayed a hostage, not me. I was just supposed to be the bait, the guy who could get into a fancy wedding unnoticed. But now it’s the two of us, and she’s goading me on, making me do dumb shit like smash that vial outside. Just so she

knows I’d never drug her and do anything. No more dumb shit, I tell myself. She’s just some hostage, and you’re going to keep her safe and then give her back to her dad once he capitulates. It doesn’t matter how much you want to fuck her, I think. There are a thousand better girls back in Los Angeles. Keep your dick in your pants for once. I check my disposable burner cell phone again. I’ve got one bar of service, but no missed calls or messages, so I slide it back into my pocket. I just want this to be over already, but I’m starting to think that this one could

drag on. It’s always the quiet ones, the ones who wear glasses and listen to Fleetwood Mac, that end up being the difficult nuts to crack. Three-quarters of the way through the movie, my stomach growls loud enough for Tessa to look over at me in surprise. “Sorry,” I apologize. “You hungry?” “I could eat,” she says. “I’m barely paying attention to this movie.” “Me either,” I admit. “I’ve seen it a million times,” she says. “It was my favorite when I was a kid.” “You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d be into a movie called The

Princess Bride,” I say, and she frowns a little. “Have you ever seen it?” she asks. I shake my head. She nods, like this explains something. “It’s a lot better than its title would suggest,” she says. “It’s pretty funny.” I look at the screen again. The blond guy is doing something heroic. “You want dinner?” I ask. “Sure,” she says, and I get off the couch and head into the kitchen. Tessa turns the movie off and I hear the VCR rewinding. Of course she would rewind a tape.

“You like pasta?” I ask. The options here are limited to things that last for months in the cabinet: dried pasta, jarred sauce, tuna fish, mac and cheese, cans of soup and vegetables. There are a few big plastic jugs of juice and a six-pack of beer, but none of that is particularly appealing at the moment. “Sure,” she says. She takes the tape out of the VCR and stands there for a moment, looking around. “You’re sure there’s not a closet full of games or something somewhere?” she asks. “I’m sure,” I say. “This house doesn’t get used a lot. Besides, most of my

colleagues are happy to watch Scarface ten times in a row while they’re here.” Finally, she pulls something off the bookshelf, and I hear her sigh. “You want to do a crossword puzzle?” she asks. “I’m bored out of my mind.” I crouch down, open a cabinet, and find a big pot. “I hear that all the time,” I say, putting it in the sink and filling it with water. “I got kidnapped, and now I’m so bored.” She half-laughs. “I need to do something to keep my mind off the situation,” she admits. “The other option is sitting here, thinking about how

fucked I am until I lose my mind.” I’ve played a lot of video games in situations like this, bunkered down in some house. “I get it,” I say. “Crosswords it is.” She leans over the kitchen island. There’s already a pencil in the book, and she flips it open. “Okay,” she says. “What’s the longest river in Europe?” I have no fucking clue. The Nile? The Amazon? Neither of them are in Europe, stupid, I remind myself.

“How many letters?” I ask. “Five,” she says. I stare at the water flowing into the pot, then shut off the water. I can’t think of a single river in Europe, let alone the longest one. For a second I feel like I’m back in school, because this feels so familiar: my brain shutting off the moment I need something from it. I’m not stupid, or at least, I don’t think I am. But I’m terrible at book learning. Street smarts, on the other hand? I’ve got more than enough of those. “No idea,” I say.

“I think it’s either the Volga or the Rhine,” she says, tapping the eraser against the open book. “I had to learn this for AP European History in high school, but that was years ago now.” I’ve never taken a single advanced class in my life. I don’t think my high school even offered them. “Sounds right,” I say. She moves on. I get a couple of clues, mostly the ones about movies, and I boil pasta in one pot and heat up jarred pasta sauce in the other as she slowly fills in the grid, mostly by herself. It’s oddly domestic, like something a couple on a sitcom would do. Not that

we’re a couple. There’s a jar of cayenne pepper in the cabinet, and I hold it up. “You mind spicy?” I ask. A shadow of a retort flicks across her face, and then she sees the pepper. “Not at all,” she says, her face relaxing. I want to say something else, make some joke about how much heat she can take, but then I remember: she’s just a hostage, and your job is to keep her safe until she goes back to her dad. I nod once, then turn around and sprinkle it into the pasta sauce.

After dinner, the sun’s gone down and we’re sitting at the table. My buttondown white shirt looks like hell, and her one-shouldered dress is dusty and the skirt’s torn in a couple of places. The one thing this house doesn’t have is more clothes. There are shelves for clothes, but it seems like whoever stocked the place just skipped that part. Tessa’s frowning at the puzzle, her lips moving. “Oh!” she says at last, furiously erasing something. “‘Baseball jewel’ is diamond.” “Makes sense,” I say, wondering what

else we could have thought it was. “Finished,” she says, and holds the puzzle up for me to see. I give her a thumbs up, and we both look around the house for a moment. Tessa bites her lip. “Any news?” she says, brightly. Too brightly. I just shake my head. “Do you get enough signal here for something to come through?” she asks, leaning on one hand. “I mean, should you go somewhere else that might get better reception, and check, or something?”

“I get a couple bars,” I say. “I just haven’t heard yet.” She looks at the table and then nods once, perfunctorily. “Got it,” she says, and I can tell she’s trying to hold her emotions in check, at least in front of me. She spins the pencil around a few times, not making eye contact, and then speaks up again. “Do you mind if I shower?” she asks. “I know there’s no clean clothes, but I’m pretty disgusting.” I look at her for a long moment, because I don’t really trust her alone. She’s determined to keep trying to escape if it kills her, more than anyone else I’ve

ever met. Plus, I was dumb enough to crush that vial in front of her, and now she knows I don’t want to hurt her. Fucking idiot, I think at myself one last time. “Sure,” I say. “I gotta check the bathroom first, though.” I walk in and she follows me, leaning against the door frame, arms folded. There’s nothing in there weaponizable: soap, tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles, three towels. A shower curtain. “Go for it,” I say. “Five minutes, and then I start assuming you’re in there

fashioning a gun from toilet pieces.” “Seven?” she says. “I have a lot of hair.” “Usually I make people leave the door open,” I say. “Five.” I hold up five fingers and close the door. Once the water starts in the shower, I go outside quickly, holding my burner cell phone up toward the sky. What if she’s right? I think. Maybe there just isn’t enough signal around here. Maybe Manny’s been calling and calling, and we could just go home right now. This could all be over. I feel a twinge of disappointment at the thought and brush it away. The signal out

here is no better than it was inside. No calls, no messages. That’s odd, but nothing major. Sometimes it takes a day to convince people that we’ve really got their kid. There could be a million reasons I haven’t heard yet. But parents always come around when it’s about their kids’ lives. Every single time. Tessa will be fine. I give her seven minutes in the shower before I knock on the door, though. “One more minute!” she shouts, but I open the door anyway.

Steam rolls out as I stick my head it, and I can just barely see her shadow behind the curtain. Her dress is hung over the towel rack. “Come on,” I say. The curtain rustles, and then she sticks her head out, shampoo still in her hair, shower curtain clutched to her body. “I told you, I have a lot of hair,” she says, green eyes glittering with irritation. I force myself to stop thinking about the fact that she’s naked behind that curtain, even as I can feel my dick begin to wake up. “Hurry it up,” I say, and back out,

shutting the door. I put our dinner dishes in the sink and stare at the window, determined to get myself under control. The sun’s gone down, so all I can see is my own reflection: a glowering man with black hair in a dirty white shirt. You do not have sex with hostages, I think at my reflection in the window. And, for fuck’s sake, you do not start to kinda like them.

FOURTEEN

TESSA

“

Y ou’re fucking kidding me,” I say.

I’m standing at the door to the master bedroom, the only bedroom that isn’t triple padlocked from the outside.

“Like hell we’re sleeping in the same bed,” I say. “No. You’re sleeping on the couch.” Alex ignores this and brushes past me, into the bedroom. “I’m not kidding,” I say. He just fucking smirks at me. “Sorry about the arrangements,” he says. “Last time I was here there were a couple of twin beds.” He’s already unbuttoning his shirt, and I’m forcing myself not to look. Until I realize he’s also wearing an undershirt, and I relax a little. “I’ll sleep on the couch, then,” I say, and

turn around. Before I can leave he’s across the room, my wrist in his hand, and he’s holding it tight. “You sleep in this room,” he says. “It’s twenty feet away,” I say. I pull on my wrist, but his grip is like a vise. Damn. “I have a job to do, tiger,” he says. There’s still a hint of that smirk in his voice, but he’s dead serious now. “And it’s not to make you happy. It’s to make sure you stay here.”

I fucking hate this. One minute we’re doing crosswords over dinner, and I can almost pretend that something halfway normal is going on. The next moment my situation slaps me in the face again. Now I’m supposed to share a bed with the guy who kidnapped me. “Sleep on the floor,” I say through gritted teeth. “No,” he says, squeezing my wrist just a little harder. “What? You think I’m gonna try something on you tonight? While you’re sleeping?” I straighten my back and swallow.

“You already did,” I say. He laughs, though his laugh has a sharp edge to it. “You mean last night, at the wedding?” I can feel my face get hot, and I just nod. He steps closer, and now he’s towering over me. “Don’t lie to yourself,” he says, his voice lowered. “Every single dirty thing you did last night you wanted to do, tiger.” He starts to smile, and I swallow. Right now, I fucking hate him.

“Or do you not remember dry-humping me on the dance floor? Do you not remember sucking whiskey off your fingers, or hitching your skirt up so you could wrap your legs around me?” I remember it vividly, thanks. “That was under false pretenses,” I hiss. He shrugs, and he’s trying to look nonchalant, but I can tell I’ve triggered his anger. I should probably be more cautious, but I can’t help it. “If I were going to do something, I had all day to do it,” he says. “And here you are, still mouthing the fuck off.” With his other hand, he reaches out and

flicks off the lights. “Get in bed,” he says. “Dressed or undressed, I don’t care.” He tugs on my wrist and I jerk into the room. The door shuts behind me, and I’m fighting down furious tears again. I feel helpless, and I fucking hate it. I’m exhausted and stressed beyond belief, and I just want to be out of here, away from this guy who’s nice sometimes and an asshole sometimes. The worst part is, I want to shut him up, but I want to do it by clamping my thighs around his head. Even now there’s a part of me that wants to rake my fingernails down his back, bite into his shoulder.

Every sparring match we get into I want it worse. It’s the trauma or something, I tell myself again. This isn’t you. You, Tessa Fulbright, like nice men who don’t kidnap you. I lie on the bed fully clothed and stare straight at the ceiling. There’s moonlight coming in around the cheap mini blinds, and after a few moments, I can see almost perfectly. On one wall is a poster for the movie Scarface, and I roll my eyes. It’s the only decoration in the whole house, and of course, it’s for a movie about a drug lord.

I bet the people who use this house fucking love that movie. I bet they all think they’re Tony Montana. There’s a soft whump at the foot of the bed, and I glance down, staying perfectly still. Alex is standing there, back to me, just wearing a thin undershirt and pants. Even in the dim light, I can see the outlines of even more tattoos. Under that, there’s the thick ripple of muscle. I look back at Al Pacino on the poster, determined not to think any more dirty thoughts about Alex, even as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, then then clank as it hits the floor, along with his pants. He reaches over his head and

takes his shirt off as I really, really study Pacino’s grimace and his grip on that machine gun. I press my knees together, trying to quiet the throb between my legs. My brain knows better, but apparently my vagina hasn’t gotten the not him message yet. It’s okay. It’s not like I’ve never had self-control before. “Tessa,” Alex says. “What?” I ask, not tearing my eyes away from the wall. “Look at me,” he says. I take a deep breath, then make a show of acting totally nonchalant as I prop

myself up on my elbows, then raise my eyebrows expectantly. Eye contact only, I tell myself. It doesn’t work, because Alex is fucking hot. Even with his arms crossed over his chest, he’s broad and muscled, his abs rippling even in the scant moonlight, his arms bulging. It’s too dark to make out his tattoos from here, but I can tell his chest and arms are covered in them. I force myself not to look any lower. He holds something up on one finger. The car keys. “These are between the mattress and the box spring on my side of the bed,” he

says. “I’m trusting you not to go for them.” “Why?” I ask. “Because if you do, I have to handcuff you to the bed,” he says. I narrow my eyes. “If you’re flirting, it’s not working,” I say. “Try getting the keys and see if I’m flirting,” he says. “I’m a light sleeper.” He walks around to his side of the bed, and my eyes slide down to his boxers despite my best intentions. Even soft, it’s like there’s a garden hose

in there. As he walks his boxers practically glue themselves to its outline, and all I can think about is last night, my back to the wall, that thing rock-hard and pressed against me. I’m almost disappointed that I’m on a bed and he’s not even a little excited about it. He crouches down and shoves the keys under the mattress, and then he’s lying next to me on his back, arms over his head. Right in the middle of his chest is an eagle with a snake in its talons, the snake fighting back. Over his left chest are the letters LC in old English lettering, faded and starting to blur, like it’s older and not done as well as the

rest of his tattoos. “See something you like?” he says. I flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, and he just chuckles. “No,” I say. “And I am trying to sleep.” There’s a long, long silence. Ten or fifteen minutes, and I stare at the walls, the poster, the ceiling. My mind spins frantically as I try to figure out what to do, because doing nothing doesn’t feel right. I should be escaping, or secretly calling in the cavalry, or fashioning a weapon out of plastic forks and soup cans, or something. I toss and turn for a while,

making a frantic inventory of everything that I’ve seen so far in the house, but I come up blank. Finally I get out of the bed, glancing back at Alex. I haven’t made it two steps when I hear his foggy voice. “Whacha doing, tiger?” I sigh and step to the window. I pull the blinds halfway up and lean my forehead against the glass and don’t answer him, just wonder how far I’d get if I started walking right now. I’ve got a vague idea of which way the nearest highway is, but it’s a lot of miles, and the only shoes I’ve got are four-inch heels. There is nothing I can do, and I feel

fucking helpless as I fight tears. Alex turns onto his stomach, and I can feel his eyes watching me. “You’ll be out of here before you know it,” he finally says. “In a month, you’ll forget this ever happened.” Do not cry in front of him, I think. I don’t care what else happens. Do. Not. Cry in front of him. “I doubt that,” I say softly. “You’ve got a good family,” he says. “Even if your dad fucked up pretty bad, he loves you. You’ve got friends. In a while, it’ll amaze you how much this never happened.”

I shake my head, scoffing a little. “You ever been kidnapped?” I ask bitterly. Neither of us speaks for a moment, and I look over at him. On his back he’s got the words CHAVEZ HEIGHTS arching over both shoulder blades, the same Old English lettering as the LC on his chest. It looks like it was done around the same time, the letters faded and a little blurry. “No,” he says. I turn back to the window, wondering where Chavez Heights is. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. “I’ve been shot twice,” he says.

“That sounds like your own fault,” I say. “What’s that saying about living by the sword?” He laughs. “You’re looking for ‘those who live by the sword die by the sword,’ tiger.” “Yeah.” “Jesus said that, you know.” “Well, he was right.” More silence. “The first time I was thirteen. Walking home from school. Rampart 18th did a drive by and I caught a bullet in the arm. It went straight through, just nicked the

bone. I was lucky as hell.” I glance over. He pushes himself up, arm muscles rippling, and leans against the headboard, sitting up. “You probably can’t see it from there,” he says, pointing to a spot on the back of his arm, mostly covered by a bright Virgin of Guadalupe tattoo. “Rampart 18th is a gang?” I guess. I’ve never heard of them, but it’s not like I’ve got a working knowledge of street gangs beyond the Crips and the Bloods. “Yeah. They were in a war with Chavez 13.”

“That’s your gang?” “I’m not in a gang,” he says. He bends one knee and rests his elbow on it. “That was the neighborhood’s gang. I’m... sort of affiliated with them, you could say.” This is starting to all sound very, very familiar, and something is pricking at my memory. “You grew up in Chavez Heights,” I say, slowly. “How’d you guess?” he asks, grinning. I ignore that question, still trying to remember. “There was a gang war there,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “It was all over

the news when I was in middle school.” Now he’s just watching me, letting me remember on my own. “There were like a hundred people killed,” I say. “The news footage looked like... I don’t know, like Bosnia or something. The police refused to go in until the National Guard got there.” “I told you I got lucky,” he says. Now I remember. For years and years afterward, Chavez Heights was shorthand for terrible neighborhood. I’ve never been there. I don’t know anyone who’s ever been there, or least, I didn’t know anyone until now.

It’s the kind of place that people won’t even drive through during the day. I have no idea what to say, so I say nothing. I’m sorry seems wrong. “Until I was ten we lived in Calabasas,” he says. “You did?” I blink in surprise. Calabasas is a suburb in the west valley. It’s almost as far from Chavez Heights as you can get: big houses, up in the hills, the kind of place with white picket fences and golden retrievers. “I did,” he says. “Then my dad left, it turned out that all the money was in offshore accounts, and so my mom, my

older brother and I went to Chavez Heights to live with her family.” I can’t even imagine going from Calabasas to Chavez Heights. “That’s why I get sent to the black tie weddings,” he says. “I can talk to rich white people without sounding like I’m from the barrio.” Right now, in this moment, I want to pretend that we’re just two people, talking about our lives. I want to pretend that he’s a nice guy who’s starting to open up to me about how hard his life has been, who’s trying to make me feel better when I’m low. But he’s not. I’m a hostage, and I can’t

afford to forget that. “Come back to bed, tiger,” he says, patting the spot where I’d been lying. “Don’t call me tiger,” I shoot back. It sounds bitchier than I meant it to, but I walk back and lie down, stiff as a board on top of the covers. “There’s blankets in the closet,” he says. “I’m fine,” I say, and the room goes quiet.

FIFTEEN

ALEX

s she gets into bed, I roll onto my A side like I don’t even care that she’s there, lying a foot away from me. I’m just hiding my erection. I feel like an idiot for stripping down to my boxers to

sleep in, but I hate sleeping in clothes. Besides, I know how she looks at me. She wanted me before, and it’s only a matter of time before she wants me again. Part of me hopes her dad takes days to come around, and I get harder thinking of the things we could get up to. What if he doesn’t come around? I think. It’s only happened once that I know of: an estranged father refused to save his son. The son didn’t make it. Tessa won’t either if her dad refuses to cooperate.

They’re not estranged, I think. They’re close. He loves her. Manny said they go to dinner once a week. I hope I’m right. I don’t want to have to kill Tessa.

When I wake up the house is already starting to get hot, the sun outside beating relentlessly on the cheap vinyl siding. Tessa’s sound asleep, sprawled on her stomach, her auburn hair fanned out around her, the fabric of her dress hugging the back of her body. I follow her curves with my eyes, from her bare shoulder to her perfect, pert

ass. It does nothing to help my morning wood, and in moments I’m rock-hard instead of at half-mast, imagining her lips around my cock as she looks up at me with those green eyes. For the millionth time I think back about that oh! she made when she came, her pussy tightening around my fingers so hard it hurt, and my balls tighten, just a little. Hell, I haven’t even jerked off in three days, and I’m just about ready to pop. I’m not supposed to leave her alone, but how bad could a couple of minutes be? Just long enough to rub one out in the bathroom so I don’t have to walk around like this for another whole day.

Tessa stirs and rolls onto her back, eyes still closed, and I try to start thinking about the least sexy things I can imagine. Then her eyes flicker open, and she stares at me. “Fuck,” she mutters. “It wasn’t a dream, tiger,” I say, and she glances down. “You get off on watching girls sleep?” she says, disdainfully. Just you, actually, I think. “Morning wood,” I tell her. “Biology. Don’t flatter yourself.” “I’m anything but flattered, I promise,”

she says, and sits up, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Permission to leave the bedroom to take a piss?” she says, sarcastically. “Granted,” I say, making a grand gesture. She walks out and closes the door. I get out of bed and check the cell phone Manny gave me. Still nothing, but it’s been a full day. The total lack of information is starting to give me a bad feeling, a gnawing at the pit of my stomach. Something’s not going right. If it were going according to plan, this would be over. We’d both be home right

now instead of holed up in this desert house. I snap the flip phone shut just as Tessa comes out of the bathroom, and her eyes lock on it. “Anything?” she asks, her voice tense. “Not yet,” I say. She nods and looks away. “What happens if he won’t cooperate?” she says. “I don’t know,” I say. Technically, it’s true. Manny didn’t say. But I know what will happen.

“They’ll kill me,” she says. “To send a message, or some bullshit.” I don’t say anything. “Will it be you?” she asks, and she looks at me again, her voice flat. “No,” I say. It’s not what I want to say. The deepest, most primal part of me wants to tell her that if anyone tries to hurt her, I’ll murder them. In that moment I feel wildly, almost insanely protective of Tessa. I shove that part down. If Manny tells me to take her out, I take her out.

If I disobey, La Carretera will kill me. It’s pretty simple, really. Tessa walks past me, out of the bedroom, and into the living room. I grab my white undershirt and follow her. She flops on the couch, staring at nothing, and I make a full pot of coffee. When it’s finished, I bring her a cup. She’s already started watching Scarface, and she keeps her eyes locked on the TV for the full three hours. We watch movies without talking for hours and hours. I heat up canned chili in the microwave for lunch, and we eat it silently. She won’t even look at me.

It’s late afternoon when she gets off the couch and heads into the bedroom. “Hey,” I call. She doesn’t answer. “The fuck do you think you’re going?” I call, but there’s still no answer. I follow her and catch up just as she’s shutting the door to the bathroom. I shove it wide open and it slams into the wall behind it. She glares at me, angry again, and it feels good to have her mad at me after she’s been blank all day. “Everything you do here, you do with my permission,” I say, still holding the door

open. “Or what?” she asks. “Or you kill me?” “There are lots of other unpleasant things I can do to you,” I say. “Starting with handcuffing you to that couch for the duration of your stay here.” “You’d like that, huh?” she spits back at me. “Then I’d be nice and docile, stuck in one place.” “I’ll do whatever you make me do,” I say. Now I’ve got her backed against the sink and I’m towering over her, but she doesn’t look cowed in the least. “You tricked me,” she says.

This again, I think. “Every so often I think, hey, Alex is kind of okay. He’s got a shitty job, but underneath, he’s a human. But you keep proving me wrong. I’m stuck out here, where I can’t do a goddamn thing, and you’re being a dick about me going to the bathroom. Congratulations,” she says, her voice pure acid. “You can bully a girl.” “I’m following orders,” I say, leaning down and putting my face inches in front of hers. “And if you really want to see cruelty, you should talk to me like that again.” Furious silence.

“Okay,” I say, and leave the bathroom. I walk back to the couch. A minute later she comes walking out, her face rigid with fury, and I ignore her, staring pointedly at the TV. Then she wrenches open the front door and darts down the steps. “Hey!” I shout, leaping to my feet. Oh, fuck, I think. What the hell is she doing? The car keys are still in my pocket, and when I get to the door she’s sprinting through the gate in the fence, barefoot, and running into the desert beyond. I chase her as far as the fence and then

stop, just watching. It’s not like she’s going anywhere. Fucking let her get sunburned and dehydrated. She’ll come crawling back in twenty minutes, begging me to handcuff her to the couch in exchange for a glass of water. I follow her with my eyes for a few more minutes. She’s walking now, her steps more careful. The wind whips her dress to one side and it snags in some small, low bushes. It’s strikingly beautiful: a gorgeous woman, walking into the desert in a ball gown. I check the cell phone again, praying for

Manny to tell me I can take her back to LA and be done with Tessa forever. Nothing. Fuck. Her father will capitulate, I remind myself. They always do.

Out the window, her form gets smaller and smaller as the minutes tick by. I thought she’d be back in thirty minutes, then forty-five, then an hour. Now it’s been almost an hour and fifteen minutes, the thermometer outside says one ten, and she’s still heading away. I can’t believe the fucking nerve on this girl, but it’s my job to make sure we’ve

even got a hostage, so I throw a few bottles of water into the SUV and drive after her. It’s slow going over the rough terrain, but I’m still a lot faster than her. The moment she hears me, she starts heading for a deep wash, a spot the car can’t get into, but I’m faster. I pull up alongside her and wind down the passenger side window. “Get in,” I call. She flips me off. I stop the car and get out, expecting her to run again, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, awkwardly, watching me with an expression I can’t read.

Then I look down and see the bloody footprints in the dirt, and I realize why she’s standing like that. “You’re a fucking idiot,” I tell her. “Go fuck yourself,” she says, but she sounds a little tired. I walk up to her and go to grab her, but she swings an arm at me wildly, and it throws her off-balance. She takes a step to correct herself, then gasps. I catch her as she falls, and for once, she doesn’t resist. I load her into the passenger seat and buckle her in. She’s awake, but she’s gone limp. I press a water bottle into her hand and

shut the door, then get into the driver’s side, and start the tricky drive back to the house. She’s guzzling the water, rivulets running down her throat and under the neckline of her dress. It would be alluring if she didn’t seem so suddenly fragile, so out of it. It’s my job to keep her safe, and I fucking failed. Instead her feet are bleeding all over the floor of the SUV. When I drive up to the house I get out of the car and walk around to her side. She’s already got the door open, and she’s bracing herself on it, her knuckles white. One foot hits the ground, and she gasps. I

walk up to her. “Don’t touch me,” she says, but her voice doesn’t quite have the same snarl as before. I can’t help but smile. She had me worried for a minute there. I ignore her and pick her up in a fireman’s carry over my left shoulder as she shouts at me. She kicks a little and pounds on my back, but she’s gonna have to do better than that. “Put me down,” she growls. “I can walk myself, for fuck’s sake.” I think of bloody footprints across the desert floor. I’ve seen much, much

worse, but thinking of those footprints makes my stomach twist like nothing else. I ignore her and walk into the house, careful not to hit her ass on the door frame. “God damn it, Alex,” she says, but she’s stopped kicking, at least. I slide her around into my arms and then put her down on the couch where she sits, glaring at me. Her cheekbones and shoulders are bright red, but it’s her feet I can’t stop looking at. They’re a filthy, bloody mess. The bottom of her dress is shredded, and her ankles are pretty torn up, blood dripping

down. The soles of her feet are almost raw, and as I look closer, I can see that she’s stepped on something. It’s embedded in her left foot. “When were you going to stop?” I ask, still staring at her feet. “When I collapsed,” she said. I believe her, completely. “You’re an idiot,” I say. “You’d rather die in the desert than wait here another twenty-four hours?” “Shut up,” she says, and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the couch.

SIXTEEN

TESSA

e’s right, and I know it. Even if he’s H going to shoot me later, that’s a better death than the one I could have had, slowly dehydrating in the desert while vultures circle overhead.

I don’t say anything, because what the hell am I supposed to say? Thanks for proving again how trapped I am? You’re right, I should just wait here, patiently, until some rescuer comes along? No, thanks. I can hear him doing something in the kitchen, but I just keep my eyes closed. My feet hurt so much that they barely feel like feet, and more like two orbs of stabbing pain connected to my ankles. I probably can’t even make it to the bathroom right now, unless I crawl.

Somehow, I managed to do the one thing that’s made sure I’ll never get out of here, and all because I was angry and scared. I hear Alex’s footsteps coming back to the couch where I’m sitting, and I open my eyes as he sets a big pot full of water in front of me, next to a red duffel bag. He pulls a water bottle out of the pot and hands it to me, and I take it and drink. “Lift up your feet,” he says, and I do. He slides the pot full of water under them, and then he takes my calves in his hands and lowers them. “This is gonna sting,” he says. I shut my eyes, and holy fuck is he right.

When my feet his the water I gasp and my body goes rigid. I bite down on one knuckle, absolutely determined not to cry in front of him, even as I’m practically hyperventilating. I keep my eyes shut. I don’t think I can look at him right now, because I’m just humiliated. I’ve tried to act brave, tried to act like being taken hostage by some criminal organization doesn’t scare me. But it fucking does. Right now, I don’t feel feisty or brave or strong or anything. I feel like a terrified idiot. I feel like what I am: just some clueless girl who’s gotten swept up in something sinister.

There is nothing I can do, and that feels worse than walking barefoot over a cactus. Alex is scooping water over my ankles and letting it trickle back into the pot he’s using as a basin. For a moment, I let myself be surprised at how gentle his hands are. “Lift your right foot up,” he says, and I do. My eyes are still closed. “This is gonna hurt more,” he says. I hold my breath, and something soft presses against the sole of my foot. It feels like I’ve just stepped on a stove, and my foot tries to jerk away but Alex has a grip on it.

Then he lets go, wiping the water off my calf. “This foot isn’t so bad,” he says. He’s holding me by the calf again, my knee almost straight. I can feel him inspect the bottom of my foot. “Did you walk into a cactus?” he asks. “I didn’t see it,” I say. “I figured,” he says. I can hear him rummage through the bag, and at last, I work up the nerve to open my eyes. He’s kneeling in front of me, his undershirt splashed with pink water, and

he pulls a pair of tweezers out of the duffel bag. Then he looks at me. “Let me guess, it’s gonna hurt,” I say. That gets a slight smile. “I’d get you drunk if we had any alcohol here,” he said. “We used to keep a couple handles of vodka around, half for disinfecting and half for making things hurt less. I don’t know what happened to it.” “It’s fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. The spines are in the side of my foot, and a shudder works its way through me as he closes the tweezers on the first one and pulls, but he’s fast and his hands are

sure and it’s over almost before I can take a breath. “Done,” he says, and I relax for another moment. He takes my other foot out of the water and dries it, and then he examines it for a long time. Too long. “You’ve gotten something embedded in there,” he says. “It’s gonna be tricky.” I swallow. Then something occurs to me. “Take me to a hospital,” I say. He doesn’t answer. “It could get infected,” I point out. “I could lose a foot.”

Alex is going through the duffel bag, and he comes out with a very long, sharp pair of tweezers. “I guess you should have thought of that before walking two miles barefoot through the desert,” he says. He puts the tweezers on the towel, then also grabs some kind squirt bottle, some gauze. My stomach clenches, and I try to pull my foot away. “I need a doctor,” I say. “Something besides a guy with tweezers and vodka who probably didn’t graduate high school.” “I told you there’s no vodka,” he says, with a forced, steely calm.

“Take me to someone with medical training,” I say, on the verge of pleading. This is my last resort. After this ploy, I’ve got nothing. “This could be really bad,” I say. Alex sits back on his heels, and he looks at me for a long time, like he’s thinking about something. “When I was eleven, I dug a bullet out of my cousin on my mother’s kitchen table,” he finally says. “Eleven?” I whisper, and he shrugs. “He was older. Seventeen, I think, and already mixed up in all this. He and another cousin got shot, and my mother’s

basement apartment was the closest place they could go. My other cousin had been shot in the shoulder, so he couldn’t get the bullet out himself.” He looks at a spot on the wall behind my head. Remembering. “I had a steak knife and a carving fork,” Alex says. “And Pablo was leaning against the wall, his shirt covered in blood, as he told me how to dig the bullet out of his brother. I’d barely seen blood before, and never that much. I’d never had to dig through someone’s flesh like that.” My stomach is doing flip-flops. He shrugs.

“I did it,” he says. “I got the bullet out. When my mother got home, she wasn’t even surprised, just upset that I’d had to do it instead of her or my brother. I had no idea my mother knew how to treat bullet wounds.” “Why not go to the hospital?” I whisper. “They report gunshot wounds,” he says. “The last thing we wanted was the police involved.” “Did he live?” “A couple more years, yeah.” We’re quiet again, and then Alex lifts my foot. “I’ll be quick,” he says, and before I can

protest, the tweezers are under my flesh, digging for the rock that I’ve embedded in my skin. “Fuck!” I shout. “Jesus fucking Christ fucking shit fuck!” I keep going, and after what seems like forever, Alex is holding up a pebble in the tweezers. “That’s it?” I ask. It felt like he was digging out a Mack truck. “It’s a lot to be embedded in your foot,” he says. “But yeah. That’s it.” I slump back onto the couch, a sweaty mess, and he pulls gauze and bandages out of the duffel bag. He bandages my

feet carefully, almost tenderly, and I watch. “You never told me what the date on your arm was,” I say, suddenly. I didn’t look that closely before, but it’s obviously a life: 5/2/1984 4/13/2004 Nineteen. Whoever that tattoo is for was nineteen when they died. “They got killed,” I say, still looking at it.

His hands don’t falter, but they pause. “He,” Alex says. He finishes wrapping the bandage and anchors it against itself. I look down at my mummy-like feet and feel stupid all over again, like some dumb, spoiled brat who has to be taken care of every minute of her life. After a moment he pulls a bottle of Advil from the duffel bag and hands it to me. I dump four into my palm and swig them down with water from the bottle as Alex puts the supplies back in the bag. He takes the bag to the utility room and the pot of bloody water to the shower, where he dumps it out.

Then he walks back to me and holds out one hand. “Can you stand up?” he asks. I look at his hand. Everything in me wants to ignore it and stand on my own, just to prove to him that I can. Just this once, accept some help, I think. I take his hand and the muscles in his arm bunch as he pulls me to my feet. It fucking hurts, but not as bad as it did. I get lightheaded for a minute and close my eyes and then his hands are around my shoulders, holding me up, skin against skin.

“I’m fine,” I say, and he lets me go to walk gingerly around the house, trying to get used to this. I feel like the Little Mermaid, the original story, except instead of agreeing to walk on knives in exchange for being with the man I love, it’s just because I was an idiot. Alex is leaning against the kitchen island, watching me. “Don’t say anything,” I tell him. “I know it was dumb.” “That’s not what I was thinking.” I walk a few more tender steps and collapse into a kitchen chair. “When we let you go and you tell the

cops about me, leave this part out,” he says. “What part?” I ask. “The part where I tell you it took balls of steel to do that,” he says. “That I know dozens of gangbanging meatheads who carry guns and talk big, but who wouldn’t make it half as far as you did.” I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he’s just trying to make me feel better. Then I remember that he, of all people, probably doesn’t give a shit how I feel, so I just nod.

SEVENTEEN

ALEX

pasta for dinner again, and we Ieatmake while we watch The Matrix. Still nothing from Manny. At this point, I know full well that with every hour, the news gets worse and worse. I don’t

know what’s happened, but I know it’s not good for Tessa. I’m just praying that Manny will send someone else here to do the job. He knew how I felt about this job when I started it, and now I’ve gone way the fuck above and beyond. The least he can do is send someone else to finish her. After dinner she clears the dishes to the kitchen before I can get up, and I don’t bother to argue with her about it. I know that she’s just trying to prove something, so I let her. I stand and stretch.

God, a shower and different clothes are going to feel good, I think. “Ready for bed?” I ask. She shrugs. “Sure,” she says. “I think that was the last movie we’ve got here.” “There’s still Sorority Sluts One, Two, Three, and Five,” I say. “What happened to Sorority Sluts Four?” she asks. “You wear out the tape?” I laugh. “I don’t need VHS tapes to see that kind of thing,” I say. “I just show up on a

college campus.” Tessa rolls her eyes, but her spark is coming back. “Sure,” she says. “I bet you show up and panties just fall to the ground.” “Worked on you,” I say. “Fool me once, shame on me,” she says. “Maybe next time you can kidnap a porn star who’ll put out.” I don’t want a porn star. It’s not the thought of Sorority Sluts that’s slowly making my dick hard. It’s Tessa, standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, bandage-wrapped feet.

“You know any with accountants for parents?” I ask. “That’s not such a bad idea.” Something just barely flickers in her eyes, and she breaks our gaze. Jealousy? “I don’t, but it can’t be too hard to find someone with fake tits and a daddy complex, if that’s what you’re into,” she says. “Now you’re speaking my language,” I say, and grin at her. I shouldn’t be taunting her like this, but she started it, and goddamn if it doesn’t make me want her more.

“Predictable,” she says, cocking her head slightly. “Deep down, you’re just like everyone else. I’m going to bed. You need to watch me sleep?” Something about that stings, but I let it go. “I’m going to bed too,” I say. “Long day.” In the bedroom, she stands by the door and looks at the bed, like it’s a challenge. Her floor-length dress is filthy: the bottom is in tatters, and it’s covered in dust and mud. She’s been wearing it for two days straight. Tessa walks toward the bed, carefully, and sits on one side, still fully clothed.

Fuck, I can’t let her sleep in that. It’s probably covered in cactus spikes or something. “Wait,” I say, and open the closet. I rummage through some things, and finally find a white sheet. I hand it to her. “I’ll turn around while you take the dress off,” I say. “It’s fine,” she says. “You’re caked with mud, dirt, and probably your own filth,” I say. “You take it off or sleep on the floor.” I’m half expecting her to sleep on the floor. I hold out the sheet, but she looks down at herself, her white bandaged feet

under her tattered dress. Then she sighs. “I rented this thing,” she says. “I guess now I get to buy it.” “You can sue me for damages,” I say, still holding the sheet toward her. “It’s probably the least of my worries,” she says. I realize it’s been almost a whole day since she asked about her dad. Tessa takes the sheet and I walk to the foot of the bed and stand with my back to her. It’s a long time before I hear the zipper slide down, but she doesn’t ask for my help with it.

I shut my eyes and try to think of something besides the V opening over her back, the dress slowly falling down around her body. A black mass lands in the corner, and I can barely see it out of the corner of my eye. A flesh-colored strip follows it, and I realize it’s her strapless bra. Then underwear. Now she’s naked, behind me, only feet away, and my dick’s gone from half-mast to full staff. I hear her unfurl the sheet, and she takes an agonizingly long time to wrap it around herself. It takes everything in me not to turn

around. “Okay,” she says at last, and I glance over my shoulder. She’s just wearing the sheet, tucked under her armpits, both shoulders bare, her hair tumbling over them. I can see the outline of her dress in her sunburn on one shoulder. Her eyebrows are raised in a what are you looking at expression, so I reach out and flip the lights off, then walk around to my side of the bed. I shove the keys under the mattress, and she sits gingerly on the edge, then swings her feet up and around. “Remember what I said about the keys,”

I say, not facing her. “You’ll handcuff me to the bed if you catch me trying to steal them,” she says. “Which you really don’t want to do.” “Right,” I growl. “You sleeping in your clothes tonight?” she says, her voice almost sweet. I turn and look at her. I’m still in my clothes because I can’t make my erection go away, and the second I lie down, she’s gonna know why I’ve got a massive tent. “Would you rather I didn’t?” I ask. “I can take my clothes off again. Just ask, tiger.”

She’s got her left arm holding the sheet tightly across herself, but her right arm is behind her head on her pillow, like she’s posing for a nude painting or something. “I don’t think there are handcuffs,” she says. “I think if I went for the keys, you’d get pissed, but there’s no handcuffs here.” “Have I lied to you yet?” I ask. “You told me your name was Brent,” she says. “Since we got here,” I say. “I don’t know,” she tells me. “I haven’t seen much proof of anything. This could just be how you get off, for all I know.

Kidnap girls and take them to the middle of the desert.” “Trust me,” I say. “I would rather be anywhere but here right now.” I stand and walk to the closet and reach up to the highest shelf. I rummage for a moment, grab the metal loop, and take down the handcuffs. “They are very real,” I say, letting my voice go low and dangerous. I dangle them from one finger and the moonlight from the window slides along the metal. I walk to the bed and hang the handcuffs from the post above Tessa’s head.

“What’s to keep me from chaining you up while you sleep, taking the keys, and leaving?” she asks. “Try it,” I say. “I bet you’d like cuffing me to the bed.” “Only if it got me out of here,” she snaps back. I laugh and walk to my side of the bed again. My erection is still raging, and I’m starting to feel like I’m just going to have a hard cock for the rest of my life. “So you could go back to missionary with the lights off?” I ask, standing at the foot of the bed. “I’d give up sex forever to get out of

here,” she says. “You’ve been having the wrong sex, then,” I say, and I take my shirt off. Even in the dim light, I can feel her eyes on me. Fuck it, I think. Maybe she’ll get curious. I unbuckle my pants, let them fall, and kick them away before walking back to the bed. “You do get off on this,” she says, slowly. “On kidnapping girls and making them helpless.” I just chuckle.

“I was thinking about the sorority sluts,” I say, but she doesn’t believe me for a second. “I bet you practically busted a nut when you rescued me from the desert,” she says. “Since now I can barely even walk.” Actually, I think, that was pretty much the only time all day I wasn’t rock hard. I turn onto my side, facing her, and prop myself up on one elbow. Her eyes flick to my body again before resting on my face. “Would the handcuffs just complete the damsel-in-distress package?” she says, mock-sweetly. “Then you could do

whatever you wanted to me.” “Tiger, I’ve barely touched you,” I say. “And when I did, you wanted it.” She rolls onto her side as well, propping herself up. The sheet follows the curve of her hip and her waist, the swell of her ass, and all I can think about is squeezing her, watching her eyes slide shut with pleasure. The way she’d sound when she gasps my name. “But you like this more, don’t you?” she whispers. “When I’m helpless?” It’s wildly untrue. If I wanted her helpless, I’d have drugged her days ago.

I’d have cuffed her already, locked her in the bedroom or something. Helpless is easy, and she’s still anything but. It’s her fight that turns me on. “Shut up,” I murmur. “Make me,” she fires back. “You think I can’t?” “I think you won’t,” she says, practically daring me to do something. My self-control just crumbles. I put one hand over her mouth and before I know it, she’s on her back and I’m on

top of her, propped up on my other elbow, one knee between her legs, my erection pressed up against her deliciously. “Is this what you wanted?” I growl. “You want to push me until I snap? Because you’re damn close, tiger.” Her eyes lock onto mine for a long moment, and I take my hand off her mouth. “If this is damn close, what does snapping look like?” she asks. She locks eyes with me and I can feel her breathing hard against my chest. She should be afraid but she’s anything but.

“Unless that was an empty threat,” she whispers. I know full well that I should roll off of her, go jerk off in the bathroom, and sleep on the floor, but I’m so far beyond making good decisions that I can’t even see them in the rear view mirror. I press my mouth to hers and she presses back, and in seconds her tongue is already between my lips, her hands tangled in my hair, pushing my face against hers as hard as she can. I fight her back, winding my tongue around hers as I feel her back arch, her body pressing harder against mine. As I draw back she bites my lip hard,

almost hard enough to draw blood, and I laugh as I turn her head to one side and hold it there, licking and sucking at the soft skin on her neck. “You’ve got a hell of a bite, tiger,” I say, and nip at the cords of her neck. She gasps, so I do it again, and she squirms. On a spot right above her collarbone I suck at her delicate skin just hard enough to leave a mark. “Dammit,” she whispers. “Don’t want you forgetting where you’ve been,” I say, my lips heading lower. Her hands are on my shoulders, and I think she’s trying to pull me back up,

toward her, but that’s not what’s happening. I need to see her, to taste her. I bite at her earlobe and roll one nipple between my fingers, through the sheet, and she bites her lip, her hips moving up and toward me. “I think we should finish what we started back at the wedding,” I murmur. “Should I call you Brent again?” she asks, her voice raw and throaty. “Fuck no,” I say. I pinch the nipple and she gasps. “When you shout a name, you shout mine.” “Who says I’m a shouter?” she asks. I laugh and pull at the sheet around her.

It’s wound tight, but I loosen it enough to pull down over her perfect, round tits, her nipples at attention. “I say you’re a shouter,” I tell her, taking one between my teeth. Her hands clench at my shoulders, and I flick my tongue across it lazily, feeling her whole body stiffen in response. “And if you’re not now,” I say, pinching her other nipple between my fingertips, “You will be.” I bite down a little more and then suck at it, hard, and when I take my mouth off, it’s puffy and a little swollen. I do the same to her other nipple until she moans, a tiny, soft sound.

“See?” I say. I plant my lips right between her breasts and pull at the sheet, but it’s wound too tight now. She arches her back, trying to let me get more of it out, but it’s not working. “Shit,” she mutters, and props herself on an elbow. “Wait, here —” I just grab the sheet and pull. For a second I’m afraid it’s not going to work and I’m going to look like an idiot but then it tears straight down the middle and then Tessa’s naked and I’m desperate to taste her. I trail my lips down her stomach and over her hipbones, her hands in my hair

again as I push her thighs apart, then run my tongue straight down over her clit and between her lips, the tip just entering her, my nose filled with her sweet musk. Her whole body jerks and her fingers tighten in my hair as I slide my tongue up again, pushing further inside her. A soft moan escapes her lips and the sound drives me wild with lust. I pull her against my face and close my lips around the mound of her clit, licking and sucking as she pushes my face against her. I lift her up just a little and slide my tongue inside her as far as I can and she moves her hips, pushing herself into me. I back off, just a little, flicking my tongue

across her clit lightly, again and again, sliding it between her lips without entering her, no matter how desperately she wants me to, or how desperately I want to. I want to make her come, again and again, but not yet. I close my lips around her clit again and flatten my tongue against her and I hear her moan, her body rocking again, and I pull my face away an inch. She pushes my head toward her, but I resist. “God, I’m so close,” she moans. I swirl my tongue around her delicate nub once, and her back arches, her thighs flex. “Make me come,” she says.

I do it again. She moans, right at the brink, and I pull back, her hands coming loose. Tessa’s still lying on the bed, tattered sheets around her, sunburned and flushed, disheveled, legs still wide. It’s the the absolute hottest thing I’ve seen in my life. Her chest is rising and falling, her nipples puckered and hard, and I take a good, long look, searing it in my memory forever.

EIGHTEEN

TESSA

e pulls away from me and stands, the H cockiest grin I’ve ever seen on his face. I almost say I didn’t come yet, but then I realize he knows. He could have made me come in another three seconds, but he

didn’t. Cocky bastard, I think, and then he pulls down his boxers and I realize how accurate that statement is. Because holy fuck that’s a cock. For a moment I just stare at it uncertainly because I’m totally out of my depth, and then I realize he’s laughing at me, and I sit up on the bed. I open my mouth to say something but he puts his hand on my face with his thumb across my mouth and I run my tongue along it, then part my lips and take his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it and twirling my tongue around it as I look up at him.

He’s not laughing anymore, that’s for damn sure, and I reach out and close my fist around the base of his enormous cock. It throbs in my hand, and he pulls his thumb out of my mouth. “You want my mouth on anything else?” I ask, and stroke my fist the length of his cock. Still sitting on the bed, I lean over and lick his perfect abs, my tongue sliding along a dent in the muscle, and he growls, somewhere deep in his chest. “You have to ask,” I say, letting my lips brush his skin, my hand still sliding along his length. My whole body feels like it’s humming with my near-orgasm,

and all I can think about is how he’ll taste in my mouth. The noises he’ll make as I suck him off. “Get on your knees and put my cock in your mouth,” he says, his voice rough. Then I’m there, both hands on his erection now, looking up at him. I draw my tongue slowly along the underside of it and then over the top and I feel him shudder. I look up again and our eyes meet, his dark with lust. Still looking right at him, I move my lips over the head of his cock and swirl my tongue around it again, sucking, both hands on the shaft and he groans, his hands on my head.

I move my mouth up and back down slowly, his cock pushing my jaw open as I take more of him into my mouth with every stroke until he’s groaning. “Fuck that feels good, Tessa,” he says, between his clenched teeth. I moan into his cock. I can’t help it, because I’m dripping wet and because I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. “Moan for my cock again,” he says, and even though I can hear a hint of that grin in his voice I moan again, louder and longer this time as my core pulses with need. Before I know what I’m doing my other

hand is between my legs, slippery with my juices and I’m rubbing it in circles around my clit because I need release, even as I take his cock into my mouth as far as I possibly can and hear him groan. I’m rubbing myself frantically now, pulling my mouth back and sliding down his shaft, but then he moves back, taking his cock out of my mouth. I move my hand away from myself but he’s already seen me and he’s grinning as he grabs me by the arms and pulls me up and sits me on the bed again. “You liked it that much?” he asks, and he doesn’t wait for an answer, just kisses me hard and pushes me backward. “You like my cock so much you had to touch

yourself?” I can taste myself on him and it’s oddly arousing, but then he pulls back, grabs my hand, and licks my fingers. Now he’s kneeling in between my legs, the tip of his massive erection resting on my lower belly, my legs around him. I reach down and grab his erection and just taking it in my hand makes me almost dizzy with lust. “Fuck I want you,” he growls. He leans over me, his face next to mine, and I’m practically folded in half, pinned to the bed. “I can tell,” I whisper, and he smirks.

A hand slides down my thigh and then he’s running his fingers along my lips, brushing against my clit and I gasp, my other hand tight on his bicep. “I know you want me, tiger,” he whispers. “You’re so wet you’re soaking through the sheets.” He slides one finger into my pussy and I nearly scream, his cock throbbing in my hand. “Tell me,” he says. He slides another finger in and then crooks them slowly against that spot and my eyes squeeze shut as I moan. “You have to tell me how much you want

my cock in you,” he whispers, and he slides in a third finger, moves them again and I’m grabbing his arm so hard there’s probably going to be a bruise there tomorrow. “I want you,” I gasp. “You can do better than that,” he says. His face is an inch in front of mine, and I lick my lips. “This is how you like it, right? Missionary with the lights out,” he says, his rough voice vibrating through me. I blink, and then almost laugh. This is a million times hotter than any other missionary-with-the-lights-off sex I’ve

had before. He moves his fingers again and instead of laughing I gasp and whisper, “Oh, fuck.” I take a deep breath. “Fuck me,” I say. “I want to feel your cock inside me.” He groans, fingers in me, and pushes his cock against my hand. “Say it again,” he says. “Fuck me now,” I growl. “I need your cock in me.” “I don’t have a condom,” he whispers. “I have to fuck you bare.”

I’ve never fucked anyone bare, not even my ex. I’m cautious by nature, but the only thing that matters right now is getting Alex inside me. Besides, I find the thought reckless and oddly arousing. “I don’t care,” I whisper. “Just fuck me.” “You like it,” he says, then he bites my ear. “You like that we’re going skin to skin.” For a moment, his face goes serious. “I always wrap it up,” he murmurs in my ear. Well, not always, I think, but then he slides his fingers out of my pussy and

then pulls me forward, resting the head of his cock at my entrance. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze. He bites my shoulder and I feel the head of his cock slide inside me. I gasp and then hold my breath. I’m afraid it’ll hurt but instead he sinks inside me like we were made to fit. I exhale, moaning. “You feel fucking perfect, tiger,” he says, his voice a growl against my neck. “I’ve been thinking about this for days.” I mean to say me too. It comes out different, a breathy gasp: “Shut up and fuck me.”

He pauses for a second, buried deep inside me, and his eyes light up and he grins, his face almost feral. “I could have sworn I was,” he says. He pulls his cock out of me, making all the muscles in my body jerk, and then thrusts back in, slow but hard and a small noise escapes my lips as my entire body goes white-hot. Then he does it again and again and god, I wanted him to fuck me hard and fast but this is what I need, this perfect slow mind-blowing torture. With his next thrust my head bumps against the bars of the headboard, and I reach up and grab one. Before I know it

his hand is wrapped around mine, holding it there, and he growls as he thrusts again, his cock finding that deep, perfect place inside me that makes me moan and sends fire through my veins. I’m right on the edge, barely hanging on, but instead of fucking me again he leans down and kisses me, his hand still over mine, and it’s oddly slow and sensual even as I can feel him throb with desire inside me. I know the tiniest movement would set me off and send me spinning into the stratosphere, but he’s perfectly still except for his lips and his tongue, exploring my own. It’s the most intimate moment I’ve ever had.

Then he pulls his mouth away and we’re both breathing hard, his face serious in the dark. “You like this, tiger?” he asks. “You like how I feel inside you?” “Yes,” I manage to gasp. “Good,” he murmurs. “But I’m done fucking you like a prude.” He pulls out, and I have half a second to wonder what the fuck about that was prudish before he’s rolling me over. “Get on your knees,” he says and I do, my back to him. Then his hands are on my waist and his mouth is on my shoulder, the skin a little tender where

he bit it before. “Grab the bars,” he says, and I wrap my fingers around the shiny metal, bracing myself as his hands are everywhere on me. Then his cock is at my entrance and this time I don’t have to ask, he just pushes himself in all the way to the hilt. “Oh!” I shout, my hands tightening on the bars of the headboard. “I told you you’d shout,” he says into my ear. His arms are so tight around my waist that I can barely move, my back arched in pleasure.

“Do it again,” I say, turning my head toward him and he kisses me savagely again, and then he does, just as hard and slow as before but deeper this time, like he’s found some secret place in my body that belongs to him. He fucks me again, and then again, and with every stroke I can feel him bring me millimeters closer to the edge. I can barely breathe, I need to come so bad. “Faster,” I finally say, my voice a rough whisper. “God, just make me come.” “I will,” he says, his lips against the back of my neck. “When I do, they’re going to hear you back in Los Angeles.” I believe him. I feel like I’m having sex

for the very first time, like I’m finally figuring out why people get so excited about sex. “I could fuck you forever,” he says into my ear. “That’s how good it feels to be inside you.” His hands slide along my arms until he locks his hands over mine, his tattooed muscles flexing in the moonlight. He squeezes my hands and his fingers slide between mine, his chest against my back, his cock totally buried inside me. I’m there, right on the edge again. “Say my name,” he tells me. I take in a deep, long, ragged breath and

flex my pussy muscles. Anything to make him fuck me just one more time. Except doing what he wants. “Why?” I ask, my whole body trembling. He pushes against me so slightly it might be my imagination but I groan so loud that the sound fills the whole room. “Because you thought you wouldn’t,” he says. “Because I wanted to hear you shout my name the moment I saw you.” He moves again and I’m so close that I almost feel like I’m on fire. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I gasp. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“My name,” he whispers. “Just fuck me.” “Say my name,” he says, and there’s a slight pause. “Please?” “Fuck me, Alex,” I whisper, almost sobbing it feels so good and he finally does, crushing my hands against the bars and thrusting and then I just see stars as I’m plummeting over the edge. His name’s already on my lips so that’s what I shout, over and over again as I come so hard I’m almost afraid I’m going to black out, just “Fuck, Alex, fuck!” over and over again. They probably can hear me in Los

Angeles, but it’s worth it. When I can think again I realize that Alex is coming, one arm wrapped tight around my waist as he groans. Before he pulls out he puts his hand on my face and turns my head toward him and kisses me hard and deep again, his cock softening inside me as we’re both panting for breath. Then we both collapse on the bed, and for the first time in days my mind goes blissfully blank. I don’t think, what’s going to happen or why is this asshole so hot or what’s my dad doing. I just think, I needed that. Next to me, Alex takes a deep breath and

then exhales hard. “Holy shit, tiger,” he says. I turn my head toward him. “You say that to all the kidnapped girls you fuck,” I say, but I’m teasing. He knows, because he’s grinning when he looks at me. “Nah, you’re the first one who’s gotten that turned on by captivity,” he says. “Douche,” I say. “You’d hate it if I weren’t,” he says. I roll my eyes in the dark but I think he might be right. I fall asleep before I can

think of a good response.

NINETEEN

ALEX

even dream, I sleep so hard, and Ithedon’t next thing I know it’s morning, light slicing through the ugly mini blinds. I’m on my back and Tessa is next to me, on her side, facing away with her back

against my side, my arm under her neck. I stay there for a few moments, and then get up, grab the keys from under the mattress, piss, put my clothes back on and check the cell phone. I have one missed call. It’s from a number I don’t recognize, but it’s gotta be Manny’s burner. An odd mix of relief and sadness wash over me. Tessa’s going to be all right. She’ll get to go back home to her real life, but there’s no way I’ll see her again after that. Our worlds just don’t mix. They never will. This isn’t some “Boy from the

wrong side of the tracks” romance, it’s straight up impossible. While she was in college, I was beating up other dealers for being our turf. While she was working her first job in an architecture firm, I was facing off with the Hell’s Angels, trading dope for guns. We shouldn’t have fucked, but that’s water under the bridge. At least now, we can go our separate ways without too much damage. I hit the button to call Manny back, but instead the phone beeps at me. No signal. I frown and try every corner of the living room, but there’s nothing. It

says I have one bar of service, but I can’t get a call through. “Shit,” I mutter, and head outside. I walk a complete lap around our yard, but I can’t get a call out to save my life. When I come back in Tessa’s there, wrapped in the sheet that was on the bed, looking tousled and tired and so hot I get rock hard in half a second. “What’s going on?” she asks, looking at the phone in my hand. “Gotta make a call,” I say. “Did my dad cooperate?” she asks. “I’ll find out when I make this call,” I snap, because the last thing I need right

now is for my dick to think about how much fun we had, because we’re never doing that again. I snap the phone shut. “Make coffee,” I say. “I’ll be back in thirty. There’s no signal here.” I can feel her staring at me as I walk out of the house. I should take her with me, but her feet are fucked up and we’re in the middle of nowhere. What’s she gonna do? I drive with one hand on the wheel and the other holding my cell phone in the air until, suddenly, I come over a rise and get four glorious bars of signal. I hop out and hit the call button again, and

after one ring, I hear Manny’s voice. “There you are,” he says. “No signal at the safe house,” I explain. “I had to find some.” “That’s the problem with that location,” he says. “Did you finally talk some sense into Ned?” I ask. “That took a while.” Manny sighs dramatically into the phone, and my stomach clenches. I can practically see him, sitting in his modern, sleek office in the back of the nightclub he owns, shaking his head. “Ned talked,” he says.

It doesn’t compute. “To you?” I ask. “No, Alejandro,” he says, almost sounding sad. I find a spot on the horizon and focus on it. It feels like an oven out here, and I can see the heat rising from the desert. “Ned told the feds everything on Saturday afternoon. Before we even got Tessa.” For a second, I can’t understand what he’s just said, like he’s speaking Greek or something. Then I get it.

This was all for nothing. “Shit,” I say, and I feel something cold slide into my stomach. “This is gonna be a big, big mess,” he says. He sounds exhausted, and the worst is yet to come. “Should I come back?” I ask, not asking what I really want to know: what do I do with Tessa? I turn around and look at the other horizon, this one sliced up by the sharp mountains. A cold realization washes over me as I wait for Manny to answer me. I can’t kill her.

I won’t. I’d rather disobey Manny and risk a pinky finger — or, for this, maybe even my life — than kill this girl. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? “Alejandro, listen,” he says. “I know how you feel about this kind of thing with women, and I know you’ve gone above and beyond already.” I swallow, listening, waiting for him to say but just do one more thing. “I sent Jose and Mike up there this morning,” he says. “They’ll do the dirty work. You can just come back here.”

For a split second, I’m flattered. It’s a sign of professional respect that Manny sent someone else to do this, a sign that Manny values my opinion and wants to keep me around the organization. Then a cold steel fist clenches around my stomach, and I grind my teeth together. Talk him out of it, I think. “Manny, you know I don’t like to question your decisions, but is that a good idea?” I ask. I try to sound neutral. “This could really bring the heat down on us.”

“I’ve thought about that,” he says levelly. “You’re not wrong, Alejandro, but frankly I’m more concerned by the alternative. If we let Ned get away with this, we’re essentially declaring that anyone can walk all over us with no consequences.” “We might be scaring off allies by doing something this harsh,” I say. “No one’s going to want to work with us if the feds are up our asses.” My heart is hammering, and it’s a lastditch effort. “It’s a difficult dance,” Manny says into the phone, suddenly getting poetic. “I can only pray I’m making the right choice.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just let Jose and Mike deal with her,” Manny says. “Head back to town. There’s plenty to do here.” “Got it,” I say, and then Manny ends the call. I stare at the phone for a long second, and then I roar. “FUUUCK!” I shout, the sound getting lost in the desert. “FUCK, FUCK FUCK!” I grab the phone and twist, and the cheap plastic splinters apart at the hinge. “FUCK!” I shout, and drop kick one half of it off into the dirt. I don’t see where it

lands because I dropped the other one and I’m stomping it into smithereens, just shouting like some kind of animal. When I finish I’m already dripping with sweat, but I get back into the SUV and gun it for the house, doing forty miles an hour off road, just praying that I don’t pop a tire. If I were smart I’d just forget her and go back to my life in Los Angeles. It’s not like she’d be the first person I killed, or the first person I let die. But I’m not smart. I’m barreling toward the safe house, praying I get there before Jose and Mike. I’ve got no plan, no idea how I’ll handle

those two morons when they get here. I’m just going.

TWENTY

TESSA

lex heads out the door and I wonder A what his fucking problem is. You gave him what he wanted, I think. And now he’s done.

Fine. I don’t give a shit if he likes me or not, I just want to get out of his house in the desert and back to my life. You know, the life where I’m not a hostage? I knot the sheet around myself and make coffee, shuffling around the kitchen with my mummy feet. Walking still hurts, but it hurts a lot less than yesterday, and I feel optimistic for the first time since Friday night. I might get out of this okay, I think. When the coffee’s done, I take a mug and sit on the couch. I look at the piles of VHS tapes, but I’m so sick of watching movies that I might puke if I put one on.

I consider Sorority Sluts, though. Maybe if that were playing when Alex came back I could get him in the mood one more time... His SUV pulls up outside, and I glance at the tapes. Then I hear voices. Two of them. Before I can stand, the door opens, and two guys in white t-shirts and jeans come through. They’re both nondescript and short, one bald, both covered in ugly, fading tattoos. The bald one looks at me and grins. Something flashes as he raises his hand, and he points a gun at me.

They’re both holding guns. Both pointing at me. “You must be Tessa,” the bald guy says, gesturing at me with the gun. Reflexively I cover my face with my hands, and I slosh coffee all over myself. I barely notice that it burns. I have no idea who these guys are or how they know who I am — and where’s Alex? I’ve been afraid of the wrong thing this whole time. “I see the Scorpion’s been here,” the other guy says, and he grabs his crotch. They both laugh, and I look at them through my fingers. I’m shaking, but I

manage to put my now-empty coffee mug down on the table and swallow. “Who are you?” I ask. My voice comes out terrified and high-pitched. “Your boyfriend’s associates,” the nonbald one says. He’s got three dots tattooed on his face, right under his eye. “Alex?” I ask. They just laugh again. “He’s got a thing about women,” Face Tattoo says. “He likes ‘em too much,” Baldy says. “I don’t think he ever met a pussy he didn’t get balls deep in.”

“Especially your sister,” Face Tattoo says. “Man, leave my sister outta this, she knows better than that,” Baldy says. “She sure knows something.” “Just shut up, okay? We’re at work, man.” My whole body is shaking now. I can feel my lips and fingers go numb. “Manny ain’t expecting us back for a while,” Face Tattoo says. “We could have some fun.” Now my ears are ringing, and I feel like I’ve got vertigo.

“Hey, princess,” he says. “You show us a good enough time, and we’ll give you a head start. How’s that?”

TWENTY-ONE

ALEX

he other SUV is already outside the T house when I get there, and I skid to a stop. Before I get out I unlock the glove box and grab the gun. It’s loaded. I jump out and jam it in the back of my tuxedo

pants. Just leave, I think. She’s just some girl. You’ve worked for years to get where you are. I don’t leave. I climb the stairs and push open the door, feeling like forty thousand volts of electricity are coursing through my body. Mike and Jose both half raise their guns when the door opens, then see it’s me. I nod at them. “Hey man,” Mike says, the tattooed dots on his face bobbing as we talks. “We were just talking about whether she sucks dick good or not.”

For once, I’m wound up too tight to get a hard-on at the idea of Tessa’s lips on my cock. I just laugh. “She’s all right,” I say. “Nothing special.” Tessa’s on the couch, still alive, but I can see her shaking from here. Mike and Jose are both standing between me and her, and the cold metal of the gun presses against my lower back. It’s too risky. I have to get between her and them. Jose, the bald guy, shrugs and looks at Mike. “You want your dick sucked by a scared

gringa?” he asks. Mike tilts his head and considers this prospect seriously. “Nah,” says Mike. “Let’s do this and get back. She looks toothy.” “Wait,” I say, and hold up one hand. They both look at me. I’m ranked above them, after all, so I’ve got the authority here. “I know you two drove a long way, but this cunt has been a pain in my ass for two days now,” I say. I take out my gun and pretend to check that it’s loaded.

“You want this one?” Mike asks. “I thought you had that thing about women,” Jose says. I shrug and walk between them, toward Tessa. She looks at me with giant green eyes. I’ve never seen anyone look more betrayed. “About women, sure,” I say. “Not dogs.” They laugh. “Sure, man,” Jose says. “Sounds like you need it more than us.” He sticks his gun behind his back and crosses his arms in front of himself.

I walk to where she’s sitting, and she lunges away but I grab her by the hair and she screams, a raw, ragged sound full of pure rage. I force her to her knees, facing away from me, and at that moment she stops fighting. She doesn’t say anything, just goes totally still and quiet. I’m sorry, I think. I point my gun at the back of her head and take a deep breath, steadying my hand. I glance at Jose and Mike, both standing there, looking amused, arms crossed over their chests. I can’t believe what I’m about to do.

“Any last words, you fucking cunt?” I say. Tessa doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t do anything. All her fight is suddenly gone. I shrug and cock my gun.

TWENTY-TWO

TESSA

a weird peace falls Ioverhearme,thelikeclickI’mandsuddenly in a place where nothing can hurt me anymore. I close my eyes. My only thought is please, don’t let it hurt too much.

Then there’s two gunshots right in a row, bam bam and my eyes fly open. That didn’t hurt at all, I think, and then I look down. The two guys are both laid out on the floor like rag dolls. Alex takes two steps and stands over the bald guy. He looks down and shoots him once, right in the center of the forehead. I yelp and then cover my mouth with both hands. I want to close my eyes but I can’t. They’re glued to Alex, who’s suddenly rigid and businesslike as he crosses the room to the other guy. He also gets one bullet in the forehead.

Everything goes very, very still. I don’t move. I feel like I’m in some sort of weird fugue state, like my mind is giving me this last nice story before I finally die. Alex looks from one to the other, then puts the safety back on his gun. He rolls both guys over and takes their guns as well, puts all three on the kitchen counter. I’m on my feet. I don’t know how I got there, but I am. Alex stares at the guns, leaning against the counter for a long moment, like he’s deep in thought.

Then he looks over at me. “You okay?” he asks. I take a deep breath and try to force my whole body to stop shaking. “Yeah,” I say. I’m amazed to hear that I almost sound normal. “Did they hurt you?” he asks. His voice is a low, dangerous growl, and his hands are gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles are white. I shake my head. “You can tell me,” he says, his voice still in that register.

“They didn’t hurt me,” I say. “They’d only been here for a minute, maybe two, when you got back.” Besides, I think, you can’t kill them again. He nods and looks back at the counter. “Good,” he says. “Go shower, you’ve covered in coffee and blood. I’ll take care of this.” He opens a cabinet and takes out Windex and paper towels, then begins taking one of the guns apart. I have a thousand questions I want answers to, but trying to formulate them feels like walking through quicksand.

Every time I try to think, I just remember Alex grabbing me by the hair. Forcing me to my knees. Those two men, laughing. Now they’re bodies, huge puddles of blood still spreading beneath them. Holes in the chest and in the head. “Tessa,” Alex says, and my head snaps up to look at him. His hands are still working on the guns, cleaning them carefully, piece by piece, but he’s looking at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. “Yeah,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“Go shower,” he says. “We don’t have long before they start looking for us.” I don’t even ask who they is, I just head for the bathroom.

TWENTY-THREE

ALEX

essa walks toward the bathroom, and T I watch her go. The door clicks shut softly and I exhale, looking down at the bodies. I feel a twinge of guilt, but only a

twinge. They’d have been happy to make Tessa blow them both before they killed her, and they’ve always been scum like that. I used to have their job, so it’s hard to feel too bad for them. There’s a reason I’m alive and they’re not: I didn’t fuck around when I was working. I got it done and left. I step around the lakes of blood and slide their eyes shut. I fold their hands on their bloody stomachs. More guys will be here by nightfall at the latest, so I’m not going to bury them. Someone else can do that. We need to leave.

I head to the utility closet. I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re going to do, so I just grab a ton of shit and put it in the SUV. Lots of water, a duffel bag full of fresh first aid supplies, camping gear, anything that looks like it could be useful. When I finish that, she’s still in the shower. She’s been in there forever. I knock on the door. “Tessa,” I call. I try not to think about her naked, perfect body slippery and wet. If there was ever a time not to think about how much I

want to fuck her, this is it. It doesn’t work. My dick goes hard, but I ignore it and knock again. No answer. A seed of worry plants itself in my chest. What if there were three of them and the third guy was hiding in here, I think. I wish I had a gun on me, but they’re all dismantled on the counter. I shove the door open and look around, but there’s just one form visible through the shower curtain. It’s huddled in one corner, and it looks like she’s still got the sheets wrapped around her.

“What?” she says, her voice shaky. She’s obviously crying. Shit. “Tessa,” I say, and open the shower door. The water’s cold by now. I reach in and turn it off, still wearing my shoes and all the clothes I’ve got. She’s got her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her eyes red and puffy. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m not — I didn’t —” She gasps for breath, then squeezes her eyes shut as a sob tears itself out of her.

I don’t say anything, I just sit on the wet tile next to her pull her toward myself. She lets me. I hold her tight against my chest and stroke her wet hair. I’m soaked through in a few minutes, but I don’t care. It’s a hundred and fifteen degrees outside, I’ll be dry in no time. After a minute, she clears her throat. “Sorry,” she whispers again. “I don’t know what happened.” I lean my head back against the tile wall of the shower and wonder what the fuck has happened to me. This is how people should react to watching two strangers get shot at point-blank range, right in

front of them. I’m a monster, I think, but the thought doesn’t make me feel bad. It’s just a fact: I’m a monster. “You’re safe now,” I tell her. “No one’s going to hurt you.” At least not if I can stop them, I think. She takes a deep breath and turns her face toward me, sitting up a little, scooting along the wet tile of the shower floor. She’s got one hand on my chest and even though she’s crying and wrapped in wet sheets, she’s beyond beautiful. Her hand moves up my chest, finding my

skin where it’s unbuttoned at the top. Then she looks up at me, the expression in her green eyes half plaintive and half something else. Her fingers creep up to my face and she runs her thumb along the lower edge of my lip, rough with two days’ worth of stubble. I suddenly realize that I can see her nipples through the wet sheet, pink and hard, and then my mouth is on hers. She sighs as she leans into me, her lips already parted, her body pressing against mine. We have to leave, I think. We have to go now. NOW. I tug the sheets down and grab one breast

in my hand, the nipple diamond-hard and slippery. I’m rock hard again and now her hand trails down my chest and finds the outline of my cock through my wet tuxedo pants, her fingers dancing over it. I growl and pull at the other side of the wet sheets and now I’m pinching both of her nipples in my hands and Tessa moans, her mouth still hungry against mine. I want more than anything to push her up against the shower wall, tear this sheet off, and hear the way she gasps when I push my tongue inside her to taste her. Then I think of a black SUV, barreling down the freeway toward us. Full of men with guns.

Angry men with guns. I actually lose my erection a little. I’ll never get to do anything else with Tessa if we’re both dead. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs. “We’ve gotta go,” I say. “Right now?” she whispers. “Believe me, I’d rather stay here,” I say. “Licking your pussy until you come sounds much better than running for my life.” That makes her look down at the floor of the shower, and I take the opportunity to stand. I pull her to her feet, and she tugs the cold wet sheet back over her breasts.

“Sorry,” she says, for about the millionth time. “I don’t know what got into me.” “Don’t be sorry,” I say. I’m looking at her nipples again. “But we do have some priorities. Go get dressed.” I leave the bathroom. It takes all my selfcontrol to leave her standing there, wet, naked, and horny.

I’m waiting in the SUV already when she gets in, wearing her evening gown again. I’d forgotten that it’s the only clothing she has, and it’s a disgusting, tattered mess. “Okay,” she says, looking at me evenly.

“Let’s go.”

TWENTY-FOUR

TESSA

n the scale of smart to insane, I have O no idea where I fall right now. At this moment, in the SUV heading through the desert, I feel surprisingly normal, but the crazy Tessa feels like she could surface

at any moment. I mean, I did just watch Alex kill two people, have a breakdown in the shower, and then try to jump on his dick all in the space of about five minutes. I glance over at his lap surreptitiously. He’s still hard. I swallow. Are you kidding? I think. Just because the sex was great doesn’t mean you should be thinking about it right now, after you watched him kill two people. I shift in the passenger seat of the car. I’m glad this dress is lined, because I’m not wearing underwear, and glancing at Alex’s cock is making me kinda wet. I only had the one pair, and I’d rather go

commando than wear it for three days straight. At least he killed people who were going to kill you, I think. That’s not really morally wrong, you know. I clear my throat and stare through the windshield, willing my brain to shut up already. “Where are we going?” I ask. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Away.” “Another safehouse?” I ask. He just shakes his head. “They’ll look at all those,” he says. “We have to go somewhere else, somewhere

they won’t think to look.” I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to process this. “And then... what?” I ask. “We won’t be on the run forever.” “I’ll work on that once we’re back on the highway and out of here,” he says. “We’re like pigs in a barrel right now.” “Fish in a barrel,” I say automatically. “Why are fish in a barrel?” he asks, still staring ahead. “Why are pigs?” I say. He looks at me, then at the road again, and he shrugs.

“I never thought about it,” he says. “Is the phrase really ‘fish in a barrel’?” “It really is.” “Huh,” he says, sounding almost reflective. I can’t help but smile. He’s not such an asshole when he’s getting idioms wrong. “Okay,” I say. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?” He exhales, puffing out his cheeks, and runs a hand through his hair. “Your dad talked to the feds before I picked you up,” he says. “Picked me up?” I say. “That’s the

phrase you’re gonna use?” “Are you going to listen or are you going to fight with me about my wording?” His hand tightens a little on the wheel, and his muscles flex below the tattoos. “I’ll listen,” I say quietly. He tells me everything, his voice flat and fast: my dad talked before they found him. Alex’s boss sent those two guys to get rid of me so that Alex wouldn’t have to shoot me. The rest I already know. “I’m sorry I said those things about you to them,” he says.

I narrow my eyes and glance sideways at him. Did he just apologize...? “You are a pain in my ass,” he says, and I almost laugh out loud. “But I don’t want to kill you.” Up ahead I can finally see the long, gray sliver of two-lane highway. “There’s an atlas under your seat,” he says, and I pull it out. As I look at the back I remember that I have no idea where we are. Alex slows the car a little and looks over at it, then finally points at a square on the back. I flip it open to the right page.

“So those two worked for you?” I ask. The map has two blue lines running along it like veins, hemmed in on either side by mountains. I look behind me and in front of me. So there’s only two ways in or out of this valley, I think. “We work for the same people,” Alex says. “And those people are going to be pissed when they find two dead bodies,” I say. “It won’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who did it,” he says. “I was there, and that’s not how civilians shoot

people.” Civilian meaning me, I guess. I close my eyes and the scene flashes back to me one more time: two loud gunshots. Alex, standing over one and then the other, shooting them point-blank in the head. Making sure they were finished. “First we’ve gotta get to somewhere more populated,” he says. “We need new clothes, we need to lose them, we need to figure out a next step, we need to figure out where to go—” “Stop,” I say. “You drive. I’ll make the list.”

He looks over at me incredulously. “A list?” “Sure,” I say. I open the glove box to look for a pen and yelp. There’s two hand guns inside. I pull back like there’s a snake, and Alex laughs. “So I don’t need to worry about you taking me hostage and demanding I drive back to LA,” he says. I make a face at the glove box. “The safeties are on,” he says. “You can just move them.”

I reach out one single finger and nudge a gun, trying to move it out of the way. Alex sighs and leans over. Without taking his eyes off the dirt road in front of us, he grabs both of them and drops them into the center console. Beneath them is a ballpoint pen, the thing I’ve been looking for all along. I flip to the back cover of the atlas and tap the pen against it. “How long do we have until they figure out something happened?” Alex thinks. “About two hours from when they walked into the house, which was what,

half an hour ago?” “That’s when someone else leaves LA?” I ask. “This is pretty important, so they’ll probably send someone from closer as well,” he says. “We’ve got a couple guys in Palmdale who’d be here in an hour.” “Two and a half hours,” I say, writing that down. “We’ll say two to be safe. They’re coming from the south, so we need to go north.” I draw an arrow pointing up, and Alex glances over at it. “Is reminding yourself which way is north part of your process?” he asks.

“I’m a visual problem solver,” I snap. The highway is right up ahead, and both of us shut up for a moment. There’s no other cars for as far as I can see, and a prickle of relief moves over my skin. Alex just nods once and turns north. “Before anything else, we need clothes,” I say. “First, we need to get to Bishop and out of the valley,” he says. “Then we can go shopping.” “Right now, if we get pulled over, I look exactly like I’ve been kidnapped from a black tie wedding,” I say. He looks down at himself.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Two, we get out of this valley and lose them. Three, we figure out a next step.” I write all this down next to big, blocky numerals in very neat handwriting. I almost feel like I’m at work, where I’m a compulsive to-do list maker. Alex glances over, taking it in. The road is perfectly straight and very empty, so it’s not like there’s a lot for him to do. “Next,” I say. “Tell me what supplies we’ve got with us.” I write a big, blocky numeral one and Alex takes a deep breath.

TWENTY-FIVE

ALEX

y the time we’re coming up on the B next town, a tiny place called Lone Pine, Tessa has neatly outline both our next steps in escaping from a notorious drug cartel and catalogued all the supplies

that we have with us, each in neat, bullet-pointed lists. The weirdest part is that it actually makes me feel better. My mind is still racing at a thousand cycles per second, but her lists make it look so easy: one, clothes; two, run; three, think of something else. “You sure you’ve never run from a dangerous paramilitary organization before?” I ask. “Pretty sure,” Tessa says, then points at a speed limit sign. “It’s only thirty-five through here, the last thing we need is to get pulled over.” I take my foot off the gas even as I roll

my eyes at her. “You never did tell me what dangerous organization you work for,” she says, almost casually. I look at her, and she’s looking straight ahead. I’m still not sure how much I should tell her — if she knows, does that put her at risk? On the other hand, can I really just keep her in the dark? She probably deserves to know who kidnapped and almost killed her. “It’s a cartel based in Mexico,” I say. “La Carretera.” Her head whips toward me, her eyes

wide. “Heard of it?” I ask. “The New Yorker just had a huge article on them,” she says, and I laugh out loud. “Of course you read about it in the New Yorker,” I say. It’s just another reminder of the gulf between us: she reads articles about this, I live it. “It was about the war over who gets to smuggle cocaine to Vegas and San Francisco,” she says carefully. “Apparently the head of that other cartel — El Norte? — disappeared sometime last year along with a bunch of his top

guys and things have been rough since then.” I glance over at her, a why are you telling me this expression on my face. “Yeah, I know all about that,” I say. “Do you know where he is?” she asks, her voice low. I couldn’t give the longitude and latitude, but I know a short list of places I’d look. They’re all graves. Not that I’m about to tell Tessa, because that would paint a target on her for sure. “No,” I say, and point at a building with mannequins and a kayak in the front window. “I know where clothes are,

though.” Now she’s turned around, looking into the back of the SUV, through the thick plastic that separates us from the back seat. “That’s why you’ve got a car just for kidnapping,” she says. I pull into the parking lot for the sporting goods store and turn the car off. She’s wearing an evening gown, and there’s no way she can go into a store in that. It’s suspicious as hell. “So you know about the kind of firepower and reach La Carretera has in California,” I say, my voice low and serious. “And you know that the Sheriff

in a place like Lone Pine wouldn’t stand a chance against them if they found out you were here.” She looks at me searchingly, and then swallows. Her eyes narrow the slightest bit. “And you know that telling the cops I’m here would pretty much sign my death warrant,” I say. She takes a deep breath and then nods. “Great,” I say, and smile at her. “What size shorts do you wear?”

I make quick work of the store, grabbing myself jeans, boxers, a couple t-shirts,

and some very ugly hiking shoes. I’m getting Tessa a couple of tank tops and tshirts, heading to the women’s pants section, when I notice a rack of cutoff jean shorts on deep discount. I glance around, then head over and pick up a pair. They’re short, and I know she’ll be annoyed if this is all I get her, but I can’t help thinking about how hot they’ll be on her. Hell, I’m hard again just thinking about it. The cashier, a guy who can’t be more than seventeen, looks me over and I pray that Lone Pine doesn’t get the Los Angeles news.

“Rough night?” he asks, and then gives me a yeah, bro nod. “Wedding,” I say. “Not mine, but I woke up... somewhere unexpected.” He looks at the denim shorts. “So did a bridesmaid,” I say with a chuckle. “I have a feeling the bride is pissed.” “Nice,” he says, putting it all in a bag. “Seventy-three forty.” I pay with cash from my wallet, then lean against the counter. “Mind if I change in your dressing room real quick?” I ask, and gesture at myself.

“Go ahead, man,” he says, shrugging. That was easier than I thought it would be. In a flash I’m out of my old clothes and in the new ones, waving at the kid on my way out the door. I cross my fingers as I walk into the parking lot, just praying that Tessa’s still in the car. I wasn’t kidding when I said it would be dangerous for her to go to the cops here: if she does it, I’m dead, at the very least. She might be too. The SUV comes into view. She’s not in it. The front seats are empty and I can see clear through to the parking lot beyond. My hand tightens around the plastic handle of the bag.

“Fuck,” I mutter, and look around the parking lot for a redhead in a long black dress. There isn’t one. I start to walk toward the street, and try to estimate how long I was in that store. How far could she get, shoeless with nothing but bandages on her feet? She’s not on the sidewalk. She’s not on the street, and my gut clenches. If Manny hasn’t gotten the word out yet, he will soon. Does he have a guy in Lone Pine, tiny as it is? If I leave her here, am I leaving her in danger? I can’t do that. I won’t.

Something moves in the SUV and I swivel back, my heart thumping. It’s Tessa. She’s just sitting there, looking at the atlas or whatever. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” I say when I get back in. I toss the bag at her and start the car. “I’ve been right here,” she says, in that don’t tell me what to do tone of voice. “I didn’t even get unbuckled.” “I didn’t see you at first,” I growl, start the car, and throw it into gear. “Hey, wait,” she says as I back out of the spot and practically burn rubber out of the parking lot.

“I don’t get to change?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at the store behind us. “Change in the car,” I say. “I don’t like staying here longer than I have to.” She sighs and glares out the window as we pass the other two stoplights in town. The other cars disappear from the road in a matter of minutes, and she finally looks into the bag, pulling out the clothes I got her. The ugly slip-on shoes and tank tops all pass without comment, but then she gets to the cutoff shorts, the last thing in the bag. She holds them up in both hands and just looks at them, eyebrows raised, and

I can’t tell if she’s mad or amused or turned on or some combination of all three. I just look at the road. It’s straight and empty. “You didn’t get me underwear or a bra?” she asks, still looking at the shorts. Oops. It didn’t even occur to me. “I don’t shop for a lot of women,” I say. “Is that what happened?” she asks. “On the bright side, these shorts are basically underwear.” “Oops?” I say. She glances over at me, still holding the

shorts up. The look in her eyes makes me hold my breath for just a second: she’s thinking something. Then she shrugs casually, rips the tags off the shorts and a white tank top, and tosses them on the dashboard, undoes her seatbelt, and tilts the passenger seat back as far as it’ll go before it hits the kidnapping enclosure, about forty five degrees. “I guess these will just have to do,” she says. She kneels on the seat and gathers her hair to one side, then reaches up behind her for the zipper on the dress, awkwardly trying to tug it down.

I watch for a few moments, then reach over and ease it down myself, all the way to the hollow of her lower back. I glance at the road again, then slide my fingers into the opening I just made, her back against my palm, and I go for the bra clasp. My cock’s already gone hard, but that’s basically a permanent state these last few days. “Watch the road,” she says. “There’s no traffic,” I say. She grabs my wrist and practically throws my hand at me, and I let her, because there’s something absolutely wicked and dangerous in her eyes.

“Okay, tiger,” I say, grinning. “Both hands on the wheel. Ten and two. Happy?” “Better,” she says. Tessa reaches around her back and unhooks her strapless bra, then pulls it from the front of her dress and tosses it to the floor. “You have a bra,” I say. “What did you need a new one for?” “I’ve been wearing that bra for fortyeight hours,” she says. “And besides, it was never comfortable in the first place.” She holds the front of her dress in place

with one hand and pulls her arm out of the single strap and lets her dress fall to just above her nipples, the stiff bodice somehow staying upright around her body. I glance at the road and then go back to watching her as she leans forward from the hips, her breasts staying covered in a way that seems to defy physics. “There’s no one else here,” I say. My voice has gone low and rough and my cock is straining against my new jeans so hard it’s uncomfortable, but I don’t want to adjust and give myself away. Like she doesn’t know I could practically cut glass with this thing

right now, I think. Still, I can’t let her win. “Cars could come along,” she says, holding up the white tank top and pretending to inspect it. “We’ve got plenty of lead time,” I say, gesturing to the road ahead. I can see five, ten miles in front of us, easy. Tessa doesn’t answer, but she reaches her arms up and through the tank top and for a split second I can see the pebbled, rosy bud of one nipple. That’s it. I take my foot off the gas and lift my hips from the seat, adjusting my jeans so there’s a little more room in the

front before I cut off blood flow to my entire cock. “Uncomfortable?” she asks. I guess that wasn’t so sneaky, I think. “A little,” I say as she pulls the tank top past her shoulders. For another moment there’s a flash of nipple as she pulls the shirt over herself, but then she adjusts it and looks down at herself. “I probably should have had you get me a medium,” she says. “This one’s a little tight.” It’s practically glued to her, and I can see every curve and outline of her

perfect, perky breasts, both nipples faintly pink through the material, sticking out like pencil erasers. “I think you asked for exactly the right size,” I say. “Eyes front,” she says again, but now she’s smiling. I glance at the road and then look at her again as she runs her hands lightly over herself, the fingers rippling over her breasts and nipples, pushing the dress down to her hips, just to the top of her perfect ass. “You really seem to hate this,” I say. “Changing in a car from a ball gown to

an outfit that’s pretty much redneck lingerie?” she asks. “I’ve had better shopping experiences, if that’s what you’re asking.” The bag’s also got a black shirt, a red one, and a green one. She knows what she’s doing, as she circles both her nipples with her fingers, still on her knees on the seat, her back arched. I glance at the road again, then take one hand off the wheel and rub my aching cock through my pants. Anything to alleviate this pressure. “Fuck, Tessa, are you trying to get us killed?” I ask, staring at her. “Hands on the wheel,” she says.

I don’t have to, but I do it. She reclines into the seat, the full, flowing skirt of her dress around her legs, and puts her still-bandaged feet up on the dashboard. “I’m not the one who bought me an outfit that’s probably illegal in several states,” she says. The shorts are in her hands, and she hoists her legs above her body, bent at the knee to avoid kicking the ceiling of the car. The skirt falls almost to her hips and I catch a whiff of her arousal, my knuckles going white on the steering wheel. I know she’s not wearing underwear.

“I’m not gonna make it to the turnoff from the 395 if you keep this up,” I warn her, my voice now a deep growl. “That’s not my fault,” she says, slipping her feet through the shorts, putting her feet on the dashboard again, and pulling them up. When they reach her hips she lifts her hips from the seat and slides the shorts all the way up over her perfect ass, then slides her dress off without buttoning the shorts. She tosses the dress into the back, then carefully buttons and zips the shorts, feet still on the dashboard, knees bent, nipples still hard as rocks under her

white shirt. It might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I adjust my cock again, but it feels like every position is incredibly uncomfortable, my erection straining for freedom. “Everything okay over there?” she asks lightly. I glance at the road, then look back at her, pretending to adjust her tiny shorts. “Everything’s fine,” I say. “I’m only going to crash, and they’re going to find that I died with the world’s biggest hardon and a kidnapped girl in the passenger seat.”

She reaches for a bottle of water. “Am I your kidnapping victim anymore? I think that job ended when you killed your own guys, Alex.” She has a point. “So everything you’re doing right now you’re doing of your own free will?” I ask, my eyes crawling up her body. I’ve practically forgotten I’m driving. “Driving me absolutely crazy while we’re on the run from dangerous men with lots of guns?” She takes a sip of water. I glance at the road again. “I’m not the one who decided I should

have cutoff shorts, no bra, and no panties,” she says, and a devilish grin crosses her face. I glance at the road and then back, just in time for her to pour water down her chest, totally soaking the front of her shirt. “Oops,” she says, and tosses the nowempty bottle into the back seat. “That was cold.” Her shirt is basically transparent now, and my eyes are glued to her as she bites her lip and slowly fingers her nipples, pinching them lightly, dragging her palms over them as she sighs. “Is this what you had in mind?” she says,

her voice a half-whisper. “It’s much better,” I say, with a quick glance at the road. In the very distance is a car, just a blip on the horizon. It just looks like some sedan, but I get nervous anyway. It’s too early, I think. Does Manny even know what happened yet? Tessa lets out a breathy moan again. Her eyes are closed and both hands are pinching her nipples, her back arched. There’s not a damn thing I can do about the coming car. It’s probably just a car, anyway, so while her eyes are closed, I reach down and unzip my pants with a

sigh of relief, my cock springing free. “I heard that,” she murmurs, and her eyes slide open. “I thought you were watching the road, both hands on the wheel.” I put my hand back, my throbbing cock still sticking out of my fly. “I like your idea,” she says, and she unbuttons and unzips her jean shorts, reaching one hand in. She moves her hips against the seat, still looking straight at me. “Mmm,” she says. I’m breathing fast and lightheaded. About two-thirds of the blood in my body must be in my dick right now, and

the car ahead is gradually getting closer. I just hope we’re going too fast for them to see what’s happening: a writhing, wet girl in the passenger seat, me with my dick out. “Touch it,” she says. Her voice has gone low and throaty, her eyes are half-shut, and I can see her hand moving in her shorts. I take my cock in my fist and groan out loud with relief as I stroke myself. I’d much, much rather have Tessa touching it — I’d rather have her lips wrapped around it or be balls-deep fucking her for all I’m worth — but we’re on the run, after all.

If you’re dead, you’ll never fuck her again, I remind myself. Just then, Tessa sits up a little, her hand stopping. “What’s that car?” she asks. I’d almost forgotten about it, but it’s just some silver sedan, a Honda or a Toyota. Almost definitely not something to worry about. “Just some car,” I say. “So I shouldn’t pull my shirt down right now,” she says. “Fuck no,” I say, with a vehemence that surprises even me. “I don’t want anyone else seeing you naked.”

She looks at me, surprise and a little confusion on her face. Then her hand starts moving again in her shorts, faster this time. She’s leaned back in her seat so the oncoming car can’t see her, and that’s good, because now she’s arching her back, her other arm hooked over the headrest of the seat as her tongue darts out and licks her lips. “You like that,” I say, and watch her breath come faster. “Tell me how wet that made you.” I glance at the road again. The car’s almost on us, and I move the wheel a little by accident, jerking one tire off the road and onto the shoulder.

“I’d rather be fucking you than jerking off right now,” she says, totally ignoring what I said. “Me too,” I say, my teeth clenched together, stroking my cock again. “We can’t stop.” “Two minutes,” she says. “Alex, I’m so wet for you.” I glance at the road, then shut my eyes for a split second and remember Jose and Mike, totally ready to assault and then kill Tessa. If I don’t keep driving, we’ll be facing twenty times that kind of threat. “No,” I growl, but I keep watching her.

TWENTY-SIX

TESSA

his is probably the dumbest thing I’ve T ever done, but I know I’ve gone too far to stop now. When it started I just wanted to tease him a little as payback for buying me an outfit I couldn’t even

wear into a Hooters. And now? I’m right on the edge of orgasm, watching him stroke his incredible cock and telling him to fuck me. Oops. “I want you fast and hard,” I halfwhisper. “Right here in the car.” Also, I can’t seem to stop talking dirty, like he’s turned on some faucet of pure filth inside my brain. I have no idea what’s happened. The dirtiest I’ve ever talked before was the time I shouted “Yes!” when I came with my ex, and I think it kind of scared him.

“Come,” he says. No, he commands. “Make me,” I say. “Once we’re to safety, tiger, I am going to tear those tiny shorts off of you and lick you until you scream,” he says. I moan, remembering his tongue on me the night before. “And then I’m going to flip you over and bury my cock in you,” he says. My fingers are still moving, and I move my hips against the seat, feeling the wave of orgasm getting close. I’m panting, watching him stroke his cock.

“It’s gonna be hard and fast because I can’t control myself any longer, Tessa,” he says. “Come. Let me watch you come.” As he says it the feeling bursts over me and I turn my head hard against the back of the seat, moaning, moving my hips against my hand, fingers still moving until the waves have broken over me and it’s over. My feet are still on the dashboard. For a moment, Alex’s eyes flick to the road, and with the single hand on the wheel, he makes a half-wave to the other car as it goes past. He’s still holding his cock in his other hand, still stiff and erect.

It takes me a moment to come back to my senses, but when I do, I don’t button my shorts, I just take my hand out. That was fun, but unsatisfying, because what I really want is driving this car. We’re probably going to get caught either way, I think. Might as well get our rocks off. I sit up and look out the windshield. Nothing. I pop the back of my seat back up, then look over at Alex, who’s grinning. “I could always tell you were a secret freak,” he says. I want to say it wasn’t a secret, I didn’t know until now, but that feels like giving

him too much credit. Besides, he’s still hard, and despite everything, I still want him. “You didn’t come,” I say. “You disappointed?” he asks, his iceblue eyes raking down my body. “I do have to watch the road, tiger.” I have an idea. It’s a terrible idea, and probably risky as fuck. You’re either going to die or never see Alex again after this is over, I think. What the fuck, why not? “Hands on the wheel,” I say. “Make your mind up,” he says. “Hands

on the wheel, touch my cock, I never know what you want.” He does it anyway. I turn toward him and half-crawl onto the center console before I can stop myself, my knees on the edge of the passenger seat, ass in the air. For a second, Alex looks confused. Then I grab his cock in one hand and lower my mouth onto the tip, sucking and swirling my tongue around it. “Oh, fuck,” I can hear him whisper. He puts one hand on my back, on the skin between my tank top and shorts. I move my mouth down the shaft slowly,

and feel him bump against the back of my mouth, my jaw stretched wide. He’s big. I’m not even sure I realized how big he was last night, in the dark. “That feels fucking good, tiger,” he says. His hand moves along my body, under my still-undone shorts and over my ass until he’s squeezing one cheek in his hand, and I run my tongue along his cock, flicking it under the ridge around the head as I suck on it. Alex slides one finger inside me and then two more and I moan into his cock, pushing it against the back of my mouth again. I’m wet and getting wetter, because giving him road head is just

making me want him more. That’s weird, in and of itself: I think I like blowing Alex, something I’ve always felt pretty neutral about in the past. But having his cock in my mouth, listening to him groan and talk dirty, I feel even more turned on than I was a few minutes ago. “You’re wet as hell,” he says. “Is that for me?” He moves his fingers in me and I moan again. “Is sucking my cock making you wet?” he half-whispers, half-growls. I take his cock out of my mouth slowly,

then look him straight in the eyes as I flick my tongue over the head. “Yes,” I finally say. He’s breathing hard, and he looks from me to the road and then frowns. “Stop,” he says, taking his fingers out of me. Instead I slide my head back down, moaning as I do, but he grabs my hair and pulls it just hard enough for me to come up for air. “I’m gonna come if you keep that up, and that’s not how I want to come,” he says. The car lurches and then bumps to a stop, a cloud of dust rising up around us.

Then he jumps out of the car, not even bothering to zip his pants back up, and the heat and dust swirls in through his briefly open door. What the hell? I think as he gets out, still on my hands and knees practically splayed across the front seat of this car. Then he walks around to my side of the car and yanks the passenger door and the back door both open before grabbing my hips and pulling me out of the car. He turns me around and pins me against the seat, crushing his mouth against mine as he pulls the neck of my tank top down, grabbing my breast and pinching my nipple until I gasp. Alex isn’t being

gentle, not even a little. I pull my arms from the straps of my tank top and unbutton his jeans, freeing his erection the rest of the way and push my hands down it. Now he’s got one hand in my hair and he’s pulling my head backward just a little, his mouth leaving a hot trail down my neck. “You’re going to get us killed,” he growls. “There are worse ways to die,” I gasp. He bites my neck and the shock of it rolls over my body like an electrical current. “I wasn’t kidding earlier,” he says.

Now his mouth’s on my nipple, and I can look over his head and see the vast, empty space of the desert beyond, between the two open car doors. It finally clicks why he opened the back door — even if we’re about to fuck in public, at least anyone who comes along won’t be able to see the details from the road. After all, he doesn’t want anyone else seeing me naked. He’s got one nipple between his teeth and then he sucks on it, hard, swirling his tongue around as he does and oh my God it feels so good that I can barely breathe.

“First I’m going to eat your pussy until you come,” he whispers. He does the nipple thing again, and this time I have to grab the handle above the door to steady myself. I can feel desire pounding through me, and unless it’s my imagination, my juices are starting to run down my inner thigh. That’s never happened before, but I don’t even bother to get embarrassed. He detaches his mouth from my nipple and some sort of noise comes out of my throat. “Then, I’m going to fuck you like you want to be fucked,” he whispers.

I open my mouth to say something, but my mind’s gone totally blank. “Fast and hard like you wanted last night,” he says. He grabs my ass and lifts me onto the passenger seat, yanking my stupid shorts off and throwing them on the floor of the SUV before shoving my thighs apart roughly. I can only hope that no one comes down this highway, because there’s no secret whatsoever about what’s going on. Alex puts his lips around my clit and sucks, his tongue flicking back and forth furiously around the sensitive nub and my toes curl instantly. He wasn’t kidding

about his plans. I don’t say anything, I just moan. My head’s on the center console and one hand finds the steering wheel and grips it, like it can anchor me against the coming onslaught. It takes maybe fifteen seconds and I’m right on the brink, gasping and moaning. “I’m gonna come again,” I gasp. “Jesus, Alex — “ He stops for a split second and I feel his tongue move down until it’s between my lips and then inside me and the pleasure’s plateaued. It’s almost torture. “Just make me come,” I say, my voice

coming out between pants. “Please, for fuck’s sake.” Alex pulls his tongue out but before doing anything else I feel his lips on my inner thigh sucking hard. I look down but it takes me a second to figure out what he’s doing, and then he makes eye contact with me, his blue eyes burning in his face. “Just a reminder for later,” he says, and then his tongue is back on my clit. I shout “FUCK!” as I come so hard my ears pop, even muscle in my body going totally, deliciously rigid, my hand yanking down on the steering wheel. Fireworks explode in front of my eyes

and I hear someone whimpering, “Oh fuck, Alex, fuck...” over and over again. It takes me a long time to realize it’s me, as the shattering waves subside slowly and Alex’s mouth comes off me. I open my eyes and I’m staring at the dome light of the SUV, breathing so hard it’s like I’ve run a marathon. For a moment, nothing happens. I look down, and Alex is leaning against the door frame of the car, my thigh next to his face, his cock in his hand as he strokes it, giving me this smug little grin before he kisses the inside of my thigh. It’s almost tender, that one little kiss, but then he grabs both my ankles, pushes my

legs together, and pulls me out of the car until I’m standing again. He grabs me and kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips and my God it’s filthy but also hot beyond belief. “You like tasting yourself,” he murmurs. It’s not a question, but I don’t respond. “Don’t worry, I like tasting you too,” he says, and pinches one nipple, already over-sensitive and puffy. I take his cock in my hand and squeeze, still surprised at its thickness, my breath coming a little bit faster. He laughs. “I was going to give you another minute,

but I guess you’re raring to go, tiger,” he says, and grins. “Good, me too.” He spins me around and I bend over the seat, on my tiptoes, just offering myself to him. It’s not like I could play hard to get at this point, anyway. We both know what I want: him, and desperately. “God, you do need a good hard fucking,” he whispers, running one finger over my lips. “What did you do before I came along?” “You know, you’re not — oh fuck yes Alex,” I say, barely starting my retort before me practically impales me with one thrust, filling me and feeling so good I nearly forget how to use words.

“What was that?” he asks, buried in me up to the hilt. I just moan, and he starts thrusting again, a little tentatively at first but in a couple of strokes, he’s doing exactly what he said he would, fucking me hard and fast and deep. I feel like my whole body might be melting into the passenger seat. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks. “When you started touching yourself in the car? You wanted me balls-deep in you on the side of a highway?” “Yes,” I moan. I mean, it was. It’s insane, but true. He grabs my right knee and lifts it,

propping my shin up on the handle of the passenger side door and opening me wide. His next thrust goes even deeper, somehow, and behind me he moans, the sound a low rumble in his throat. “Oh my God,” I whimper into the passenger seat. “You feel so good, tiger,” he says. “I swear I could fuck you all day and twice on Sundays.” “Just fuck me now,” I half-whisper, half whimper. “Make me come again, please.” He slams into me so hard it takes my breath away, and I can feel myself begin to peak, almost totally overwhelmed by

how fucking good this feels, circumstances be damned. His fingers are digging into my hips and he’s fucking me hard and rough and Jesus, it’s good, and before I know it I can feel myself go over that edge. Light explodes around the edge of my vision. “Alex,” I gasp. He growls. “Oh fuck yes Alex,” I say, and there’s a light burst in my vision. I think I might go blind, and I’m certain that my body has exploded into a million pieces because I finally came too hard. I hear Alex groan and then shout a stream of profanities in Spanish as he thrusts wildly. I think I

hear Tessa in there somewhere but I’m in no condition to say for sure, because my bones feel like jello as the aftershocks of my orgasm rattle through me. Finally he stops, and I think I can feel him go soft inside me. I remember for the first time that he fucked me bare, and I savor the last few moments of skin-t0skin contact before he pulls out and leans against the frame of the car door, gasping for breath. I try to stand and turn around, but I have to lean on the seat for support because I feel like my whole body is made of sand. “That was dangerous,” Alex says. His

tattoos are shiny with sweat, and I realize I must be covered too — it’s easily over a hundred degrees out here, and we just exerted ourselves a fair amount. “Sorry,” I say. I’m not, but I’m too exhausted to argue semantics at the moment. “No, you’re not,” he says, and shakes his head. “It’s my fault, I should learn to control myself.” I raise my eyebrows, and he shrugs. “What can I say,” he says. “Women are my weakness.” He grins, then tucks his now-soft cock

back into his pants. “Get dressed, tiger,” he says. “We’re still on the run.” He walks back around to his side of the car, and I’m left blinking in the sun. Women are his weakness? I remember something that either Jose or Mike said, something about Alex’s thing about women. I guess I know what the thing is now. “Come on,” he says, opening the other door. I shake my head, stand, and pull my ridiculously small jean shorts on, then reach into the shopping bag and take out

a black tank top. It’s still tight, but not pornographic. As we get back on the highway in silence, I can’t help but be a tiny bit disappointed. I thought I was his weakness.

TWENTY-SEVEN

ALEX

or the next half hour, Tessa’s just F quiet, looking out the window at the desert scrolling by. We’re slowly coming into northern California, so there’s less rocks and dirt, more scrubby

pine trees. Clouds gather around the tops of the Sierra Nevadas, off to the left of the highway. A couple of times I almost say something, ask if she’s OK, but I stop myself. You don’t care, I think. She’s just a fantastic fuck who’ll be out of your life in a day or two. I stare ahead and ignore the fact that I killed two of my own people rather than let her die. Or the fact that I fucked up this mission before I even got her in the car, because I didn’t want to drug her. Yeah, I like women. I’ve liked a lot of women in my life. But she’s the first one

who’s made me feel like I might lose my mind, the first one I can’t ignore. At last there’s a sign: BISHOP, 1 MILE. Tessa’s still staring out the window. “Okay, tiger,” I say, and she turns her head. “Where are we going?” She blinks at me like she was lost in thought, then pulls out the atlas with the lists in the back. “West to the mountains, or east to the desert. Mountains is Mammoth, the ski resort town, and further up, Tahoe. East is... Nevada. Coaldale? Tonopah?” I think for a moment. I don’t know La Carretera’s northern California

operations all that well, but my gut is telling me that they don’t have the hold on rich ski towns that they might on small desert towns. On the other hand, I know for a fact that rich people fucking love cocaine, and getting cocaine to rich people has been a major part of my job. I lean over, quickly looking over the map, trying to decide. “If we go west, we can go to Yosemite,” Tessa says, a forced lightness in her voice as she taps the park on the map with her finger. “Why not? We’re on vacation, not running for our lives,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and I wish I’d kept my damn mouth shut. “395 is too crowded,” I say. “Less people east. We’ll go that way.” “Get on route 6 then,” she says, pointing at a sign up ahead. We lapse back into silence. We stop in the next town to get gas. Tessa finds sunglasses behind the guns in the glove box and goes in and pays with cash. I watch her walk into the store, and damn those shorts look good on her. When she comes back out, she leans against the SUV, arms folded in front of her.

“Are you hungry?” she asks. My stomach growls in response, and I see her mouth twitch into a half-smile. “I could eat,” I say. She points at a bakery across the street. “You want a sandwich?” she asks. I look around. It’s just a sleepy mountain town, as unthreatening as a jelly donut. To our right, a guy in flannel and a down vest is walking into the convenience store. There’s a minivan parked across the street, and the bakery has a mom and two kids slowly walking out. The sun’s beaming down. “Yeah,” I say, pulling out my wallet to

hand her two twenties. She takes them, then frowns. “How much money do we have?” she asks. I cross my arms and lean against the SUV, grinning at her. “Plenty,” I say. “No spare tire, though.” “We don’t have a spare tire?” “It’s full of cash,” I say. I leave out and probably cocaine dust. That wouldn’t go over too well. Tessa just nods and stuffs the twenties into her pocket. I can tell she’s still not happy about wearing the shorts outside,

but she’ll live. “I’ll meet you over there when I finish here,” I say. The SUV has a gas tank the size of a swimming pool, so the damn thing takes forever to fill. I wash the windshield and the rear window just because I’m bored, and then the pump finally clicks off. As I’m getting back in, I hear a motorcycle gunning down the highway, its roar drowning everything else out. No. A pack of motorcycles, and they’re slowing down, their exhausts growling. A black feeling settles over me, and I get into the SUV and watch the road through

the rear view mirror as eight or nine bikes come into view, slowly driving up Main Street. From here I can’t make out the patches on their jackets. Just drive the fuck on through, I think, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. I don’t move, but all the same, a couple of them glance over and I can see their eyes linger on my big black SUV. It may as well scream drug dealer, for fuck’s sake. Mentally I add that to Tessa’s stupid list: get rid of car. The guy in front of the biker pack waves his arm and they all drive into the bakery’s parking lot, turning their backs to me for the first time.

On the back of each jacket is a grinning devil’s head, flames behind it. It’s the fucking Diablos. They mostly run pot and meth in Northern California, Oregon, and Nevada, but they’ve got a working relationship with La Carretera. Hell, I’ve called them and put them on lookout for people before. They caught a guy for me once, a low-level moron who thought he could just take a kilo of coke and I’d never notice. By the time I got him, he was missing a couple teeth. The Diablos aren’t gentle, and now they’re walking into the bakery where Tessa is.

Fuck it. I open the glove box and take a gun, check that it’s loaded, and stick it in the back of my pants before I start the car and gun it out of the gas station parking lot. If I can get up enough speed I figure I can crash through the big plate glass windows in the front of the bakery, take out a couple of Diablos and then shoot the rest before they have any idea what the fuck is happening, and then I can grab — I slam on the brakes and punch the steering wheel. The car honks. Tessa’s in there, and this whole fucking

thing is pointless if I run her over with the car. An older white lady looks over at me, eyes narrowed, and I give her a half wave, trying to think of a better plan. I can see the bikers in their leather jackets inside the bakery, but I can’t see Tessa. Where the fuck is she, I think. Come on, Tessa. Nothing. I ease the SUV across the road and into the bakery’s side lot. I check my gun and get out of the car, and mercifully, there’s a back door to the place, a bored-looking Latino kid smoking right outside the door as I walk in. “Hey man, you can’t —” I hear as I walk

past him into the hot kitchen. Some dishwashers look at me funny but I don’t give half a shit, not when Tessa’s in a room with eight fucking Diablos who know there’s some kind of price on her head. I push open the swinging doors to the kitchen, my right hand on the gun in my waistband, and right then, the women’s bathroom door opens and Tessa walks out. “There you are,” she says, perfectly casual. “Jesus,” I say. She shoots me an acid look, then notices that I’ve got one hand behind my back

and stiffens. “What is it?” she asks. “Get out,” I tell her. “Through the kitchen.” None of them has seen us yet, and as much as I want to put a bullet in each of them to make sure they can’t come after Tessa, I know who would win that fight, and it’s not me. “Two sandwiches for Sara!” A voice calls, depositing two paper-wrapped packages on the counter, and Tessa walks forward to grab them at the same time as the men’s bathroom door opens and a guy in a Diablos jacket walks out.

I look at him. He looks at me. His eyes narrow and he tilts his head and I don’t fucking wait, I just go. I grab his jacket lapels and shove him back through the door to the men’s bathroom. I think Tessa gasps behind me, but I’ve already got him up against the sink in the single-person bathroom, leaning backwards over it. He spits in my face and some of it gets in my eye. In the second that I blink he manages to get in a body punch, hard, almost enough to knock the wind out of me and it loosens my grip on him. “You wanna fight, you fucking wetback?” he snarls, and throws another

punch, and even though I can hardly breathe I dodge it and now I’m on autopilot. I feel my fist connect with bone before I even know what I’m doing and I see a thin stream of blood on the ugly tile wall. “Wetback, motherfucker?” I growl. He throws an elbow but it glances off my shoulder, hard enough to leave a nasty bruise but not hard enough to stop me as I smash my left fist into his nose. He spits blood and doesn’t answer, but he looks at me like he’s about to do something sly. His hand isn’t even at his hip before I grab his head and drive my knee into his

belly, then drop him on the floor next to the toilet where he heaves himself up to his elbows and then looks at me, panting. “I got seven friends out there, you stupid Mexican,” he gasps. “And you got twenty-five grand on your head.” Before I can say anything, the bathroom door opens and adrenaline shoots through me again as I grab the gun and cock it at the door, right at a pair of big green eyes. She gasps. I lower it. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Come on,” she says, jerking her head. “You just gonna run when this cunt says

so, you goddamn pussy?” the man on the floor says. Everything goes white for a split second, and then I crouch on the floor and grab his hair with my left hand, pulling his head off the floor. “What did you call her?” I ask quietly. “Alex, come on,” Tessa says. Her voice is starting to quaver. He spits blood again, and this time there might be a piece of tooth, too. “Cunt,” he mutters defiantly. I punch him as hard as I can right in the jaw and hear the crack of his teeth smashing together in his mouth.

“Stop it!” Tessa says behind me, as I drop him on the floor again and turn around. She’s got her forearm across her face, like she can’t stand seeing this. “Come on,” I growl, and pull her out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. This time the dishwashers are staring. I’m sure I look like hell, but then we’re back outside and getting in the car and gravel goes flying as I pull out, getting back onto the highway. In no time I’m doing ninety, passing big rigs and families on vacation in their minivans recklessly, the engine of this beast redlining. Tessa’s gone white with red spots on her cheeks, clutching the handle above the door.

We finally hit an open section of road and I look behind me in the rearview mirror. Nothing yet, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. “Slow down,” Tessa says. I ignore her. “If we get pulled over, either those guys will grab us while we’re sitting ducks or we’re gonna get arrested,” she says. I grind my teeth together, but I ease my foot off the gas, because she’s fucking right. “Change of plans,” I say. “We’re going west now.” She just nods and pulls out the atlas,

flipping to the right page. It’s silent except for the engine. After a minute, she hands me a sandwich. “I’m sorry he called you a cunt,” I finally say. “I’ve been called worse,” she says, head bent over the atlas. “You didn’t need to smash his face in.” I flex one hand on the steering wheel, looking at my knuckles. They’re bruised, cut, and bleeding. That was a dirty fight. “I think you broke his jaw,” she says, quietly. “He’ll be eating through a straw for months.” “You’d rather get delivered to my bosses

tomorrow, after they break both my legs and do god knows what to you?” I ask. I flex my hands again. They fucking hurt. “He was down,” she says, and now she looks at me, eyes flashing. “You broke his jaw because you wanted to.” “He called me a wetback and you a cunt!” I shout, jerking the wheel a little by accident. “You know who the Diablos are? They used to run underage prostitution rings out of Reno, fourteen, fifteen year old girls, and they all used to brag about sampling the merchandise.” Now she’s staring at me, eyes wide. “If they’d gotten you, they’d have —”

I stop short, because just the thought makes my hands twitch with fury. “They’re a violent fucking gang who do bad, bad shit,” I say through my teeth. “I’ve known you for two days and you’ve shot two people and beaten up two people,” Tessa says, her voice ice cold. “Jose and Mike were —” “I know,” she says. “But the guy in the parking lot? The guy just now? You like this shit, Alex.” “I don’t like it,” I say, glancing in the rear view mirror. “I do it because I have to.”

“You get a rush from it,” she says quietly. “And you fucking love walking around, bragging to everyone about how tough The Scorpion is, how you’re fast and lethal or whatever, how many women are lining up to suck your cock.” “You don’t know me,” I say. The engine RPMs are creeping toward the red again. “You don’t know the first goddamn thing about me. You don’t know what I do, where I’m from, whether I even like this.” She points to a sign up ahead. “Turn left there,” she says. “It’s a dirt road that’ll connect us to 395 eventually.”

“You sure?” I growl. “Yeah,” she says.

TWENTY-EIGHT

TESSA

he SUV thumps off the highway and T starts down the gravel road. We’re going faster than I’d like but it’s better than getting caught and raped by a biker gang. Alex’s knuckles are cut and bruised and

bloody, and I’m sure the blood isn’t all Alex's. I hear the crack it made again and just the memory of the sound sends a shudder down my spine. He was already on the floor, I think again. Alex flexes his hands again, looking at the damage. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he finally says, his voice low and quiet. “I’m not,” I say, not looking at him. “But I probably should be.” I almost wish I were. If I were afraid of Alex, I probably wouldn’t want to fuck him so bad. I

probably wouldn’t have made a spectacle of myself this morning, pouring water all over myself like a woman in a Letter to Penthouse or something. It worked, though. Before I can get further on that train of thought, I look at the atlas again and pretend that I’m finding a route. “I’m glad you’re not,” he finally says. “Most people are.” “Is that because you live a hyperviolent lifestyle and earned yourself that reputation?” I ask, nastily. “I do what I fucking have to,” he says. “I

didn’t want to pull a bullet out of a guy when I was eleven. I didn’t want to watch my brother die when I was thirteen, but I wanted to be dead even less, so I fucking learned.” His brother died? He’s staring straight ahead when I glance over at him, rigid in his seat. He didn’t mean to tell me that, I realize. My eyes drop to the tattoo on his forearm: 5/2/84 - 4/13/2004. His brother was only a couple weeks shy of twenty. “You make your own decisions now,” I say softly.

I think of the crack again and swallow hard. The guy was already down. “And I decided to handle that guy,” he says. I lean my head against the window and look at the desert. It’s early afternoon, and a low rise is coming up on us, separating this dirt road from the highway. If we’re not careful, we could get lost out here. There’s nothing else I can say to Alex, no way I can make him understand the unease I’m starting to feel around him now. This suspicion that he’s in this life because he likes it, because the violence

and the power and having two guns in the glove box make him feel good, macho, whatever. Self-defense — or defending a helpless woman wearing nothing but a bed sheet — is one thing, but violence for the sake of violence? Breaking a man’s jaw? Crack. I shiver again, then look over at Alex. He’s still looking straight ahead, glancing in the rear view mirror every thirty seconds or so. “Are your hands okay?” I ask. He flexes them off the wheel and looks at his knuckles like he hadn’t considered

it before. They’re bruised and covered in dry blood. “The fight got a little dirty,” he admits. For once, I keep my mouth shut. The rise is between our dirt road and the highway at last, so we can’t see it. “If you stop, I can get the first aid kit out of the back,” I say. “I’ll be fine,” he says. I nod at the road ahead. “So when we get wherever it is we’re going, you’re just going to show up blood-stained with bloody knuckles?” He takes his foot off the gas and the car

slows quickly as he glances over at me, then smiles just a little and sighs. “I hate it when you’re right, tiger,” he says. My heart skips a beat, but I ignore it and open my door. We meet at the lift gate and I pull the big red duffel bag toward me, hunting through it for water and hydrogen peroxide to clean him off as he sits on the gate and looks at the road behind us. “I broke his jaw because he called you a cunt,” he says. I don’t look Alex in the face, I just take one hand and drizzle water over it. It’s gotta hurt, but he doesn’t even react.

“I thought he called you a wetback,” I say. I take his other hand and pour water over it, the fat drops landing on the dirt. He just shrugs. “I’ve been called worse,” he says. “So have I,” I say. “Pretty sure you called me a fucking cunt this morning.” “You still mad about that, tiger?” I’m not. I hadn’t even remembered that it happened until right now, to be honest. Instead of answering I take his hand again and pour hydrogen peroxide over his knuckles. It fizzes, and I know it

stings, but he doesn’t react at all. He catches my look and half-smiles. “It tickles,” he says. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” “Seems like it’s not your twentieth rodeo,” I say. I pour a little more on and let it bubble, then gently pat his knuckles dry. He laughs. “It’s not that either,” he says. “At least I didn’t break any fingers this time.” “You usually break a finger?” “Not anymore,” he says. “I learned.”

He tilts his head and looks up at me, and I finally look him in the face. He’s got a bruise purpling on one cheekbone. “I could teach you to throw a pretty good punch,” he says. “What makes you think I don’t?” I ask. “Make a fist,” he says. “I’m busy bandaging your sorry ass up,” I say. “Ten seconds,” he says. “Come on. You gotta know this stuff now that your lifestyle is so dangerous.” “Whose fault is that?” I ask. “I should be eating lunch at my desk right now.”

“Isn’t this more exciting?” he asks. “Sure, it’s more exciting,” I say. “I don’t think it’s better.” He laughs. “Tiger, I think you were born to be on the run,” he says. “If I didn’t have you here guiding me I’d have driven straight into a trap by now, I’m sure of it.” “Someone’s gotta be the brains of the operation.” “That make me the brawn?” he asks. I look at his knuckles again. “Was it ever up for debate?” I ask.

He holds up one hand and makes a fist in front of his face. “Come on,” he says. I sigh, then clench my right hand into a fist, and he nods, then stands. “That’s good,” he says, and reaches out for it. “Tuck your thumb behind your knuckles so it doesn’t stick out. Whatever you do, don’t put your thumb inside your fingers. It’ll break for sure.” He gently presses the first knuckle of my thumb until it’s below the knuckles of my fingers. “There you go,” he says. “Now, when you throw a punch, you want to hit here,”

he says, running his big fingers over my third knuckles, where my fingers meet my hand. “Hit with your fingers and you’ll break them. Keep your wrist straight. Punch from the core, that’s where you get power from.” He’s made a fist himself, and he’s demonstrating in slow motion: wrist straight, knuckles first. He stops short of my shoulder. “Now you,” he says. “You want me to just punch?” He thumps himself on the arm and halfturns toward me. “Right there,” he says.

“What if I hurt you?” Alex just laughs. “I’m not worried,” he says. I punch him before he finishes that sentence, grimacing as I drive my fist into his arm as hard as I can, thumb tucked and wrist straight. “Not bad,” he says. “Put your back into it and watch that wrist.” I punch him again. It’s like hitting a bag of sand. There’s no way I’m doing any damage. “Better,” he says. I sock him in the arm a few more times.

It’s like an oven out here, and after five or six I’m sweating already, droplets pouring down the back of my neck. “Okay,” Alex says. “If you’re really gonna punch someone, go for the nose. It might not stop them, but it hurts like a motherfucker, and they’ll take a long enough pause for you to run.” “Should I practice that?” I ask, raising both my fists in front of my face, and he laughs again. “I don’t fight women,” he says. “You just kidnap them?” I ask. It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I do my job,” he says.

My fists are still in front of my face, and for a split second, I think about punching him in the nose, grabbing the keys, and driving off. I don’t do it. I drop my fists and hold out a hand again. He puts his in it, and I pull him the two steps back to the giant SUV, put gauze over his knuckles, and wrap a bandage around his hand a few times. I do the same to the other hand, and he holds both hands up, examining my work. “It’ll do,” he says, and I roll my eyes. I put the supplies back into the duffel bag and shove it into the car. “We done?” I ask.

“I didn’t want to kidnap you,” he says. He looks me dead in the eye, and I almost feel like I’m being pierced through. “But you did,” I say. “I took orders,” he says. “Even though I didn’t want to. They’d have gotten you some way, tiger. You’re lucky you got me.” Before I can answer, there’s a roar in the far distance, the unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines. Lots of motorcycle engines. My stomach plummets, and Alex stands, closing the lift gate. “I gotta stop letting you talk me into taking breaks,” he says.

We get in again and take off, the dirt road rattling us around as Alex takes it at sixty miles an hour. I sit in the passenger seat and make both my hands into fists, making sure I tuck my thumbs and keep my wrists straight. After a while I can’t hear the motorcycles anymore.

TWENTY-NINE

ALEX

he strange thing about being on the T run is that after a while it gets dull. All I’m doing is driving, eyes ahead, hands on the wheel, ignoring the firecracker in the passenger seat.

That’s almost the hardest part. She’s right there and I can’t touch her, not if I want to keep this thing on the road and not flip us into a ditch. We listen to a hip hop CD that was in the CD player, then an old Blink-182 album that Tessa finds in the glove compartment. After a long time, we come to a stop sign and a paved road. She points left, and I drive into the mountains. Gradually, I’m coming up with a plan. Tessa’s not going to like it, but that’s just too bad. She doesn’t need to like it. She doesn’t even need to know about it. She’s got her feet on the dashboard,

watching the scenery go by, like any girl on a road trip. For a moment I wonder what it would be like if we were on a road trip together. That’s one of those things I’ve never done, unless driving a truck with a couple kilos of black tar strapped under the back seat and praying I didn’t get caught was a road trip. That could be good, though. Just the two of us, driving around the country, stopping to see the World’s Largest Ball of Twine or the Two-Headed Pig and taking pictures of ourselves. “Do we have a plan?” she asks, bringing me back to reality.

I clear my throat. “Sacramento,” I lie. “All these small towns are too risky. Cops get bought, a phone call gets made, we’re fucked, but Sacramento’s big enough that won’t happen.” We’re not going to Sacramento. It’s too far, and even if Sacramento might be okay, there’s hundreds of miles of small towns between here and there. After running into the Diablos like that, I’m not risking it again. Tessa needs to be safe by tonight, because every hour she’s with me, it gets riskier for her. She opens the atlas and glances it over, crossing her ankles on the dashboard.

“We could make that by tonight,” she said. “We’d get in late, but we could do it.” I take a deep breath. “I had a better idea for tonight,” I say. She looks at me skeptically. “Is it ‘get murdered’?” she asks. “That seems like the other option.” “You still want to go to Yosemite?” I ask. She just looks at me. “Are you insane?” she finally asks. “Only a little,” I say.

“No,” she says. “We’re not on vacation.” “The cartel won’t be there,” I say. “Yosemite’s full of families and boy scouts. It’s not even on La Carretera’s radar.” She’s still looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “The area outside of Sacramento’s dangerous,” I say. “Someone catches up to us on the road, in the dark, they could run us off the side of a mountain and no one would ever even know. Besides, I don’t want to get into Sacramento at three a.m. The only police working then is the skeleton crew. Better to get in tomorrow morning.”

Tessa still looks suspicious, but I can tell she believes me. She probably shouldn’t, but it’s not like she knows anything about escaping from cartels. “Okay,” she says at last. “It sounds dumb, but I guess you know what you’re doing.” Yeah. I do.

We pull in at dusk, and when I stop at the entrance kiosk it wakes Tessa up. “Are we there?” she mumbles. I have another flash of taking a normal vacation: her asleep while I drive, me waking her up when we’re home.

It’s not going to fucking happen, I remind myself as we drive through the valley. “I’ve never been here before,” she says. “Me either,” I say. “It’s nice.” It’s also federally owned, meaning the police force isn’t county police. I park in front of the cabin rental office and get out, and so does Tessa. Even though she’s wearing a black tank top now, it’s still tight and she’s not wearing a bra underneath, not to mention those tiny shorts. “Stay in the car,” I say. I’ve got the sunglasses on, plus a baseball hat I

found in the back of the SUV, but I’m afraid she’ll attract every man in a onemile radius dressed like this. “I’ve been sitting for hours,” she says. “You can’t just go in there like that,” I say. She levels a glare at me, then walks ahead and up to the swinging glass door. “Whose fault is that?” she asks, and goes inside. Fuck. I catch the door before it closes and follow her in, and hell, even I'm staring at her ass, and I've been looking at it all day. The clean-cut, twenty-something

young man behind the counter doesn’t stand a chance. “Hi,” she says to him, and leans her elbows on the counter, hunching forward just a little. “Any chance you’ve got a cabin tonight? We’re on a last-minute vacation.” The guy swallows, and I stand a couple of feet behind Tessa, my hands in my pockets, and just watch his face. “You’re in luck,” he says. “Someone just canceled not five minutes ago for one of the rustic cabins in Big Trees. Otherwise, we tend to book up months in advance.” “That’s perfect,” Tessa says, as she

plays with a strand of her hair. “Thank you so much.” I narrow my eyes. She doesn’t play with her hair. She’s not the play with my hair kind of girl. “Glad I could help,” the guy says, clicking away at a computer. He’s making the world’s most valiant effort to only look at her face, but I’d bet money he’s got a half-chub behind that counter. “That’s gonna be two-sixty-one-thirtyeight, and I’ll need an ID,” the guy says. Tessa turns and looks at me over her shoulder and I step forward, pulling my wallet out. I toss two-eighty on the counter.

“ID, babe,” she says. Babe? “You didn’t leave it at the bar, did you?” she asks. I make a show of looking through my wallet and coming up with nothing. “Shit, babe,” I say. “I guess I did.” “Babe, you know mine expired and I haven’t gotten my new one yet,” she says, sounding exasperated. “Why’d you leave it there?” “You’re the one who thought we should do kamikaze shots to celebrate being on vacation,” I say, starting to get into our fake argument. “The hell did you think

was going to happen?” She rolls her eyes dramatically. Even if the argument is fake, her irritation is real, and it’s starting to make her nipples poke through her tank top again. I give them a good, long look. If she can call me babe, I can stare. “This is what’s wrong with you,” she says, jabbing one finger at my chest. “You think you can just do whatever you want, and you never think about other people.” There’s a mixture of anger and lust burning a hole through my chest, and it is fucking potent. She doesn’t know a thing about me. She has no idea whether I

think about other people. Hell, she doesn’t even fucking know what I’m about to do to make sure her pretty little ass is safe. I stare into her eyes, long and hard. The guy behind the counter is watching us and trying to act like he’s not watching us. “Babe, I’m sorry,” I finally say, and put a hand on her ass. I don’t mean it, and she can tell. “I didn’t mean to leave it there. We can get it on the way back to Fresno,” I tell her, trying to sound like a boyfriend who wants to end a fight.

She sighs dramatically, then turns back to the guy. I give her ass a squeeze. I don’t know if the guy can see it behind the counter, but he can tell where my arm’s heading. I swear I see a faint flush creep up Tessa’s neck, and her nipples are out and hard now, like twin pebbles beneath her shirt. “Is there any way we could get it for just tonight without an ID?” she asks, and then bites her lip. The guy frowns, then looks at a door behind him. It probably goes to an office. “Well—” he says, hesitantly.

He makes another valiant effort not to look at Tessa’s tits, but now she’s leaning over the counter. I want to punch him for looking, but instead, I slide a finger under the hem of her shorts. “We’d be happy to give you a security deposit,” she says. “It’s just, we’re really stuck and I didn’t even think that this might happen.” She shoots me another glare, so I slide another finger under there. He looks at the door again, then straightens up, like he’s suddenly decided he’s the one in charge in this rental office. “You know what? It’s fine,” he says, and

smiles at Tessa. “No security deposit, it’s just one night.” “Oh, my god,” Tessa says, putting on hand on her chest. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.” “No problem,” he says, and gives us a polite nod. He makes change and hands it back, along with a paper pouch with two keys in it. “Number two-eighty-one,” he says. “Pinecone court.” Tessa puts one hand on his arm as he’s handing over the keys. Something dark inside me feels like it might explode, and for a moment, I think about just socking this guy right in the face.

“What’s your name?” she asks. “Brian,” he says. He glances at me, clearly nervous as well as excited. “Brian, thank you so much,” she says, and takes the keys. “You saved the day.” He smiles, a nervous, polite smile, and puts his hands on the counter awkwardly. “Have a nice stay!” he says, and we walk back out, my hand still on her ass.

We don’t say another word until we find the cabin. “Here we are,” I say, banging the door open.

Tessa walks inside first and stops, looking around. “It’s cute,” she says. “It doesn’t even have running water,” I say. “This was your idea,” she says. “You’re the one who thought going to Yosemite was better than turning ourselves in.” “I’m trying to keep us alive until we can turn ourselves in,” I say, fumbling at the walls for a light switch. She snorts, standing in the middle of the room, looking around in the dark. “Can you turn the lights on?” she asks, sounding annoyed.

“I’m fucking trying,” I say, still searching the walls for a light switch. “I don’t think this fucking cabin has electricity.” “Again, your idea,” she says. “I get it,” I say. I give up on the light switch and just shut the door, then walk into the dark cabin. “You don’t think we should be doing this, so you flirt with the cabin rental guy and pick a fight with me.” “Flirting with the cabin rental guy got us this cabin,” she says. “I don’t know what your plan was.” “Oh my god, Brian, you’re a lifesaver,” I say, mocking her. “You saved the day.”

I can barely see her in the dark, but for a moment she stares at me, then laughs. “You’re jealous,” she says. I snort. “You’re un-fucking-believable,” she says, getting closer to me, her voice low and furious. “First you kidnap me, then you dress me like Redneck Slut Barbie, and then you get mad when I have the nerve to wear it while I talk to someone else.” “I’m not jealous,” I say, thinking furiously of her hand on his arm. “But you should have let me handle it.” “Handle what? Brian?”

“Is that the cabin rental guy?” I ask. I remember his name, but acting like I don’t makes me feel better. “Don’t act like you forgot already,” she says. “You were practically fingering me while I was talking to him.” “Just trying to keep up appearances,” I say. “You know, act like a couple. PDA and shit. Whatever it is couples do.” I’m angry and hard, all at once, and it makes me want to grab her and push her up against the wall. Get a little rough. Make her rake her nails down my back. “That’s not it,” she says. “Men in couples don’t practically whip out their dicks for a measuring contest every time

their girlfriend talks to someone.” “Do women in couples flirt with other men to get cabins a lot?” I ask, sarcastically. “I guess you don’t know, being mister fuck-and-run,” she said. Now I laugh, savagely. I take a step forward in the dark and tower over her. She doesn’t back down. It’s Tessa. She’ll never fucking back down. “Who’s jealous?” I ask. “Sounds like you’re the one who’s upset that I’m not your boyfriend.” “I’m not an idiot,” she hisses. “I took

you at your word when we met. You lied about shit, but you didn’t lie about that part.”

THIRTY

TESSA

e takes a second before he answers H me, just staring me down, towering over me, and holy fuck am I turned on. I hate it. I hate that arguing with Alex makes me ten times hornier than actual

foreplay with anyone else I’ve ever met. I hate that when I get mad at him I want to sit on his face, or that when he infuriates me I just want him to push me against the wall and fuck me until I scream. “No,” he says at last. “I didn’t lie about that part, and yet here you are.” “I’m here because I didn’t have a choice,” I say. “Are you forgetting that you kidnapped me? You. Kidnapped. Me.” He laughs suddenly, the low, raspy voice echoing through the dark cabin. “You’re here because you like this,” he says. “Because you’ve been wet for me

from the second we met. I don’t fuck girls who don’t want me, tiger. And you want me.” I slap him. I’ve never slapped anyone before. I have no idea what possesses me to do it. Alex grabs my wrist before it falls back to my side and shoves it behind me, pressing our bodies together. It doesn’t hurt, but it could if he wanted it to, and I know it. I’ve watched him kill two people. I watched him break someone’s jaw. And yet, I cannot keep my fucking mouth shut.

“I’m not the one who’s been walking around with a permanent boner,” I say, as his erection presses against my belly. “I like women,” he says. “What can I say? You’re not bad for a white girl.” “Is not bad why you’re on the run from your own cartel?” I ask. His erection throbs against me. I think I’m soaking my tiny denim shorts through already, and I’m fighting the urge to just wrap my legs around him right now. Alex doesn’t answer, but he lets my wrist go and kisses me hard, his tongue in my mouth and I kiss him back, the pit of hunger yawning wide inside me, even though it’s been hours since the last time

we did this. He picks me up and just throws me on the bed, where I bounce hard and then he’s on top of me, yanking my knees up around my torso, biting my neck and then my shoulder as I gasp. It’s probably hard enough to leave marks. He’s not being gentle. I don’t want him to be gentle. Alex pushes his hand under the hem of my tiny shorts and slides two fingers inside me with no preamble, instantly hitting that sweet spot that makes me gasp. “That’s what I thought,” he growls. “That made you wet as fuck, tiger, and I

just gave it to you earlier today.” He moves his fingers and I moan through clenched teeth. “You were ready to bend me over the counter a couple of minutes ago,” I manage to say. “You’re one to talk.” “Say you want my cock,” he says. He grabs my hand and puts it on his erection, then moves his hips against my hand, even as his fingers are inside me. “Tell me you want me inside you, that you want me to fuck you so bad you’ll let me do it bare.” I don’t say anything. It’s true, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He leans down, his face practically on mine. “Tell me you haven’t been able to think about anything for days, that when you close your eyes you think about my tongue in your pussy. Tell me if I’d fucked you on that counter you would have liked it.” I keep my mouth shut. His fingers move, not gently, and I arch my back, gritting my teeth so I don’t make a noise even though I think he might make me come this way. “Say it, tiger,” he growls. “Say you want me to fuck you hard right now. We can do missionary with the lights out. We can

turn the lights on and find a mirror and you can see how fucking hot you are when you come with me deep inside you. You can be on top and ride my cock until you come two or three times. I don’t care how you want to fuck, tiger, just say the word, because I want to hear something filthy come out of your mouth.” Another finger slides inside me and my toes curl and then his thumb’s on my clit and it sends me over the edge instantly, my nails digging into his shoulders even through his shirt, an animal grunt coming from somewhere deep in my chest. His fingers stay in me, and it still feels good.

“Say it, tiger,” he whispers and fuck I want him, I want him to grab my hair and not be gentle and I want to still find bruises from when we fucked when this is all over. I don’t say that. “What if I don’t?” I ask. “You gonna break my jaw?” He stops moving, and in that instant, I can see something shift. He goes from the sexy, irresistible man who was just telling me filthy things to business Alex, the guy who’s got a mission. He pulls his fingers out and stands. I’m still lying on the bed, half undone.

“No,” he says, wiping his fingers on the bedspread. “I’m not gonna break your fucking jaw.” He turns and opens the door and I sit up. “Where are you going?” I ask. “Stay there,” he orders. I stand, because I have no fucking intention of staying here, but he gives me a look of pure fury that stops me. “Just do what I say for fucking once,” he says. “I shot two people for you. Would you just do what I say one fucking time?” I sit back down on the bed. He slams the door behind himself, and I sit in the

dark, wishing I hadn’t opened my fucking mouth.

THIRTY-ONE

ALEX

he whole cabin shakes when I shut T the door, and I storm down the steps and stalk down the road. Break her jaw. Am I going to fucking break her jaw.

I killed two of my own guys for her, beat up a guy for calling her a cunt, and can’t think about anything but the next time I can taste her, and she sees a violent thug. She wants to fuck the violent thug, but still. That’s all I’m ever gonna be in her eyes, and no amount of fucking in Yosemite will change that. We’re different. We belong to different worlds. In hers, you talk your problems out. In mine, you break jaws. I grab some stuff from the SUV — a gun, more cash. There’s a hotel next door to the cabins and I walk to the parking lot, moving through the shadows. I pick out

the most middling cars — Fords, Chevys, Toyotas — and try their door handles until I find a ten-year-old Nissan that’s unlocked. I could hotwire it with my hands tied behind my back, so in five minutes I’m pulling out of the parking lot for the camp store. I park far away, walk in, and grab a Sacramento Bee from the stand just inside the doors, flipping through it furiously until I find what I want, a couple pages in.

LOS ANGELES, CA. - No progress has been made on the case of missing person Tessa Fulbright, believe kidnapped Saturday evening. Anyone with

information should call the FBI Crime Solvers, 1-800-555-FEDS.

I drop the paper and head back outside, where there’s an actual pay phone. “I’ve got information on Tessa Fulbright,” I say. “The missing person.” “Okay,” says the woman on the other end. “Just me just connect—” “No,” I say. “She’s in Yosemite National Park. Big Tree cabins, number twoeighty-one, Pinecone Court. Say it back to me.” She says it back nervously.

“Who is—” she gets out, but I hang up the phone. It’s done. It’s over. Tessa’s going to be safe, and I’ve got things I have to do. I hotwire the Nissan again and drive it west out of the park, staring into the dark and forcing myself not to think as I head through the mountains.

THIRTY-TWO

TESSA

“

uck you,” I mutter after he slams the F door. I’m just talking to myself, in the dark, but I feel a little better. I find the lights — it’s a pull chain in the middle of the room — and wash my face

in the sink. There’s water after all. A long time passes, and I start wondering where the hell Alex went. Did he get caught? I wonder. Maybe someone recognized him, wherever he went. I pace around the cabin. Finally there’s a loud, authoritative knock on the door, and I jump. It’s not Alex. He doesn’t knock like that, he just pushes doors open. I glance at the cabin’s windows, heart beating wildly, wondering if I should run. What if this is the cartel? What if Alex

was very, very wrong about whether they’d be in a National Park? They knock again, pounding so hard that it shakes the walls of the cabin. “Yosemite Police!” a man shouts. “We’re coming in.” The knob turns and the door opens, revealing two men and a woman wearing tan uniforms, an official-looking car behind them. “You’re Tessa Fulbright?” the man in front asks, stepping inside. He keeps one hand near his gun and his back against the wall as he looks around the tiny space, but there’s nowhere a

person could hide in here. Where’s Alex? I want to ask. What happened? Where’d he go? Is he okay? “Yes,” I say. “Are you alone in here?” “Yes,” I say. The other two officers step into the cabin, and suddenly it’s crowded in here. “Are you hurt?” he asks. I just shake my head. The woman officer looks at my bandaged feet in slip-on

shoes and frowns. “Can you walk?” she asks, her voice gentle and soothing. I look down. I’d almost forgotten about my feet. “I’m fine,” I say. “Can you come with us?” the first guy asks. His voice is gentler with every question, and suddenly I remember: I’m not a fugitive. Alex was the fugitive. I’m a kidnapping victim.

“It’s over,” the woman says. She puts a hand on my bare shoulder. “You’re safe now,” she says, her face soft and worried. I have the sensation that something is crashing down around me, that the insanity of the last two days has come to a screeching halt and now it’s finished, for good. I burst into tears. I’m not sure I want it to be over or that I want to be safe, but I don’t want the alternative, either. I’m confused and hungry and tired and just fucking exhausted, and something happened

between me and my kidnapper that I already know I can never tell anyone about. I can’t even explain it to myself. “Thank you,” I say, between sobs. The woman squeezes my shoulder. As I follow them out, I can hear one of the officers speaking quietly into a walkie-talkie: she’s here, she’s alive, she’s fine. He sounds a little surprised.

The next twenty-four hours are a blur. They give me a jacket and a blanket, and within the hour, the FBI shows up by helicopter. Alex is long gone, and all I

know is how he slammed the door behind him. I don’t tell them that we were going to go to Sacramento, even though that obviously wasn’t true. They question me for hours, gently, like they think I’m breakable. I don’t lie, but I don’t tell them everything. They already know who Alex is, so I name him. I tell them about the wedding but leave out the part where he fingered me outside. I tell them about the kidnapping and the safehouse, about trying to escape through the desert by foot, about two other guys coming to kill me.

I don’t tell them that I fell asleep on Alex while we watched movies, or that he made me spaghetti. I tell them he killed the other guys but not about the night before, or that he found me in the shower afterwards and held me. Basically, I leave out the sex parts. They seem to buy it. I talk to my dad on the phone. He’s nearly crying with relief, but I can’t stand to say more than “I’m fine,” to him before I hang up. This is his fault, after all. They fly me back to Los Angeles and have me checked out by a doctor. She’s warm and gentle, with shoulder-length

gray hair and warm brown eyes. When she removes the bandages on my feet, she seems surprised. “You walked barefoot through the desert?” she asks. “I tried,” I say. “There’s no sign of infection,” she says. “You’re lucky. Whoever dressed these wounds did a good job.” My eyes fill with tears. The tears make me furious, so I rub them away before she can see. Besides my feet, I’ve got a couple bruises and I’m slightly dehydrated, but I’m fine.

Before she lets me leave, she has me come into her office, fully dressed in jeans and a shirt that don’t quite fit, but they’re better than what I was wearing when they found me. “First, I want you to know that I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality,” she says. “Even under oath, I can’t discuss what you’ve told me in confidence.” I nod. My stomach twists. “One of the things I did was run a rape kit,” she says. My eyes go wide, and I shake my head. “He didn’t rape me,” I say.

“I didn’t find any evidence of that,” she says, gently. “But I did want to ask whether you’d like the morning after pill. It’s effective for up to seventy-two hours after unprotected intercourse.” She looks at me. I look at her. She knows. With everything else, I completely forgot that I could get pregnant. When there was a cartel after me, that part didn’t seem so important, but now? I swallow. “Yes, please,” I say. She nods and slides a small cardboard Plan B box to me across her desk.

Men in suits put my dad and me in a hotel in Los Angeles. I don’t know if they’re FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, or whatever combination of letters deals with cartel kidnappings, and I don’t really care. My dad seems so pathetic that it’s hard to stay mad at him, though I manage it for a little while. He tells me that he thought he was just making some extra money, and it turned into much, much more than he thought it would, that he’d never have done it if he knew what would happen, all that. I believe him, but it doesn’t make it

better. Mostly, I watch TV in my hotel room. The lobby always has at least two armed men in it, and every half hour, they patrol the hallway. They go to my apartment and get stuff for me, so after a couple days, the Burbank Marriott is almost home sweet home. My boss emails that she heard about me on the news, and I can take as much time as I need. I ask if I can work remotely, starting tomorrow, because I need something to do and she says yes. So I work twelve-hour days, alone in a hotel room. The guys in suits give evasive answers whenever I ask what’s

going on, when I can go home, but from the urgent way they talk to each other I can tell something big is going down. I read the paper that slides under my door every day, and it’s two weeks until I finally find what I’ve been dreading.

BAKERSFIELD, CA. Three men were found dead after a structure fire in Kern County. The deaths are suspected to be more in a series of cartel killings taking place in the Inland Empire. Though it has not been confirmed, police believe that one of the victims is Alejandro Villalobos, currently wanted on charges of

murder, kidnapping, possession of a deadly weapon, and several more.

That’s it. That’s all Alex’s death warrants: a paragraph in the local section of the Los Angeles Times. I read it about fifty times, until I feel nauseous. I wonder what he did when he left Yosemite. Why he left without me, what his plan was. It obviously didn’t work. I feel empty, hollow, like the inside of my skin has been scraped out, and I hate myself for feeling this way. He

kidnapped me. He murdered two people without blinking, beat up another guy. The very definition of bad. So why am I remembering the way his eyes glinted when he called me tiger? Why do I keep thinking about him bandaging my feet after I walked through the desert? Why do I keep making a fist, tucking my thumb behind my knuckles so I don’t break it when I throw a punch, and then crying harder?

I stop paying attention to the news, other than to read that dental records

confirmed it was Alex’s body they found. After a few weeks I’m told I can go home. There’s news footage of a dozen Mexican guys being handcuffed and walked to police cars outside some club. One is a short, stout guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt, plaid shorts, and socks with sandals. Apparently he’s in charge of the whole operation. I go back to work and try to have a normal life, but the trial starts for the guys who got arrested. I don’t testify. The only guys I can testify about are dead. I talk endlessly to the prosecutors as they try to glean scraps of

information from me, but I hardly know anything. Alex didn’t tell me much, and I think it was by design. If I knew something, I was dangerous to the cartel, and they might want me dead. The gossip news gets a whiff of something, though. Even though I’ve kept my mouth shut they look at the pieces, note that Alex killed his own men and took me on the run, and suddenly we’re Bonnie and Clyde. I get really good at saying no comment when cameras get shoved in my face while people ask whether Villalobos and I had a relationship. We might have. I don’t fucking know

anymore. I just know that one of the last things I said to him was are you gonna break my jaw, he left, and now he’s dead. The trial finally ends after a year. Everyone is found guilty. The leader will be in jail for the rest of his life, and the news shouts that La Carretera has been shattered, disbanded. I quit my job and move to Portland, Oregon, where I don’t know a single person.

It takes a long time, but I start feeling like I have my life back. I get another job as a junior architect at a firm that

designs eco-friendly schools. I join an adult kickball league, and after games we drink beers together. I think some of them might actually be my friends. I go to a lot of therapy, and while I don’t tell my therapist the whole truth, I think she guesses. We talk a lot about grief, a lot about trauma, and the phrase Stockholm Syndrome comes up more than once. She doesn’t think I had it. I go on coffee dates with men who wear knit hats and have tattoos of deer, men with names like Mark and Harrison and Patrick. They’re nice, decent young men who would probably make good

boyfriend material. They don’t do a thing for me. I turn down second dates. Six months go by as I float through life, every day getting a little brighter, a little more in-focus.

And then, I see Alex. I’m walking home from work and he’s sitting in a car at the end of a block, and even though he’s far away and I know better, the very deepest part of me is certain it’s him. I walk toward the car, but then it starts, makes a U-turn, and drives away.

I’m left standing there in the northwest drizzle. It wasn’t him, I tell myself. Don’t be stupid. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Alex is dead, I think. What you’re experiencing is a normal part of trauma and grief and adjusting to new things and whatever the fuck else is going on with you right now. I look at the road where the car disappeared for another moment. Then I walk home.

THIRTY-THREE

ALEX

oddammit, I think, speeding over the G bridge. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know that I have to get away from Tessa. She saw me. She recognized me. I could

tell just from the look on her face, and peeling out like I was heading to a fire didn’t exactly make it less suspicious. I’m dead, I think. She knows I’m dead. She’ll think she was seeing things. I hope I’m right. I drive aimlessly for a while before I finally go back to the apartment I’m renting. Well, technically, the DEA is still putting me up, since I’m still very much in the trial period of my employment. I head inside, lock the door, turn on the TV and sit on the couch and think about Tessa, walking down the street wearing heels and a pencil skirt. Even though she

was wearing an ugly fleece jacket she looked fucking good, like moving to Portland has been healthy for her. Then I do the thing I’ve been doing twice a day since I got to Portland a few weeks ago: I jerk off, imagining my face between her thighs, my tongue in her pussy, Tessa screaming my name. I think my dick is starting to chafe.

I give myself another week of torture, watching Tessa from afar. I feel like a fucking creep, like one of those men who can’t approach women, so they just lurk and beat off.

Technically, that’s what I’m doing. Really, I’m not watching her. I’m watching to see if anyone else is watching her, anyone who might actually be looking for me. As far as I know, they’re all dead or in jail — you’re welcome, America — but I did rat out a massive paramilitary drug operation, so it’s hard to be too careful. I lurk. I watch Tessa. I jerk off thinking about Tessa. It’s not exactly glamorous. Finally, I decide it’s safe. There’s no one here, in Portland, trying to get me. Figuring that out was the easy part. Now I have to tell Tessa I’m alive.

What happens after that I have no idea. I haven’t seen her in eighteen months, not since I stormed out of that cabin in Yosemite. For most of that time, she’s been under the impression that I’m dead. She’s probably going to be pissed. I can’t blame her. I still want her so much I’m almost in physical pain, but it’s more than that. I want to hear her laugh again, I want to see the way her eyes glitter when she teases me. I want to hang out with her. I never want to hang out with women.

The day comes. There’s this upscale market near her house, and she’s gotten into the habit of stopping there on her way home. I figure I should do this in public, so I head into the market and wait. And wait. I pretend to look at organic quinoa, but really I’m glancing at the doors every few seconds, waiting to see if she’s come in yet. I make my way slowly down the aisle, faking interest in all sorts of things. My thick-framed, flat-lens glasses are starting to get on my nerves, and I push them up again and again. I don’t need them to see, but I figure it worked for Clark Kent so it’s a good enough

disguise. I look at gluten-free pasta. I watch the doors. She walks into view, and my heart jumps to my throat. I’m holding this pasta and just staring at her, but she stops in front of the doors without seeing me and frowns. Then she shakes her head and walks on. In no time flat I’m past the registers, gluten-free pasta on the floor, through the automatic doors and she’s walking along, maybe twenty feet in front of me. I jog a little to catch up, and then I’m behind her.

I didn’t plan this part. I’ve thought about it a million times, about her squeal of joy before she jumps into my arms, but I don’t actually know what to say. She stops at a crosswalk. I stand behind her. I take a deep breath.

THIRTY-FOUR

TESSA

o I really want leftover chili again? D I think. I could get delivery. I shouldn’t, but I could, if I really don’t feel like eating chili again. I walk toward home, wishing I hadn’t

made so much chili. Now, if I don’t finish all twenty servings, I’ll feel guilty for wasting food. How much chili can one woman eat, though? I stop at a crosswalk behind a few other people and wait for the light to change, still debating. Maybe I could make nachos. Then I hear a familiar voice right behind my ear. “Hey, tiger,” it says. I feel like a trap door just opened underneath me. My heart slams into my ribcage. In the split second it takes me to turn

around, I think: someone knows. I don’t know how, but someone found out, and now they’re mocking me. All that keeping quiet I did, all those months that I didn’t tell anyone, it didn’t work. But it’s not someone else. It’s Alex. Just goddamn standing there. He’s grinning, his hands in his pockets, casual as fuck. He’s got glasses now, and he’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I feel like reality is somehow sliding out of whack because it sure looks like Alex is standing on a street corner in Portland, but Alex is dead. He died. There were

dental records. I stare. People jostle me a little when the light turns green, but I don’t move. I can’t move because Alex is standing right the fuck in front of me and Alex is dead. “Surprise?” he says, giving a little shrug and raising his eyebrows. I close my eyes and open them. He’s still there. “You could say something,” he suggests. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Maybe do you know you’re a ghost or actually, you’re dead, or the simple,

elegant what the fuck!? I don’t say any of those. “You have glasses?” I say. He laughs that deep, throaty laugh that he has and in that moment I know it’s him, I can feel it in my bones. “That’ll do,” he says. “What the fuck,” I say. “The lenses are flat,” he says, taking the thick frames off his face and looking at them. “But I think they make me look smart.” “I didn’t mean the glasses that time, asshole,” I say. “I meant this,” I say,

windmilling my arms around to indicate you’re alive and in Portland, and I nearly hit a middle-aged woman walking down the sidewalk. “Dental records aren’t hard to fake, especially when the CIA is interested in keeping you alive,” he says with a shrug. “Or was that the DEA? Something in that alphabet soup.” I put one hand on my forehead and just stare at him. He looks like he thinks that explained everything. We’re still standing right in front of the crosswalk, blocking foot traffic, so he takes me gently by the arm and we cross the street. I feel like an invalid being

led, but I’m too baffled and shocked to protest right now. We stop in front of the plate glass windows of some salon. The women getting their hair cut look at us, but it’s the last thing on my mind. I take a deep breath. Then I take another one. “Okay,” I say. “Start at the beginning. Or something. Start somewhere that makes sense, please.” “I stole a car, drove to San Francisco, and walked into the regional headquarters of the Drug Enforcement Agency at eight the next morning,” he says. “They were pretty interested in

what I had to say. One thing led to another and I single-handedly took down one of the most powerful drug cartels in the world.” He shrugs. I stare. “Most people are impressed,” he teases. “Being a DEA informant isn’t exactly single-handedly bringing down anything,” I say, because even now my first instinct is to argue with him. “I was instrumental,” he says. “And it sounds good.” “You’re still a cocky jerk,” I say, and he laughs. Then he steps closer and leans down a

little, and all of a sudden this sidewalk is intimate. “I’m still a very cocky jerk,” he says, his voice going low and teasing. I turn bright fucking red, and he grins the exact same rakish grin that I remember. I try to ignore him and swallow, hard. “What are you doing in Portland?” I ask. “I got a job working for the DEA office here,” he says, casually, like it’s not a big deal. “You have a job?” I ask. “I’ve always had a job,” he says. “This one just comes with a retirement account.”

“They hired you?” “Who better?” he asks. “That’s not the real reason I’m in Portland, though.” There’s a knot in my stomach and it tightens. “It’s got the most strip clubs per capita of any city in the US?” I ask, my voice sounding feeble even to my own ears. “Great food trucks?” He reaches down and takes my hand, the look in his eyes absolutely wicked. Fuck everything, my body’s responding like someone took a match to it, a wild surge rushing through me that I haven’t felt in over a year.

The ladies in the hair salon are all watching, and I realize that we probably look like he’s about to propose. He’s about to propose something, that’s for goddamn sure. “Because it’s been a year and a half since I was inside you and I still think about it every day,” he says, and not very quietly, either. A girl walking past gives me a very surprised look, and I hope the salon windows are at least a little soundproof. He kisses my knuckles while he stares into my eyes, the kiss long and slow and sensual, even though I’m sure it looks terribly chivalrous to anyone watching.

“I want to taste every inch of you, tiger,” he says. “I want to feel your body under me. I want your lips on my cock and I want to lick you and make you come until you can’t come any more.” He flips my hand over and presses his lips to my palm and then to my wrist, and it feels like an electric current is running from him to me. I wonder, very seriously, if I’m dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first dream like this I’ve had. It wouldn’t be the fiftieth. “We should talk first,” I say. I’m breathing hard, and I can’t look him in the eye. “We should talk somewhere

public because I’m still not really sure what’s going on, and I’ve been to a lot of therapy and my therapist says—” He cups my face in my hand and kisses me, and I shut up instantly. The kiss is slow and languorous, his lips moving gently against mine, and I give in to it completely. He slides his hand around my waist and I think I whimper, pushing back against him, one hand on his hard, muscled shoulder. The kiss doesn’t end. I feel like time has stopped and I open my mouth against his, delicately darting my tongue inside his mouth, inviting him in. Our tongues

wrestle and before I know it, my body is pressed against his, the thick rod of his erection pressed against my belly as we make out in public. This isn’t a kiss. This is foreplay. When we finally break apart I’m breathing hard. A middle-aged couple shoots us a disgusted glare. A woman inside the salon bursts into applause, and then a couple others follow suit. Surprised, I give them a little half wave, and the woman closest to me gives me a thumbs-up. Alex slides his hand over my ass and gives it a gentle squeeze through my dress, and the woman whistles.

“Where do you want to talk?” he asks. “My apartment’s two blocks away,” I whisper, dropping my eyes. “Sounds good,” he says, and he finally lets me go. As we walk, he takes my hand in his and holds it tight. It feels so strange, but I think I like it. We don’t speak as we walk, because I can’t think of a thing to say that isn’t either stupid or too dirty to say in public. I unlock the front door of the building and as I do, he steps up close behind me and his hand slides up my dress from below.

“Public,” I growl, jamming my key into the lock. “Hurry up, then,” he says. Inside, I glance at the elevator but I know it takes forever, so I pull him into the stairwell and before the door has even shut, I’m up against the concrete wall, his mouth rough on mine, his hands already under my dress. “My apartment’s on the next floor,” I gasp. “It’s another hundred feet.” “I can’t wait that long,” he growls. Now my dress is around my waist and he kneels down and actually takes my panties in his teeth and pulls them off so

they puddle around my feet. Then he slides his fingers between my legs and rests his forehead against my lower belly, exhaling hard and squeezing my thigh with one hand. “You’re dripping wet, tiger,” he says, his fingers exploring me gently. “All I did was talk a little dirty, you know.” “Shut up,” I whisper, and he chuckles. He pulls his fingers out, looks up at me, and licks them while he groans. “It’s almost like you haven’t been properly fucked in a year and a half,” he says. “Well, are you going to sit there and talk

about it, or are you going to do something about it?” I ask, but before the question’s even out of my mouth he’s lifted me up, carried me to the stairs and sat me in the middle of a flight, my ass against the cold concrete, my skirt still around my waist, one leg on the bannister, his face between my legs. He licks me fast and hard, a low rumbling sound coming from deep in his chest. His tongue flicks back and forth over my nub as I bite my lip and moan. The sound echoes through the staircase, but I couldn’t care less. He moves slightly and then his tongue’s inside me, fucking me hard and I arch my back.

“Fuck yes,” I whisper, and he groans again in response. Fingers slide inside me and I grab onto the bannister. “You’re gonna make me come right here on the stairs,” I half-moan, half-whisper. “Good,” he says, moving his fingers in a way that makes me gasp. He licks me again, the strikes slow and hard and exact, and just as I’m about to go over the edge and possibly alert the entire building to the fact that I’m currently getting tongue-fucked in the stairwell, a door opens. Footsteps echo.

I gasp and pull my dress down as Alex stops, looks up, and winks at me, but at least he’s enough of a gentleman to pull me to my feet, even though I’m shaking. I grab his hand and take the stairs two at a time, and just before I reach my floor, there’s Mrs. Ennis, who lives on the third floor and writes a lot of stern notes that she tapes up around the building. She nods at me, then looks at Alex suspiciously. “Hi,” I say to her, then pull the door open and bolt through before she can respond. I’m breathing hard and shaking when I get to my door, only two down, and fish

through my bag for my apartment keys. Alex is behind me again, my dress hoisted, and I hear a zip noise and then I know his cock is out because he’s sliding it between my legs, brushing it against my swollen lips and oversensitive clit. “We can do this here,” he murmurs. “I don’t care.” “We are not fucking in the hallway,” I hiss, finally getting the key into the deadbolt on my door. I cannot believe he’s doing this, practically in public, but there’s also a big part of me that wants to give up on unlocking this door and just fuck him

right this second, pressed up against the wall. The key goes in, the knob turns, and then we’re practically falling through the door and I slam it shut behind me. The front door opens into my living room, and I’ve got this little side table right by the door, for keys and mail and shit. Alex shoves everything off it with one hand and then lifts me onto it, my legs wrapped around him, my back leaning against the wall. I grab his cock in my hand and squeeze, a shock of excitement going through me. “Condom,” he says, his breath quick and fast.

“I went on the pill,” I whisper. “Are you clean?” He just nods. “Good, because I want you inside me right now,” I say. His puts his hand over mine on his cock and guides it, letting the head rub past my clit. I gasp with pleasure and then he’s there, at my entrance, and I have never wanted anything more than I want his cock right now. “Tell me again,” he says. I try to push him in but it doesn’t work. He’s in control now. “What if I say no?” I ask.

“I swear to God you’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met,” he says, leaning forward. “That’s why you came all the way here to fuck me,” I say. His hand is still closed around mine, closed around his cock, and he’s staring into my eyes and even though we’re both still dressed, I feel the most exposed I’ve ever felt. “So fuck me,” I whisper. “Fuck me hard and fast and bare because that’s exactly how I want you right now.” He takes his hand off mine and slides inside me with a single, hard stroke and I moan out loud because it feels so good it nearly brings tears to my eyes, but then

he doesn’t move again for a moment, just stays buried inside me to the hilt. “Your cunt still fits me like a glove,” he says, right into my ear. “I think you were custom-made for me, tiger.” He’s dirty as hell and I like it. “God I wanted this,” I moan. His cock feels incredible, like it’s filling every space inside me perfectly, like my brain might short-circuit from pure sensation. He leans his forehead on mine, pulls out and eases himself back in, like he’s just barely in control. “I almost forgot how hot it is when you

talk dirty,” he says as he fills me impossibly deep again. “Like when I say how good it feels when your cock is deep inside me?” I ask, my breath coming in gasps. “Just like that,” he says. “Alex,” I say, putting one hand on the side of his face. He thrusts again and my eyes flutter shut before I can reopen them. “Yeah, tiger?” he murmurs. “I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” I whisper. “Now.” He wraps his arm around my waist and

then slams his cock into me so hard that I shout, “Oh fuck,” and I’m sure the neighbors can hear, but he doesn’t stop and God I don’t want him to because I’ve been thinking about this moment for a year and a half and it’s even better than I fantasized it would be. “I can’t fuck you like this for long before I come,” he says. “You feel too good and it’s been too long.” “Don’t stop,” I beg him. “Don’t stop. Make me come.” “Fuck yes,” he says. “I can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.” I’m close. In the distance I can hear the table slamming against the wall but Alex

is in front of me, talking filthy, fucking me for all he’s worth and everything else barely even registers. I feel like my entire body is burning and melting at the same time. My breath is coming in ragged gasps, and I’m right on the edge, getting closer with every stroke. “Come,” he growls. “I need to feel my cock make you come.” “Selfish,” I whisper. “Just come,” he whispers. It works. I fly over the edge and plummet into a white-hot ocean. “Fuck, Alex!” I shout as white washes

over my vision, every muscle in my body tensing. I dig my nails into his back, through his shirt and slam my other fist onto the table with a moan, the noise coming from some primal space deep inside me. I think I’m breaking, my body bursting apart into a million pieces, but Alex doesn’t stop. If anything he’s fucking me even harder now and I just keep coming and coming, like it’ll never stop. “You feel so good,” I whimper, gasping for air. He doesn’t answer, just groans and bites my ear. “Come inside me so I can feel it,” I

whisper. “Please.” “Oh fuck,” he murmurs and then he comes hard and I can feel him empty himself deep inside me as he holds me so tight I’m sure I’ll have hand-shaped bruises tomorrow. At last, he slows and the sparkles recede from my vision. He goes soft inside me but he doesn’t pull out, he rests his forehead against mine as we’re both breathing hard, and then he kisses me and it’s surprisingly soft and slow for the fuck we just had. I think I’m shaking. “Goddamn, tiger,” he whispers. “I’ve never come that hard before,” I say. I put a hand on the side of his face,

and he smiles. “You missed me?” he asks. Yes, I think, but I don’t say it out loud, just run my hand over his face. He chuckles quietly. “You don’t have to admit it,” he says. “I can tell.” He rests his head in the crook between my shoulder and neck for another moment before he pulls out.

THIRTY-FIVE

ALEX

lean against the table, still recovering. II don’t even have the strength yet to pull my jeans back up, let alone actually stand or walk somewhere. Tessa’s body goes limp as she leans

back against the wall, her eyes sliding shut. She takes a deep breath, and then opens them and looks at me, the skirt of her dress still around her waist. Then there’s a knock on the door. We both jump about a mile in the air. She leaps off the desk and shoves her skirt down, her hair still wild, her eyes big and alarmed. “Put your dick away and get in the kitchen!” she hisses, hopping off the table. When she lands, she stumbles a little and I catch her. We both almost go over. I feel like I’ve run a marathon.

There’s a small wet spot on the table. “I’m not your Mexican houseboy,” I say, teasing her. “You can’t just order me around.” The knock sounds again. Furiously, she points at my dick and then at a doorway that I assume is the kitchen. I wink at her and then saunter back there, leaning against a counter. It’s a nice kitchen, even if it’s a little small, and the cool countertop feels good when I lean on it. I hear the door open. “Oh, hi,” Tessa says, like it’s someone she knows.

“Hey,” says a man’s voice. My spine goes rigid. “Just wanted to let you know your keys were in the door,” the man’s voice says. There’s a jingle. “Oh my god, thank you,” Tessa says. I grin in the dark kitchen. I guess we were in a hurry. “No problem,” says the male voice. “Everything okay?” “Fine!” Tessa says, a little too eagerly. “I just, um, got back from an exercise class at work and I guess I was a little too excited to get into the shower!”

The man laughs politely, because I’m sure her apartment reeks of sex right now. “Have a good one,” he says, Tessa says it back, and then the door closes. I hear the keys hit the table and then she walks into the kitchen, flipping the light on. She leans against the counter opposite me and pushes her hands through her hair, then heaves a deep breath. “Are my panties still in the stairwell?” she asks. “I didn’t take them,” I say. “I didn’t take them either,” she says.

Then she looks at me and we both start laughing. “I can’t wait for that note,” she says. “Please do not leave your soiled unmentionables in the community stairs.” “It’ll give everyone something to talk about for a while,” I say. “I’m gonna have a drink,” she says. “Do you want a drink?”

We drink fancy Portland beers and eat leftover chili that’s pretty good and gradually, I tell her everything: going to San Francisco, convincing them they

should listen to me. Wearing a wire back to Los Angeles and meeting Manny. It was hard to talk him into meeting in public, but I did it even though I honestly thought he might shoot me. Tessa listens to all this, wide-eyed at her small kitchen table. We’re still sitting there long after the beers and the food are gone, just talking, not even touching. “Whose body was that in the house?” she finally asks. I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I say. “Someone who died and never got identified. If nobody

claims a body...” I trail off and shrug. “Shit,” she says quietly. “That’s depressing.” “It worked in my favor,” I say. “And now you work for the good guys,” she says, and then narrows her eyes. “Wait, is that true?” “I swear,” I say. She leans her head on one hand. “Got a badge?” she asks. “Not yet,” I say. “There’s a three-month trial period.”

That makes her laugh, and for a moment, I’m confused. “So the hiring process is the same for supposedly-dead ex-cons as it is for the just-out-of-college receptionist?” she asks. “Receptionists have trial periods?” I say. What the fuck for? They just answer phones and shit. “It’s standard at a lot of places,” she explains, standing up and clearing away dishes. “That way, it’s easier to fire someone if they’re not working out.” “Oh,” I say. “I’ve never really had a

regular job before.” She leans against the counter and crosses her arms, giving me a long look. “I guess not,” she says. “Well, for starters, I recommend sending stronglyworded emails instead of beating up a coworker.” “So if someone says something I disagree with in a meeting, I don’t just punch them?” I ask. She rolls her eyes. “I’ll see if I can tame my barbarian nature well enough to interact with others,” I say. “That’s not what I meant,” she says.

I stand and toss my beer bottle in the blue recycling bucket. “See? I’m house-trained,” I say. She looks at me like she’s got another question, but then decides against it. “Not completely,” she says. “I think you broke my table.” “I broke your table?” I ask, grinning. “That was a joint venture, tiger.” “I see you’re learning big words at your job already,” she teases. “Do you wear a suit, too?” “That’s above my pay grade,” I say. “I’m tactical. The guy who wears bulletproof vests and busts down doors. It’s more

my style.” For a moment, she looks worried. “Is that dangerous?” she asks. “It’s less dangerous than my old job,” I say. “Tiger, are you concerned about me?” “I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” she says. “That means yes,” I say. “You’re worried about the welfare of the asshole who kidnapped you.” “I go to a lot of therapy,” she says, primly. “We work pretty hard on forgiveness and getting past things.”

“You didn’t get past everything,” I say. My cock twitches in my pants. I’m getting hard again. It’s probably the least surprising thing that’s happened in days. “I thought I had,” she says, and looks down, like she’s thinking. Then she looks right at me. “I didn’t tell anyone,” she says. “I know,” I say. “I read the news.” “Did you tell anyone?” “No,” I say. “I think people suspected, but I never told.”

“Why?” “I thought it would complicate everything,” I say. It’s not the whole truth. I do think it would have, but I didn’t want us becoming a salacious footnote to a huge circus of a trial. I didn’t want people speculating about whether she’d been raped or brainwashed, I didn’t want anyone painting her as some poor little girl who fell for the wrong guy, because that’s not what happened. I still don’t know what happened, but I know I told the DEA I’d never help them again if they didn’t put me in the

Portland office. She nods, looking relieved. “Thanks,” she says, and I walk my empty bowl over to the sink. When I turn around, there’s a sparkle in her eye. “I haven’t given you a tour of the apartment yet,” she says. “Is there another floor or something?” I ask, teasing her. “I think I’ve seen almost everything. The living room, the kitchen...” “That’s not everything,” she says. “I can’t think of what’s left,” I say.

God, I love it when she teases me. She just gives me a coy little smile and then walks out of the kitchen, looking at me over her shoulder. I go rock hard and follow her as she turns into the bedroom. It’s fairly neat, a big bed in the middle with two side tables, one pair of jeans on the floor by a wall. The bed’s made with a light blue comforter. But the thing that makes me raise my eyebrows is the mirrored closet doors. They take up almost a whole wall of the room and they reflect the bed back perfectly. “I knew you were kinky,” I say, looking at the mirrors, even as I wonder who

they’re for. Have there been other guys? I wonder. The thought nearly takes my breath away. Tessa just snorts. “That’s the way the room is laid out,” she says. “Why, do you like it?” “I don’t know yet,” I say, and reach for her but she steps away lightly. Then she turns and lifts her hair off her back. In the mirror, she’s making eye contact with me. “Unzip me,” she says. I do it, watching her in the mirror the

whole time. “Unhook my bra,” she says when the zipper reaches the bottom. I do that too, and she pulls her dress and bra forward and off and then suddenly she’s in front of me, naked, her whole perfect body reflected in the mirror and I realize this is the first time I’ve really gotten a good look at her like this. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, sliding my hands around her hips and pressing myself against her, my cock at full mast again. “Tessa, are you trying to seduce me?” She arches her back, pressing my erection between her buttocks, this look

of fascinated lust on her face. “I think I’m succeeding,” she says. “You think I’m just some easy lay?” I ask, grinning. I am, for her, but I’m not giving in that easily. “I wined and dined you,” she says, stretching her arms over her head and clasping them behind my neck. “What more do you need?” She sways from side to side and I slide my fingers up her hot skin until both her breasts are in my hands and I’m pinching her nipples between my fingers. Tessa sighs and I pinch harder, rolling her

nipples between my fingers. “You’re showing off for me,” I say. “You like watching me touch you.” I can’t help it: I wonder again who this mirror setup is for, because I know it’s not for me. Maybe it’s for her, but what if it’s for someone else? Who else watched himself fuck Tessa in this mirror? I’m seething with jealousy. I know it’s stupid. She thought I was dead and it’s not like we were a couple or something anyway. But the thought of Tessa with anyone else unlocks something in me I didn’t know

was there, and it’s primal and swaggeringly macho and jealous as fuck. “I like it when you touch me,” she says. “Good,” I say. “I’m not about to stop.” I force the jealousy out of my head, because it’s fucking hot that she’s totally naked and I’m completely clothed. It makes her vulnerable in a way I couldn’t have imagined, defenseless, like she’s putting herself in my hands and trusting me with her body. She turns around and maneuvers me so the mirror’s to my left, and then Tessa looks up at me and runs her hands under my shirt, practically licking her lips as she does. Then she unbuttons it slowly

and I slide it off, dropping it to the floor. “You got your tattoo removed,” she says, putting one hand on my chest. “The LC.” “You memorized my ink?” I ask. “I remembered that one,” she says, looking up at me through her eyelashes. “I can’t go around with a cartel tattoo if I don’t work for them,” I say. Her hands slide lower, over my abs and she presses her lips to the spot where the tattoo was as she undoes my belt, then unbuttons my jeans. “Are you seduced yet?” she murmurs. Fuck yes.

“Dunno,” I say. “What else have you got?” She laughs and then bites my shoulder as she unzips my pants slowly. It feels like each notch she pulls the zipper down sends a jolt through my cock, and by the time she gets done I’m nearly ready to explode even though I came my brains out two hours ago. “You feel seduced,” she says, pressing her palm against my cock. “But if you’re not sure...” She trails off and kneels, planting kisses on my torso the whole way down. My pants pool around my ankles and she plants a kiss on one hip, then rests her

head there. Tessa takes my cock in her hand and gives it a slow stroke, just looking at it. I can see her face in the mirror and dear God, the way she looks at it, this mixture of hunger and anticipation, does something to me. Then she looks up at me, locking eyes, and slips her lips over the head. I groan. She swirls her tongue around the head and I suck in a sharp breath, closing my eyes. She moves her head back slowly and then pushes just a little more of me into her mouth, her hand still firmly on the base. She keeps on going, and I open my eyes

and watch her in the mirror, her head moving up and down, my cock disappearing into her mouth and then coming out wet until finally I hit the back of her mouth and she pushes her mouth down hard and the warm, wet cocoon of pleasure makes my balls tense. Then, Tessa groans and the hum travels down my cock and into my spine. She looks up at me. “I could watch you suck my cock all day,” I say, and put one hand on her head because I just have to touch her. I’ve got the urge to push her down on my cock but I fight it. That’s impolite, after all.

If her mouth weren’t full, I think she’d be smiling. She speeds up, still making noises, and keeps going, sucking and swirling and casting these glances into the mirror. I’m about to pull her off when she stops, giving the underside one long, slow lick, staring me right in the eyes the whole time. “Are you seduced now?” she asks. I pull her up and kiss her hard. On her, my own scent smells sexy, even my taste as she pushes her tongue into my mouth. I pinch one nipple and she gasps, then bites my lower lip. “I think you’ve made a strong case,” I

say. “I almost declined, but I guess I can make time to fuck again.” She laughs, a deep, throaty sounds. “You’re a goddamn liar,” she says. “You’re a goddamn tease,” I fire back. I slide my fingers between her legs and find exactly what I knew I would: her hot, swollen lips, slippery with her juices. “A goddamn tease who wants my cock so bad she’s soaking wet right now.” I lick my fingers off, reveling in her taste, and she watches me with that same look in her eyes. “Get on your hands and knees on the

bed,” I say, taking control. I know exactly what I want. I want to be able to watch everything and I want her to watch too. Tessa moves slowly, her movements graceful and almost catlike, and she rolls her hips and arches her back as she gets on the bed, then looks over her shoulder. Even when she does what I say, it feels like she’s decided to do it herself and it just so happens that I suggested it. She turns her head and looks at herself and then me in the mirror, arching her back even more. Then she reaches one hand back and strokes her pussy with two fingers. She pushes them inside

herself and sighs, biting her lip, and then looks at me, cheeks flushed. “I thought you were seduced,” she says. In a second I’m behind her on the bed. I pull her fingers out of her pussy and lick them off, watching myself in the mirror, letting the tip of my cock rest against her opening. When I release her hand she pushes herself backward onto my cock and takes the whole thing before I’m expecting it and I grunt with the sheer pleasure of it, grabbing one shoulder to steady myself. We both look in the mirror and our eyes meet. Then she moves forward and back

again and I stay still and let her fuck me, her eyes glued to the spot in the mirror where my cock disappears into her. “Alex,” she says, breathing hard already. “This looks so hot.” “This isn’t exactly missionary with the lights off, tiger,” I say. She’s still fucking me and I’m not moving at all, and she’s going faster and faster and moaning. Watching. I feel a little like I’m being used as a sex toy. I don’t mind. “Are you disappointed by that?” she asks, still fucking me.

I’m still watching my cock disappear into her from two angles. They’re both good. “No,” I say. “I could watch you fuck me all day.” “I could fuck you all day,” she says, licking her lips. She stops for a moment and just pushes back against me, pressing me as deep as I can go, and she bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut. “Jesus, tiger,” I whisper. “Do you want me to come already?” “No,” she moans, leaning forward and sliding me out until just the very tip is

resting on her lips before she moves herself back. “I just like the way you feel inside me.” She pushes back against me again and I exhale hard, grabbing her hips and leaning forward into her. “Is that what you want?” I ask, trying to control myself. It’s not easy, with her telling me she likes my cock and using me like a sex toy. “Yes,” she says. She pulls me out again and then pushes back and this time I thrust a little because it’s fucking hard not to.

“Don’t move,” she says. “I want to make you come.” “God, you’re hot when you’re filthy,” I say. I let her fuck me, her strokes still slow and deep, the feeling building from somewhere in my lower belly as I watch her. She makes eye contact with me and smiles. “You’re using my cock like a sex toy,” I say, tracing her spine with a finger. I don’t move my hips at all. “I may as well be a wall-mounted dildo.” “Dildos don’t make me come like you

do,” she says. “Nothing makes me come like you do.” Filthy. Fuck yes. “I thought you didn’t want me to come yet,” I say. “I don’t,” she gasps. I can feel her pussy muscles fluttering around my cock and I fight not to come. “You can’t talk like that, then,” I say. She pushes back again and god I’m so deep inside her and it feels so good that there’s a second where I’m certain I’m going to lose control. “I’ll say whatever I want,” she says, that

fighting sparkle in her eyes. “I’ll tell you how good your cock feels and how much I like watching us fuck.” She does it again and then gasps, her hands making fists on her comforter. She locks eyes with me and moves again, faster and harder, and then she’s got her head thrown back and I’m deep inside her, hanging on by a thread. “Alex,” she moans, and then her muscles clamp down on me and she just moans and then I’ve lost control and I’m coming in her for the second time in a couple hours, just spewing profanities over and over until I’m finished and she is too.

We look at each other in the mirror, me still inside her, and then we both smile. Tessa collapses forward and I pull out and crawl up beside her in bed, my whole body covered in a light sheen of sweat. She puts her head in the crook of my arm and I find her hand with mine and lace our fingers together without thinking. It’s a second before I realize we’re snuggling. Me and Tessa. Like we’re a couple, or something.

THIRTY-SIX

TESSA

F uck, we’re snuggling. I like it. That’s not the problem; having Alex’s arm around me after that feels exactly right.

I just wish it wouldn’t, because this isn’t a thing. It can’t be a thing. We don’t even know each other, because after he kidnapped me we spent about forty-eight hours together, and then I thought he was dead for a year and a half. That’s not how relationships start. This is not a relationship. This is just fucking. It’s really really good fucking, but it’s not more, and it can’t be. I can’t be dating the guy who — I don’t think I can emphasize this strongly enough — kidnapped me, and I haven’t even

mentioned the two men he murdered. Alex is a kidnapper and a murderer and a fighter, and very much not my boyfriend. “So,” he says, after a couple minutes of snuggling. “Do you have a wall-mounted dildo?” I stop thinking about my non-relationship problems and snort. “No,” I say. “Do you have a regular dildo?” he asks. Yes. I’ve got a couple, actually, but I’m suddenly the nice, proper Tessa again and am oddly afraid that he’ll be offended by my dildo use.

When I don’t answer right away, he grins. “I can’t believe you told me you were a prude, you filthy thing,” he says, and kisses my temple. “Where is it?” I don’t answer again, but he half rolls over me, opening the drawer in the side table. That one’s full of books, and he sorts through it quickly. “These aren’t even dirty books,” he says. “I’m disappointed, tiger.” “I don’t need dirty books,” I say. “I’ve got an imagination.” He rolls to his other side and opens that

drawer and I squeeze my eyes shut. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. “Holy shit, tiger,” he says at last. “Missionary in the dark my ass.” I can feel myself turn bright red. “Gotcha,” I say, half-heartedly. I wasn’t lying. I was missionary-in-the-dark girl, and then my whole kidnapping fuckfest happened. Afterwards I think I bought every sex toy under the sun, hoping I’d find one that worked half as well as the guy who’d kidnapped me. I had plenty of fun and plenty of

orgasms, but nothing was ever quite the same. I can hear him turning vibrators on and off and chuckling to himself, like he’s found the jackpot. Then he rolls back over. “I think we’re gonna have some fun, tiger,” he says. “Just give me half an hour.”

Instead I wake up to sunlight creeping through the blinds. Somehow, we got under the blankets and Alex is curled around me, holding me tight to him, and I feel oddly content, oddly safe and warm

and fuzzy in the arms of the last person who should be making me feel any of those things. I sneak one arm out of the blankets and check the time. It’s 6:30, but my movement wakes Alex up because I can hear him yawn, and he kisses the back of my shoulder sleepily. “Morning, tiger,” he says. “Morning,” I say. “We fell asleep,” he murmurs into my hair. “I meant to try out something I found in your drawer first.” “What was it?” I ask. He’s already got an erection. I can feel it

against my lower back, and now he presses it against me lightly and goddamn if I’m not already getting wet. “I’m not gonna say yet,” he says. “I don’t use them all,” I say. It’s true. I mean, I have my favorites. “You should,” he says, and now he’s growling in my ear. “It’s sexy as fuck that you’ve got a drawer full of toys.” My hand’s on his side and I move it down his outer thigh. My pulse quickens. His muscles are like goddamn steel and I arch my back into him, pushing myself against his erection. I shouldn’t. I should be getting out of

bed, putting on pants, making coffee, and then insisting that we talk about our expectations for this relationship. While clothed. “Did that turn you on?” he asks, his lips still right by my ear. Any intention I had of getting out of bed dissolves along with his fingers stroking my thigh. After this, I think. Just one quick wake up fuck and then you talk, because sooner or later you have to stop letting your pussy tell you what to do. “Maybe,” I say. “Either that or your cock pressed up against me,” I say.

I half-turn and look at him over my shoulder. “Unlike you, I’m a pretty easy lay,” I tease. His face clouds for a moment, and then he turns away. I hear the drawer open. “Disagree,” he says. “I’ve never tried half so hard to get a girl.” You seriously have to have a conversation with him after this, I think. He turns back with a long, skinny bullet vibrator in his hand and he tosses it on the bed in front of me, then moves the blankets off of us.

Now I can see my whole body in the mirror, lying on my side. “You like the mirror, huh?” I ask. I scoot up and then reach between my legs for his cock and stroke it, watching myself. It’s pretty fucking sexy. “I’m not the one with a whole wall of mirrors in her bedroom,” he says. “It’s the best layout,” I say. It’s actually true. When I moved in here, having sex with someone in this bed was pretty much the last thing on my mind. That’s what the toys were for. “It’s the best layout for watching yourself while you’re fucking,” he

whispers, and there’s something strange and just a little savage in his voice. I think but I haven’t been... and it hits me. He thinks I’ve been fucking someone else. I half turn around again, just enough to look him in the eye. “Are you jealous?” I ask. “Fuck no,” he says. If I had any goddamn sense, that would be the end of this conversation, but no. I have to needle him. “Are you sure?” I ask. “You thought I was dead, tiger,” he says.

“Being jealous would be ridiculous.” “But you are,” I say. “You’re jealous that someone else might have gotten to watch themselves fuck me.” His face goes totally blank, because I’m right. Shit. Jealousy is not a fuck buddy feeling. “I don’t care,” he says, stonily. “It’s not my business what you did.” Jesus Christ, I like that he’s jealous, and that’s not a fuck buddy feeling either. It’s kind of hot that he’s jealous, a fire lighting behind his eyes that I can feel in my core.

I take his hand and put it on one breast and he pinches one nipple. “You’re jealous of anyone who did this,” I say. “Quit it, tiger,” he says, but he doesn’t stop, rolling my nipple until it almost hurts. His dick stiffens even more, and I grab it again between my legs. “You’re jealous that I might have done this to someone else,” I say. “I’m not jealous,” he says. “So you’re not jealous that I might have shouted someone else’s name,” I say, because I can’t stop myself anymore.

The angry flame in his eyes burns into me, lighting a fire from inside. Alex hoists himself up on one elbow and glares at me in the mirror. I keep on lounging on my side, his rock-hard cock in my hand. “I don’t care who else you’ve fucked,” he growls. “Because I’m fucking you now.” “What if I told someone else that I needed his cock inside me right now?” I ask. That’s it. That’s the final straw. His jaw flexes and I swear he bares his teeth as he grabs my hair with his hand and pulls my head back just enough.

He looks me in the eye in the mirror, then grabs my wrist and takes my hand off his cock, practically flinging it away from me. It lands on the bed in front of me and I grab the bedsheets, my head pulled back and my back arched, totally under his control. My pussy is aching and my whole body feels like a black hole of need. Alex bites my ear lobe and slides his tongue along the shell. “I wouldn’t care if you did that, because I’m not jealous, tiger,” he growls. “You can do whatever you want, and right here, right now, you’re practically begging me to fuck you.”

He strokes my lips and then pushes them apart with his fingers, dipping one into me, and I bite my lip. In one hard stroke he slides inside me and I groan, grabbing tighter onto the bedsheets and pushing my hips back against him. “That noise is why I’m not jealous,” he whispers. “Because that noise is where you go from nice to wicked and all I have to do is put my cock in you.” He pulls out and then he’s fucking me slow and hard and it feels mindbreakingly good. I can’t do a thing except moan at the barely-controlled, primal way he’s just taking me.

“See?” he murmurs savagely. “I don’t have anything to be jealous of. Fuck all the men you want, but I know you’re not getting fucked like this.” Even though the hard, bright glow inside me keeps growing, I start to feel bad about this. I take a deep breath and focus, just for a moment. “Relax,” I gasp. “Everyone else I fucked was a sex toy.” He stops for a second, looking at me, his face a mixture of relief and irritation. “You were just messing with me?” he asks.

I nod, still panting for breath. “I like how you fuck me when you’re angry,” I whisper. He growls and then he pulls on my hair just a little more and drives his cock into me hard. “Oh, fuck yes,” I moan. “Like that?” he asks, whispering. He does it again. “You like it when I fuck you that way?” “Yes,” I gasp. “You like it when I get rough and I take you however I want?” he asks, his voice

raw. “God, yes,” I say. He grabs the vibrator and turns it on high. “Tiger, you can just tell me how you want me to fuck you,” he says. He pushes the vibrator between my legs until he’s moving it against my clit and I nearly scream. “You can say fuck me hard or fuck me gentle or fuck me in the ass or just eat me out tonight or even just watch me while I fuck myself, and I’m happy to do it,” he says. He’s still thrusting hard and slow and

deep and he pulls my hair. The vibrator feels like it’s rattling down to my bones, my whole body about to fly apart. “I’ll fuck you any way you want, tiger. That’s a goddamn guarantee.” I cry out wordlessly, the sheets in my fists and suddenly he takes the vibrator away, his cock balls-deep in me. “Say my name,” he says. “Alex,” I gasp. “Again.” “Alex,” I shout. I can see him watching me in the mirror.

“Fuck me, Alex,” I moan. He does, hard, and then the vibrator’s back and this time I scream “Fuck me, Alex!” as I come so hard it almost knocks the wind out of me, and then he’s coming too and there’s nothing except us, the waves of pleasure washing over me, him holding me tight and his cock inside me. We stay like that for a long time, his face pressed against the back of my neck. I’m almost afraid. Not of him, but of this, of us, of what’s going on here. I want him so much it terrifies me. I was getting better, here in Portland, but

then he came back and I feel like all that work I did in the last year and a half has just been swept away. It’s like he unlocked a door deep inside me that I didn’t know what was there, and beyond it was just a chasm of filthy, dirty want. That’s not the worst part. The worst part is I think I might like him when we’re not fucking, but I can’t like him. He kidnapped me. I watched him kill two people and break someone’s jaw, and that’s not someone I can be with, that’s someone who has to be my dirty secret. But there’s something macho and primal

about Alex that I’ve never found in anyone else, and God help me, I like it. Behind me, he drags a finger over the side of my hip, watching it in the mirror. Say something, I think. Have a grownup conversation, with clothes and everything. I swallow. After breakfast, I think.

THIRTY-SEVEN

ALEX

e’re still lying there when her W alarm goes off, so she grabs it and turns it off and I roll over onto my back. We look at each other.

“Tell your boss you’re sick,” I say. “It’s Friday. Spend the weekend in bed with me.” She frowns and opens her mouth, so I reach over and put my fingers on it. “Be bad once,” I say. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” I keep my hand there until she nods. She grabs her phone, gets out of bed, and as she walks into the next room, she says something about eating a bad salad last night into her phone. I grin at the ceiling, and then remember that I also have a boss who also expects me at nine, so I get up and make a call too.

We pretty much stay in bed for the weekend. I don’t put a stitch of clothing on the entire time, and Tessa only puts a robe on when she’s answering the door for food delivery. That morning I eat her out on the kitchen counter and then we fuck on the kitchen floor, her knees over my shoulders. We eat breakfast and talk about how different Portland is from Los Angeles, how it’s a little strange that the rivers here are so big and the freeways so small. Then she sits on my lap and feeds me blueberries one at a time, and by the

time the blueberries are gone I’m hard again. She rides my cock and whispers you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had when she comes, like I don’t already know. That’s the weekend, more or less. We fuck in the shower and we fuck on her couch while reruns play on her TV. She gives me a blowjob while Rocky and Bullwinkle is playing and it feels so good that I eat her out again, right there. When I’ve come too many times in a row to do anything, I tell her to go through the toy drawer and find something she likes and just let me watch, but by the end I’m licking her while there’s a vibrator in her pussy and she’s screaming. Afterward my mouth is numb from the

buzzing and Tessa pokes at my lips with her fingers and we laugh about it. Around eight Saturday evening I raise the white flag, sprawled face-down in her bed. She’s next to me in the same position. “I have to stop for a while,” I say. “I’m gonna start coming spinal fluid.” She wrinkles her nose. “Ew,” she says. “It’s your fault,” I say. “It’s not my fault you phrased it like that,” she says. I just grin.

“Sex monster,” I say. She rolls her eyes. “I am not,” she says. I push myself up and then smack her ass, because it’s there and I can. She yelps. “Would the sex monster like pizza?” I ask, getting out of bed. “You cannot call me that,” she says, over her shoulder. I ignore that and find my phone to order a pizza, then sit on the couch. She’s covered it with a sheet, “Because, you know, fluids,” and I lean back and turn on her TV.

A few minutes later she walks out and collapses next to me, curling her legs under her and leaning her head against me. Like we’re a normal couple, or something. I’m pretty sure we’re not, but at some point yesterday I decided to quit wondering whether she likes me likes me or not and just enjoy the weekend. We can talk about us later. I flip through movies on her TV, and I’m scrolling past Rocky III when she puts her hand on my wrist and turns it. “Oh,” she says. “For a second I thought you got rid of the scorpion.” “I probably should,” I say. “I like it,

though.” “Did people really call you that?” she asks, sounding skeptical. “They did,” I say. “El Escorpion in Spanish.” She swallows, quiet. Her eyes are on the tattoo, and I wish I could tell what she was thinking. Then she moves her hand up my arm. “What’s the snake?” she asks. I shrug. “Just a badass snake,” I say. “The saint on your shoulder is Guadalupe, right?”

I raise my arm and kiss the Virgin of Guadalupe tattoo, Mary wearing her starry blue mantle, surrounded by a red and orange halo. “Yup,” I say. “Is this the tattoo quiz?” “Does everyone do this to you?” she asks. “It’s probably annoying.” I just laugh and put the remote down, propping my feet on her coffee table. “I usually lie,” I say. “Are you lying now?” “No.” She moves her head and runs her fingers along the tattoo on my left shoulder and

bicep, the mirror of Guadalupe on my right arm. “Who’s this?” It’s another saint, also wearing a robe with her hands in a prayer position, rosary dangling from her fingers, but she’s a skeleton. “La Santa Muerte,” I say. “Saint Death?” she asks, her fingers still on my arm. “Something like that,” I say. “When I was nineteen, I told her that if I made it to twenty I’d get this tattoo. Here I am, so there she is.” “It worked,” she says. “You’re keeping

her?” “I wouldn’t want to see what happens if I don’t,” I say, only half-teasing. “You believe this stuff,” she says. “I don’t not believe it.” “Still?” “Yeah,” I say. Her fingers slide down my arm again and I turn my hand so my palm is facing up on my thigh. I know she’s looking at the tattoo that’s just two dates: 5/2/1984 - 4/13/2004. Javier’s tattoo.

“That’s your brother, right?” she asks softly, her fingers at the edge of the lettering. I look at her, surprised. “How’d you know that?” I ask. “You said he died when he was nineteen,” she says. “I put two and two together.” “Oh,” I say, and look down at the tattoo. It feels strange that she’s known this whole time, like she was holding onto a piece of me I didn’t know she had. “What was his name?” she asks, leaning her head against La Santa Muerte. “Javier,” I say. My mouth feels sticky

when I say it, because it’s a name I haven’t said to anyone in years. My mom won’t talk about him, and it’s been so long since he died that I’m not sure anyone else remembers. “Javier,” she says. “That’s a good name.” “He was six years older than me,” I say slowly. I don’t know how to tell this story because I’ve never told it before, because everyone either knew already or didn’t need to know. “Were you close?” she asks. “I pretty much worshipped him,” I say.

I’m just staring at the dates on my arm. “I’m sure it drove him crazy to have some kid tagging along all the time, but God, I thought he was so cool.” I go quiet for a moment. “He got shot,” I finally say. “We both did, but I got shot in the arm and he got shot in the chest, right in front of our house. Rampart 18th drive by.” My memory of it is still vivid and sharp around the edges, like it’s made of glass. I’m walking home from school. He’s there, talking to someone. He sees me and nods. A car squeals around the corner and the guy Javier’s talking to shouts OH, SHIT

but before anyone can do anything there’s gunfire and men shouting from a car. Something hits my arm and knocks me backward and the car is gone. For a second there’s total silence, so much silence it’s heavy and eerie even though my arm is on fire, and then I hear Javier gasp, a loud, ragged, wrong sound. I look over and his hands are both pawing at his chest, an astonished look on his face. It takes him a couple minutes to die, and all I can do is cry and shout no. I tell it all to Tessa, the first time I’ve ever told it all to anyone. “Jesus,” she whispers.

“I’m older now than he ever was,” I say. “It’s still weird that to think that I can do something he didn’t do first. In another year I’ll have lived longer without him than I did with him.” She doesn’t say anything, but she laces her fingers through mine and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you made it out,” she says. “Me too,” I answer, and kiss her on the top of her head. I fight the overwhelming urge to say something silly, like because now I’m here with you. After a moment I speak up again.

“You ever seen The Rock?” I ask. “Is that the one about Alcatraz?” she asks. “Hell yes,” I say, and hit play. We’re still holding hands. We hold hands until the pizza guy comes and Tessa scrambles to put on her robe and answer the door, and then we eat pizza. We miss the end of the movie because we’re fucking on the couch.

THIRTY-EIGHT

TESSA

still haven’t talked to him by late ISunday afternoon. I mean, we’ve talked, we just haven’t talked about us. We’ve been talking almost nonstop when we’re not fucking.

It turns out Alex is smarter and funnier than I gave him credit for. He’s still stubborn as hell and pigheaded to boot, but even though we almost get into a fight over what kind of delivery to get he’s always interesting. We both take showers, separately for once, and while he’s in there I take a minute to clean the pizza boxes and takeout containers from my apartment. I even light some candles, even though I have a feeling that this place will smell like sex for at least a month straight. Finally, I sigh and hear the water in the shower shut off. My stomach clenches as I put dishes into the dishwasher.

We are going to have The Talk, and we’re going to do it right now. The bathroom door opens, and Alex walks into the bedroom, probably getting his clothes. My mind is a blur, all the wheels spinning too fast, not helped by the completely outrageous amount of sex we’ve had this weekend. This was fun but we need to discuss what’s going on here, I practice to myself. Ugh, that sounds like I’m scolding a child for something. I wish I’d done this yesterday, or Friday, because now it’s hanging over my head. Alex walks into the kitchen, still totally

naked. I guess he wasn’t getting his clothes. “Cleaning up already?” he asks, coming over to me. “I’m going to work tomorrow,” I say, sliding the top shelf of the dishwasher closed. He leans forward and kisses the top of my head. Not a thing fuckbuddies do, I think. “Me too,” he says. “I don’t think I’d survive another day of you, tiger.” “Poor thing,” I tease. “You’ve had a rough weekend.”

Open your mouth and start talking to him, I think, but then I realize he’s got both hands behind his back and a shiteating grin on his face. I narrow my eyes. “What?” I ask. My body responds before he even says anything. I think it’s a Pavlovian response. After this weekend I’m just conditioned to get wet any time he makes that face. “You want to find out?” he says. “It’s why I asked,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re gonna have to work for it,” he

warns. “I’m probably not that curious.” “It’ll be worth your while,” he says. “I need more information,” I say, pretending like I’m not sure if I want to do this or not. “How worth my while?” “Oh, I think you’re gonna like this, tiger,” he says, his voice going raspy. He takes a step toward me. “I can be the judge of that,” I say. I don’t budge, even though I agree with him. “You can start by getting back in bed,” he says. I just tilt my head to one side and look at

him, and he licks his lips. I’m molten already, heat rising through my body like it’s ninety degrees in here. “Tessa,” he says. “I swear to God I’ll just carry you in there. You know I can do it.” I reach out one finger and slide it down his chest, getting wetter by the second. “Just because you want something, you can’t just—” He doesn’t wait for more. He just picks me up, and I yelp. “I fucking told you,” he says. Whatever he had behind his back is still closed tight in his fist, but I don’t have

much time to think about it before he tosses me onto the bed and then he’s on top of me, his body hard against mine. It’s all I can do not to moan. “You held out on me,” he says, his eyes glinting. “You held out on me this entire time, you kinky minx.” “If that was holding out, I’m almost afraid to see what full disclosure’s like,” I murmur. His cock brushes against my lower belly and I wrap my thighs around his. I think I’d have to turn myself inside to give him any more of me after this weekend. Good job having that talk, the back part

of my brain thinks, but the horny part shuts it up pretty quick. He props one arm on an elbow and holds up something shiny and metal, slightly conical with a flare at one end. I suddenly remember that I bought a butt plug about a year ago, and despite everything I can feel myself turn bright red as I look at it. Alex just laughs. “This is what embarrasses you?” he teases, rolling it between his fingers. “I’d have used this days ago if I knew you wanted it, tiger. I could tell you were a freak from the second I laid eyes on you.”

I swallow and look off to the side, even as his lips are on my collarbone, because that’s not the embarrassing thing. “What is it?” he asks. I take a deep breath. “I wasn’t lying when we met and I was drunk,” I say. He raises his eyebrows. “About being a prude?” he asks. I nod, still not looking at him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re kidding,” he finally says.

I swallow and then look him in the eye. “I’m not,” I say, my stomach twisting into knots. “I had a couple boyfriends and I always thought sex was okay but nothing to get all that excited about, until...” I stop. Until you growled in my ear on the dance floor, I think. Until I told you I liked nice men and you laughed at me. “Until this,” I say weakly. “The toys are all new.” There’s a light in his blue eyes that’s new, and he smiles slowly. “So the freaky, filthy, insanely sexy get-

inside-me-right-now Tessa is just for me,” he says. “So far, at least,” I say, just because I hate to give in to him. He just laughs, and I feel strangely vulnerable, like now he knows about the hold he has on me. I don’t ask how many girls he’s said the same things to, how many women he’s told fit him like a glove, because I don’t want to be jealous. I can’t be jealous. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Just fucking unbelievable. When I saw you in that dress I thought you were

walking sex.” I snort, but my pussy throbs. The butt plug is still in his hand, and I look at it. “Even when I nearly face-planted going for champagne?” I ask. He opens the drawer, grabs a bottle of lube, and squeezes some into his hand. “Even then,” he says, smearing the lube on the plug. God help me, watching him do it gets me excited. I used the plug a couple times by myself, searching for something that would do it for me like he did, but it was never better than just fine. It’s probably been eight months since I used it.

“And even more now,” he says. He kisses the space between my breasts, his face tickling me. “Because now I know that you’re walking sex.” He kisses me right above the belly button, then below it, and spreads my thighs far apart so I’m wide open and completely exposed to him, his in a way I’ve never been anyone else’s. “And I’m never gonna get enough of you, Tessa.” He slides his tongue over my clit and I sigh as he licks me slow, his tongue circling me, teasing me as if I weren’t already wet and ready and desperately

horny, but he takes his time driving me crazy. His tongue has to be sore, I think. He flattens it and drags it over my clit and I moan, grabbing one pillow in my fist. I’m already panting for breath, and I know we’re barely getting started. “I love how wet you are for me,” he says, and slides his tongue between my lips, fucking me with it slowly before sliding it back out. “And I love it when you lose control and give in to it.” He licks me again, and then I feel something hard and slippery right on my back hole. He moves it back and forth, sliding it along the sensitive bud, and I

gasp. Lick. Slide. Lick. “Put it in,” I moan, because I can’t take this any longer. I feel like a black hole of desire and all I want is for him to fill me in any way he can. “Relax, tiger,” he says, his breath hot on my pussy, and I try. There’s pressure on my hole and I hold my breath. It’s not a big plug by any stretch of the imagination, but right now it feels huge as he’s slowly pushing it inside me, his tongue steadily licking me. The sensation of being stretched and

licked at the same time is strange and intoxicating all at once, and it feels like something I’d never imagined. I feel like I’m being invaded, like I’ve given myself over to Alex completely. I moan again as I stretch, and then suddenly it slides in another inch with no warning and I yelp at the sudden, strange feeling of fullness. “It’s in?” I gasp. “It’s in,” he says between licks. “You like having something in your ass while I lick you?” He flattens his tongue again and it’s like there’s an electricity line running between my clit and the plug inside me.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan. “Fuck yes I do.” He chuckles and licks harder and faster, and between that and the plug it’s not long before I’m about to explode, moaning into a pillow. “Make me come,” I say, my toes already curling. “Make me come, Alex.” He flattens his tongue and drags it over me one more time and stars explode in front of my eyes. I gasp his name, over and over as my whole body jolts, the plug sending shivers up my spine while he keeps licking me until I’m so spent that I push him away and he crawls over me, his cock like iron. Alex kisses me with a ferocity that

makes me groan, my own taste on his mouth, his tongue on mine like he wants to be inside me every way he can be. “You’re my filthy sex tiger,” he says into my ear when he pulls away. “I’m a nice girl,” I whisper, and he laughs. “You’re my fuck goddess,” he says. “And it only makes me harder when you argue with me.” “Like I don’t know that,” I say. I wrap my legs around him and reach down for his cock, and it moves the plug inside me, sending a shiver down my back and straight to my clit. I bite my lip

and moan, but then he grabs my wrist and takes it away. “Turn over,” he says, but he just does it for me, rolling me over ny the hips like I’m a rag doll. Now we’re looking at each other in the mirror and he spreads my knees again. He pulls my hips up toward him and grabs a pillow, putting it under my hips. I’m face-down, plugged ass up, spread and wide and ready and just offering myself to him. He grabs my ass in both hands and then runs them over my back. “Say it again,” he says. “I can’t hear it enough.”

“Say what?” I ask, just to taunt him, because I know what he wants me to say. The tip of his cock is just resting at my entrance and I can almost feel myself gushing around it, I’m so ready. “Say it,” he says, his voice lowering to that dangerous pitch, the one that means he’s about to lose control. The one that makes my heartbeat pound through my pussy like it’s an echo chamber. “Fuck me, Alex,” I whisper. “I need you inside me.” He slides inside me slower than I thought possible, just the head of his cock, but it pushes against the plug in my ass and I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut,

barely able to breathe as I swear to God my vision sparkles around the edges. “Jesus, Alex,” I whisper. He’s breathing hard, his tattoos shiny with sweat. In the mirror I can see him kneeling behind me, all that pure hard muscle and his long, thick cock just barely inside me. I look like some kind of ruined, wanton harlot, like I’m so desperate for him that I’d do anything, but I don’t care because right now it’s true. He slides in a little more and then pulls back, like he’s being careful with me even though he can barely control himself, and it’s the absolute hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” I say. My eyes are half-closed and my hands are clutching the sheet so hard I might tear it. “I know,” he says, and then he bends over and kisses my back. Gently. Still thrusting carefully in and out by millimeters, moving the plug in my ass and sending a shower of sparks through me every single time. “I can fuck you however I want,” he says. In the mirror, most of his cock has disappeared inside me. “And right now, I want to feel every millimeter of you, and I want to feel the plug filling your ass, and you want that too.”

I just moan as he fills me more and more, and even though it feels like it takes forever it’s a good forever, like time might have stopped. At last he’s all the way in, his hips flush against my ass in the mirror and I just groan with this feeling of being so satisfied and full. I reach back with one hand and stroke his hip because I feel like I have to touch him. He takes my hand in his and then the other one and somehow I’m even more helpless than before, stuffed in both holes and now I can’t even push myself up because we’re holding hands behind me.

Then he pulls out a little and as he thrusts back inside me he pulls on my arms and slides in deep and we both groan at once. “Do it again,” I manage to say, and he does. “You’re fucking unbelievable, tiger,” he whispers while he fucks me. He’s slow and he’s not exactly gentle, but he’s not rough. “It’s like you were custom made for me.” Every time he thrusts and pulls back on me it moves the plug in my ass and the shiver of that slides down my back along with the pure molten heat that’s at my core.

“No, I think you were made for me,” I say, and this insane possessive feeling washes over like he belongs to me, like he’s mine, and we’re fucking a little harder now, his hands gripping mine tight. “Dirty,” he says, a grin in his voice. “You’re the dirty one,” I gasp. “I was nice until I met you.” “Good,” he says, still thrusting slow and deep, pushing me closer and closer. “I fucking love that you’re only a filthy sex tiger for me.” He fucks me deep and I groan, whatever I was about to say flying out of my head.

“I love the way your cock feels inside me,” I whisper. He goes it again. “Like that?” he growls. “Yes,” I gasp, and he does it again and again. “I love the way you fuck me, Alex.” We lock eyes in the mirror and he gets this look on his face like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t. “Say it again,” he orders. “I love the way you fuck me, Alex,” I say, and I’m almost at the boiling point. I can’t stop. “I love the way you fight me,” — thrust — “and I love how you lick

me,” — thrust — “and I love how you groan when your cock is in my mouth and I love how you touch me,” — thrust, deep breath — “and I love how your bare cock feels when it’s deep inside me and FUCK!” Then I’m just shouting as I come, Alex still fucking me slow and gentle which isn’t the way I wanted it but it’s the right way because it feels like I come in slow motion, sparks breaking over my head as I shatter, totally overwhelmed. “Alex,” I gasp. I’m still coming, still riding the slowest, most perfect wave. “Jesus, Alex. Fuck. Fuck.” “I love watching you come,” he

whispers. “I love how your pussy feels when you come.” I’m still coming. Somehow. “It’s because you make me come so hard,” I say, and then another wave washes over me and I squeeze his hand and push my face into the bed. “Fuck, Alex,” I moan, my voice muffled by the bed. “Oh my god, Alex.” It’s not eloquent, but give me a break. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. I take a deep breath and turn my head to the side, then gasp as another wave overtakes me. I whimper. I feel like I might be dissolving into this bed.

“Come inside me,” I beg. He growls, and a fresh wave breaks over me, this one so intense it brings tears to my eyes. “I need to feel you come inside me,” I gasp, barely aware of what I’m saying. “Please.” “God, Tessa,” he whispers, and then he thrusts again. He drops my hands and bends over me so his chest is against my back, so nearly every part of us is touching. I’m still coming as he whispers, “I love how you fuck me too, tiger,” and then I can feel his cock throb.

“Come for me,” I say, and then he explodes inside me so hard I can feel it. “Fuck yes, Tessa,” he moans, and he says my name over and over again into my ear until he’s totally spent and I am too, finally, and he’s just lying on top of me naked. We don’t say anything, we just look at each other, and at last he rolls off and I roll over, still breathing hard.

THIRTY-NINE

ALEX

“

kay,” she says at last, and she rolls O off the bed and gets up, going into the bathroom, butt plug still in place. She closes the door and I grin.

I can’t believe how lucky I’ve gotten. I feel like I’m living a life that was meant for someone else, but then I wandered into it by accident and now I’m here. Not that I’m complaining. I exhale hard and then roll off of Tessa’s bed. I find my pants in the corner of the room and pull them on for the first time in seventy-two hours, and remember that this is what I was wearing Thursday. Something about that strikes me as funny. I wander into the kitchen shirtless, because even though there’s no possible way I can get another erection this weekend I know she likes having a muscled, tattooed man in her kitchen,

and I like giving Tessa what she wants. Especially since what she wants is me. I fill a glass from the sink and drink it, vaguely trying to figure out what I need to do now. I’ve gotta go back to my apartment tonight, which is disappointing because I’d rather be here with her, but I can’t go to work tomorrow wearing the same thing I was wearing Thursday and reeking of sex. As I’m thinking all this, Tessa’s phone buzzes where it’s charging on the counter, and I glance at it without really meaning to. It’s a message from someone named Aidan.

I frown, and then look away from the phone. It’s not my business. Aidan is probably a coworker or something, or just a friend. The phone buzzes again and it’s another message from Aidan, and now there’s a little ball of black fire growing in my chest, because who the fuck is Aidan and why is he texting Tessa? I can’t help it. I pick the phone up and read the messages, despite knowing I shouldn’t.

Still on for drinks Wednesday? Can’t wait to see you! ;)

The black ball explodes and I grind my teeth together, looking through the message history. I’m snooping through Tessa’s life and I know I shouldn’t, but my raging jealousy can’t be stopped. She last texted him Thursday afternoon, to meet him for drinks at some bar downtown, and their messages are friendly and flirty. It’s a date. Someone else is texting Tessa about a date and I might completely lose my shit right here in this kitchen, even though she thought I was dead when she set it up. I text Aidan back because like hell is someone else going on a date with her.

Sorry, something came up and I can’t make it.

I put the phone back down, knowing full well I shouldn’t have done that, because Tessa is going to be furious. She comes out of her bedroom, wearing a flannel bath robe. “Who’s Aidan?” I ask as she opens a cabinet and grabs a glass. “Aidan?” she says carelessly, furrowing her eyebrows a little. “Oh, I think he’s some guy from a dating app.” Her phone buzzes again as she takes a

drink, and she picks it up and opens the message. It’s just a sad face emoji. From Aidan. Tessa looks at it for a moment, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “Did you text him back?” she asks, shocked. I just shrug, arms crossed over my chest. “Oh, so maybe the ghost in my apartment texted him back while you just happened to be standing here,” she says. “You’re gonna be busy,” I say, and I try to smile at her. The smile doesn’t take. “You can’t cancel dates for me,” she

says, her eyes flashing. She types on the phone with one thumb. More than anything, I want to know what she’s typing. “You’re not going, though,” I say. Now I’m exploding with jealousy, at the thought of someone else taking Tessa on a date, holding hands with her, kissing her. “Yes, I am,” she says. She tosses her phone onto the counter and glares at me again. “It’s not like you’re my boyfriend,” she says. “We’re still dating other people.” “I’m not,” I fire back.

I feel like she’s stabbed me. “Well, I am,” she says, and takes another drink. I think her hand is shaking, and I want to grab the glass and throw it against the wall. I want to punch a hole in the cabinet. Two years ago I’d have done both those things. Now I just leave the kitchen and start pacing, even if I want to break shit more than anything. “What was this, then?” I ask. “‘I love it when you fuck me, Alex’? That’s not a boyfriend thing?” “It’s just fucking,” she says rigidly.

“That’s what this weekend was? Just fucking?” “Pretty much,” she says, and there’s something hard and cruel in her eyes. “So we’re just fuckbuddies,” I say. She nods. “That’s all you want from this. Fuckbuddies.” She nods again, her whole body stiff. “And you want to go on dates with other people. Nice guys,” I say, still stalking back and forth. The black fire inside me has grown and now I’m consumed by it. “I thought you weren’t jealous,” she

spits. “I wasn’t jealous of who you fucked in the past,” I say, even if I was. “I didn’t fuck anyone either, Tessa, not for a year and a half.” “I never asked that,” she snarls. “I thought you were dead and you never told me otherwise.” “I couldn’t,” I say. She rolls her eyes. “You were a slut before this,” she says. “You bragged about it when we met. The guys you killed mentioned it, but I have never brought it up, not once, because it’s none of my business because we’re

just fuckbuddies.” “Sure, I fucked a whole lot of women,” I say. “I got my dick sucked a lot and left a lot of houses at three in the morning and I got into a lot of fights with angry boyfriends, and you know what? I didn’t know half their names. I never fucked them twice. I never spent a weekend with them, I never wanted to date them.” “We can’t date, Alex,” she says, like it’s obvious. “But you can date Aidan.” “Aidan never kidnapped me,” she says. “I’ve never watched Aidan murder someone or break a guy’s jaw.”

“So Aidan’s a good boyfriend and I’m not,” I say. “Because Aidan went to the right college and has the right parents and probably has a consulting job somewhere.” “We can’t be together,” she says, her voice starting to rise. Her arms are crossed in front of her, like she’s protecting herself. “You’re never not going to be the guy who kidnapped me, and the whole world knows it.” “What do you want, Tessa?” I ask. I walk over to her and put my hands on the counter behind her back. I’d never hurt her, not in a million years, but I’d fucking love to punch the wall behind

her. “You want me to be your dirty secret? The guy you call for dick after your real boyfriend disappoints you?” “Don’t put it like that,” she says. I snort. “That’s how it is,” I say. “You think I’m not good enough for boyfriend material so I’m just here to fill your holes until something better comes along.” “You killed people,” she says, and her voice starts to shake. “I saw you. You were professional about it. A shot in the chest and a shot in the head. You broke someone’s jaw after he was down, and

I’m positive that there’s a list of shit you’ve done that’s worse.” She swallows. “You’re dangerous and violent and that’s how you are,” she whispers. There’s steel in her voice. “I would never hurt you,” I say. “Never, Tessa.” “We’re not dating,” she says. Then she walks out of the kitchen and back into her bedroom, and I hear her pulling on clothes. I go in and pick my shirt up off the floor and put it on. I don’t know where my fake glasses are and I don’t care, because I feel like she

stabbed me right in the heart and I just want to get out of here. “I’m leaving,” I call to her from her front door. “Call me when you need just a fuck.” “Ale—” she calls, but I slam the door behind me and stalk down the hall. For a second I imagine that she’s going to come running after me, say she was kidding, that she just likes me when I’m angry. But she doesn’t. I go down the stairs. Her underwear is gone and above where it was is a note in all-capital letters that begins THE STAIRWELL IS NOT A DUMPING GROUND FOR UNDERGARMENTS.

I rip it off the wall and throw it to the ground, and then I leave Tessa’s building.

FORTY

TESSA

lex slams the door and my mouth A snaps shut. I hold my breath and I can hear him stomp down the hallway and open the door to the stairs. Then he’s gone.

I’m the world’s biggest asshole, and I feel so bad I’m almost nauseous. I slide my back down the wall and then I just sit there, covering my face with my hands because that’s not how I meant any of that to go, not at all. It’s true that we can’t date but how the fuck can he not see that? He kidnapped me and the whole world knows that. I still have nightmares sometimes about the sound of that man’s jaw breaking, that sickening crack. Even now I don’t know which one is really him. Every part of me, right down to my bones wants to believe it’s the one who told me about his brother and who kisses my hair and who swears he would

never hurt me, the one who bandaged my feet and held me in the shower and taught me to throw a punch, but what if I’m wrong? What if the other one, the violent one, is the real Alex? If I had any goddamn sense that’s what I’d believe. He pried into my life, after all. He texted Aidan back, and that’s pretty fucked up. I just wish I didn’t feel like a monster. I wish I could stop seeing the betrayed, broken look in his eyes when I told him we were just fucking. That’s what it was. Just fucking. If I keep telling myself that, it has to be true sooner or later.

I go to bed without cleaning the rest of my apartment, but I toss and turn all night.

I force myself to keep the date with Aidan, since my stubbornness about it was what caused all this in the first place. Monday and Tuesday I work late, watch TV, and then go to bed. The more I do, the less I can think. Wednesday I work late again, and then rush out the door to meet Aidan. We’ve never met before, just chatted through Fizzlr, where he thought I was cute and I thought I may as well meet him. I see him right away when I go into the

bar, and he stand up from the table and waves at me. I walk over and he kisses me lightly on one cheek. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Aidan.” “Tessa,” I say, and look around the bar. It’s Portland hipster standard: refurbished wood everything, old-timey dim lightbulbs, bearded bartender wearing a vest with his sleeves rolled up. “This place has really good gin cocktails,” he says. “They use a preProhibition recipe that the owner’s great-grandfather had, and they’ve even re-created the gin recipe from back then.”

He’s excited about it, almost like a little kid, bouncing in his seat a little. “That sounds great,” I say, looking at the cocktail menu. “Which one’s the best?” He starts down the list, explaining each one in detail, and I can tell he just wants to please me, because he’s a nice person. We drink our drinks and chat about what we do. I mention that I moved from Los Angeles six months ago, though I don’t say why. He’s a Portland native, and offers to show me around. He tells me about the best hikes to go on. He offers to make me a list. He’s funny and cool and cute enough and

nice in a way that I’m positive will make someone else very, very happy someday. Outside the bar he asks if I’d like to do it again, his eyes hopeful. I hate this part. “You’re a great person,” I say, gently. “I just don’t think you’re the one for me.” He looks puzzled. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I did have a good time. I really did.” Aidan nods, looking disappointed. “Okay,” he says. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking away, and now I feel like a monster for being an asshole twice this week.

I open a bottle of wine in my apartment, then stand in the kitchen while I drink one glass, leaning my forehead against the cabinet. Why can’t I like nice men? I think. What the hell is wrong with me? I think of Alex calling me his dirty fuck goddess or whatever it was, and heat pools inside me instantly. I have the feeling Aidan would never

call me that. Not even if I asked. I drink some more wine. I look at the side table by the front door and think of Alex saying your cunt fits me like a glove and it sends a delicious shiver over me. My phone is right there. It’s got his number in it. I’m pretty sure he’d come over. I have another glass of wine, and after three drinks total, I’m tipsy enough to do it, because after all, isn’t the worst he can say no? Probably not. Probably the worst he can say is I never want to see you again or I found someone else.

I text anyway, and then flop into a kitchen chair and wait for him to reply.

FORTY-ONE

ALEX

work twelve-hour days, partly Ibecause I like the job and I want to keep it and partly because if I’m not working, I’ve got too much time to think. I don’t even know where Tessa and I left

off, whether she’s going to ever booty call me or whether I can booty call her or what. I just know I left there furious and heartbroken and I can’t believe I let myself like her. I must be some sort of idiot.

Wednesday I work late again, and then two of my coworkers invite me out for a drink after work, and I know that Tessa is meeting Aidan tonight and I need to think about anything else so I say yes. They’re nice enough guys and they take me to a craft brewery, where we sit and talk about office politics and craft brews.

It’s not the company that I’m used to, but it’s what I should get used to, I think. It’s better than the golf talk at that wedding, at least. Halfway through my beer, my phone goes off, and I hope it’s not an email from my boss. Given that my last boss cut off pinkies when he was unhappy, reporting to someone still makes me nervous, even though I know this is much, much different. It’s not. It’s a text from Tessa.

You busy?

I look up at my coworkers, still chatting away. One of them laughs, and I slide my phone back in my pocket and decide to finish my beer before I answer. Make her sweat a little. I last about five minutes and then give up, pulling my phone out of my pocket, because I can’t hear a damn thing they’re saying over my memory of Tessa saying I need you inside me.

No. Come over? OK.

I drain my beer, and my coworkers look over at me. “Next round’s on me,” one says, but I stand. “I’ve actually gotta go,” I say. “Thanks for the invite, though.” That’s what people with these kinds of jobs say, right? ‘Invite’? “Anytime, man,” the other one says, and I leave cash on the bar and walk out.

My dick is already hard when I knock on her door, and for a moment I wonder if I am just a walking dildo or something.

“It’s open,” she calls, so I go in and shut it behind me. “Hi,” she calls from the kitchen. “You want a drink?” I walk back and she holds up a bottle of wine. “No thanks,” I say, letting my eyes crawl down her. All she’s got on is a white V-neck t-shirt with no bra and a pair of black lacy panties. I let my eyes linger on her ass, the black fabric curving into a place I’m positive is already wet. I wonder if she wore them on her date, even though I know that right now

they’re for my benefit. “You’re staring,” she says, working the cork back into the wine. “You’re wearing lingerie in your kitchen,” I say. “Wear a parka if you don’t want me looking at your ass.” “It’s not lingerie,” she says, as I lean against the opposite counter. “Just fancy underpants.” “Was that for me or Aidan?” I ask before I can stop myself. She licks her lips and leans against the other counter. “They’re for whoever I went home with,” she says, her green eyes glittering.

“Apparently he turned you down, then, because here I am,” I say. I don’t think it’s true, because who the fuck would turn Tessa down? I just want to make her mad, because the thought of her with someone else burns me up. She snorts. “He didn’t turn me down,” she says. “He was a perfect gentleman, I’ll have you know.” “How many drinks have you had?” I ask. “Three,” she says. “One on my date and two here.”

“Now you have to drink before you call me?” “I’ve never called you before,” she says. “You caught me when I tripped once and came back from the dead once.” “You thought I might not come,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “So you had to work up the courage to call me after you went out with someone else.” “Does it matter?” she says. “You’re here now.” “Yeah,” I say. “I’m here now, your dirty secret. You go out in public with other men and then call me later when they don’t interest you like I do.”

She glares, but she doesn’t say anything. I lean forward and take her wrist in my hand, pulling her toward me. “Anyone could give you what you say you want,” I tell her. “You call me later because I’ll give you what you need.” Her hands are flat on the counter to my sides and she’s standing with one hip cocked, nipples poking through her tshirt, staring up at me defiantly. Every time I see her I just want her worse and worse. I don’t know what’s going to happen if we keep doing this. I don’t know if I’m going to survive it. “You don’t know anything about the people I’ve dated,” she says.

“I know they’re not me,” I say. “That’s all you know.” “That’s all I need to know,” I say. “If you wanted someone nice you’d fuck someone nice but here I am.” “I thought you weren’t jealous,” she tells me. “I’m not,” I lie. We kiss hard, almost savagely and she rolls her hips against me, rubbing herself against my cock through my pants until she pulls back and moans breathily. I’m still wearing the button-down shirt I wore to work today and she pulls at the buttons, opens it and yanks it off of me,

running her hands along the tattoos. I slide my hands up her shirt and squeeze her perfect, full breasts as she writhes. “I’ve barely even touched you,” I say. “I know what’s coming,” she says, looking up at me with those eyes. I bend down and bite her nipples through the shirt, leaning her backwards, and as I bring her back upright I take her shirt off, her face flushed and wild. I kiss her again, hard, as I grab her ass in those panties and she takes my pants off and then I’m hard and naked in her kitchen. She grabs my cock with both hands and kisses me and groans.

For some goddamn reason, I think of her with someone else, grabbing his dick and groaning like that. Or worse, lying on her back in the dark, yawning while he thrusts away at her. Fuck no. She’s mine, at least right now. “Get into the bedroom,” I growl at her. “Let’s fuck here,” she whispers. I grab her and crush her against me so her hips press against the full length of my hard cock. “Take off your panties and get on the bed,” I say, letting my voice go low and dangerous. I don’t think for a second that she’s

actually going to do it. “Take them off me,” she says. Instead I grab her and hoist her over my shoulder and take her into the bedroom as she shouts, “Dammit, Alex!” I toss her onto the bed on her back and I’m on top of her, pressing my whole body into her as she wraps her legs around me, my cock sliding along the thin fabric between her legs. It’s soaked through and I can feel her heat radiating through it. “Tiger, you make me so fucking hard I think I might jump out of my skin,” I say into her ear.

I curl my fingers around her panties and she sighs, and with my lips I find the spot on her neck, just below her ear that always makes her moan. “There’s one thing that scares me about you,” I say. “What the fuck scares you,” she says. “I think you want me just as bad,” I say. “You could destroy me if you wanted to.” I grab her panties with the other hand and pull. It takes a moment but then the thin fabric tears apart and I toss the torn panties away. “Dammit, don’t—” She starts, but I put

one hand over her mouth. “Don’t pretend you don’t like that, tiger,” I say. “We both know I’m here because you want your panties ripped off of you. You want someone who’s impolite and rough and goddamn fucks you like it, and when you say you don’t, you’re lying to yourself.” She’s breathing hard and looks up at me. I take my hand off her mouth and she grabs it, lacing her fingers through mine, her legs wrapped around me. “You want me,” I say. “Right now you’re wet as fuck and you’re just desperate for my cock, and you don’t know what to do about it, because you’re pretty sure it’s

the wrong thing to want. But here you are, on your back underneath me, aren’t you?” I kiss her neck again and she squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. I press my cock against her and watch her eyes slide shut as the shaft rubs over her clit. “Where the fuck else would I be?” she whispers. “On my back beneath you is a pretty good place if what I want is for you to fuck me already.” “Tell me,” I say. “Why? Sounds like you already know.” “Because it’s sexy as fuck, and it’s

mine,” I say. “Because I love the dirty things you say, and I love them because you say them to me and because when you say them you’re mine.” She puts her other hand on my face and looks at me with that heavy-lidded pure sex look she gets when she’s about to lose control. “All I thought about for three days was how good it feels when you’re here,” she says. “I went on a date with a perfectly nice guy and all I could do was wish he was you, because all he wanted to do was please me.” “I don’t please you?” I ask, teasing her. “You could please me more,” she says.

“Tell me how,” I say. She pulls my face down to hers so our foreheads are touching. “You want dirty?” she whispers. “I want you to fuck me right now, Alex, because it’s the best thing I’ve ever done and I can’t get enough.” I press the length of my cock against her, and I can see the way her eyes light up when I don’t do it right away. “Say it again,” I tell her, my whole body throbbing. “I need you inside me,” she says, and that’s all it takes for me to lose control completely. I slide inside her and she

moans, our faces still pressed together. “Oh fuck you feel good,” she says. “God dammit, tiger,” I say. It’s good. It’s perfect. When I’m inside her I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, like nothing else in the world even exists. “I missed you,” she says softly, panting for breath as I fuck her hard and slow, afraid that I’ll never last long enough if I don’t. “I fucking missed this.” “Leaving you wet on the bed in that cabin was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I say. “I was so mad at you for that,” she

whispers. “I hated how much I wanted you, Alex.” I take one knee in my hand and put it over my shoulder and then I’m in her just a tiny bit deeper and she moans, her eyes sliding closed as her hips move against me and her back arches. It feels incredible, like I’m falling, like I’m lost in her. “Tell me this is just fucking,” I say. I turn my head and kiss the inside of her knee and she’s watching me and the kiss makes her whimper. “Tell me that the filthy things you say are because we’re just fucking,” I say. “Tell

it to me while I’m right here, deep inside you, and you’re whimpering because it feels so good.” She bites her lip and doesn’t say anything, and I fuck her again because it feels so good to be inside her like this and I suddenly don’t know if this is going to be the last time. “You know we’re not just fucking,” I whisper. I can feel her muscles flutter around me as I move slowly inside her. “Don’t,” she whispers. “This is more,” I go on. I wish I could stop, but I can’t. “Just fucking doesn’t feel like this, like I’m only whole when I’m inside you, like when you tell me

you want me my dick might just pop.” I thrust again and she groans, tossing her head back, and Jesus it’s beautiful. “I know,” she finally whispers. I need her closer. I don’t even know how but I do, so I lift her up and move until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, still inside her, and she wraps her legs around me and moves her hips back and forth so I’m just barely sliding in and out of her. “Alex,” she whispers. “I love this,” I growl, my hands on her hips as she writhes on my cock. “I love every second I spend inside you and

every second I spend touching you and Jesus, Tessa, I fucking need you.” She takes my face in her hands. “I love the way we fuck,” she whispers. “I love the way you make me come so hard I forget my name and the only one I can think of is yours.” “Say it,” I say. “Come for me.” I grab her hips and push down and she groans, her forehead against mine. “Alex,” she whispers. “Say it again, tiger,” I say. Her pussy muscles flutter around me like she’s losing control, and I’m barely keeping it. The second she goes over the edge I’m

done for. “Alex,” she murmurs again. “God, I’m close, Alex.” “Let me feel you come,” I say. “Nothing feels better than being bare inside you when you come.” I kiss her and she moans into my mouth, her muscles tightening around me. “Say my name again,” I growl. “Alex,” she whispers, and then her muscles clamp down around me. “Oh fuck, Alex.” She whispers Alex over and over and that’s what makes me go go over the edge. I feel like I’m drowning. inside

her, like I almost don’t know where she ends and I begin. I’m fucking lost in her, pulled into a whirlpool of Tessa and I think I’m just saying her name over and over again like it’s a prayer, but I don’t even know. After a long time I float to the surface and she’s got her arms wrapped around me, holding my head tight to her chest. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say, so I stay perfectly still and go soft inside her. I listen to her heartbeat and I wonder if this is the last time. I wonder what the fuck I’m going to do if it is.

FORTY-TWO

TESSA

e’s quiet for a long time, and we stay H like we were. After I finish I realize he’s in my arms and I’m in his and I’m stroking his hair. At last, he takes a deep breath and I

tense. “I don’t think I can do this, Tessa,” he says. I swallow, because I think I know what’s coming. “Do what?” I ask. “I can’t be your fuck buddy,” he says. “I can’t be your backup plan. I can’t be your dirty secret. I can’t torture myself like this, coming over at night and doing this and never getting the rest of you.” This is exactly what I was afraid of. I stand, wobbly at first, and walk to the window and peek through the curtains at the lights of Portland, resting my head

against the window. I wish that anyone else had kidnapped me, but no. It had to be the one person I want more than anything. After a minute, he follows me. “Tessa,” he says. I don’t move. “Turn around,” he says, and I still don’t, because I’m afraid that I’m going to be seeing him for the last time. “Fucking look at me,” he says, and puts a hand on my shoulder and I finally spin around, looking up into his perfect blue eyes. I swallow.

“What?” I whisper, because I’m on the verge of tears. “I can’t keep acting like I didn’t fall for you,” he says, his voice somewhere between sad and angry. “This is gonna tear me into goddamn pieces if we keep it up, tiger. I can’t be with you halfway.” I sigh, and suddenly the dam I’ve been holding back breaks and I start crying. “Fuck,” I mutter, wiping away tears. “Goddammit, I hate this.” Alex reaches out for me but I step back, out of his reach, and take a deep breath. “I’m afraid that there’s two of you,” I finally say. “There’s the you who’s here

now, who fucks my brains out and who moved to Portland to find me and who tells me about his dead brother, and there’s the version of you who shoots people without thinking twice and breaks people’s jaws,” I say. Now I’m shaking, still holding myself. He steps forward but I hold up one hand. “I think the first one is the real you,” I say, my voice just a broken whisper. “And I cried for weeks when I found out that Alex died, even though I never told anyone. I moved here to get away from thinking about it, and I tried to forget it happened because I knew I could never explain it to anyone. Because it sounds completely insane to say that the one

person you want, more than anything else, is the guy who kidnapped you.” I gulp air. “I like that Alex,” I say. “But I’m still afraid I’m wrong, that the other version is the real one. I’m afraid I’m lying to myself because I’m some kind of idiot. That I couldn’t see the truth because I liked you too much.” “It’s not,” he says. “I swear to God, Tessa, it’s not.” I just look at him, both hands shaking and in front of my mouth, like if I keep them there he can’t tell what a goddamn mess I am.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, and I just nod and then he’s pulling me against him, my head in the spot where the LC tattoo used to be. I give up trying to keep it together and just sob into the arms of the man whose heart I think I broke, because the world is ass-backwards sometimes. “And then you were dead and I thought it was over and I wouldn’t have to decide,” I whisper. “How do you mourn someone you’re not supposed to want but do?” “I wanted to tell you,” he said. “I couldn’t. I wanted to.” “I’m sorry,” I whisper between sobs. “I

think I fucked this up and I don’t even know what un-fucked looks like.” He just strokes my hair and holds me tight until the sobbing stops and I get the hiccups. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks. “No,” I whisper. “I didn’t think so,” he murmurs. “You never acted like it.” “I should have been,” I say. “I’m glad you weren’t,” he says. “A lot of people were.” I swallow.

“I always felt safe when you were there.” “Even when you thought I was going to shoot you?” he asks. There’s a long pause. “Well, no,” I say. “But that worked out.” “I couldn’t think of any other way to do it,” he says. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “Don’t be,” I say. “That morning, when I left, I called my boss and he told me he’d sent guys to kill you because he knew I didn’t want to,” he says, slowly. “And I tried to tell

him that he shouldn’t, but it was already done.” He squeezes me tighter. “So I decided to rat on the cartel instead of letting them kill you,” he says, and then sort of laughs. “I actually didn’t think I’d survive this long.” I hold him tighter against me. “But I knew I’d rather die than let them hurt you,” he says. “I never regretted it. Even if you turn me down right now and I walk out of here and never see you again, I don’t regret it.” “Don’t go,” I say automatically. “Don’t turn me down,” he says.

“You haven’t suggested anything yet,” I say. He laughs. “Don’t ever stop arguing with me,” he says. He leans back and pushes my hair out of my face. “Is that the suggestion?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows. “Give me a shot,” he says, his voice going serious. “Go on dates with me. We’ll see movies and go to dinner and whatever it is regular people do.” I can’t help smiling.

“I’ll bring you flowers and chocolates and shit, and I’ll pick you up for dates and we’ll meet each other’s friends and everything,” he says. “You want to be my boyfriend,” I say. “Yes,” he says. “Tessa, let me be your boyfriend. At least try me out.” I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. “You cannot go through my phone and text people,” I say. “I know better,” he said. “I swear, never again.” “Never?”

“Never,” he says. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” I run my hand down his arm, skimming over the tattoos of Santa Muerte and his brother’s dates, and I have this moment of wonder that despite all this, he’s here with me now. It almost feels like gratitude. “I can get rid of La Santa Muerte if you want,” he offers. “Don’t,” I say. “I’m glad you made it to twenty.” “Good. I’d like to make it to thirty.” “Don’t get rid of any of them,” I say. “Who you used to be isn’t going to just

disappear.” “So if you’re telling me what to do with my tattoos, is that a yes?” he asks. “It’s a yes,” I say. “As long as I’m still your fuck goddess.” “And my dirty fuck tiger or whatever I said the other day,” he says. “Can I have a kiss?” I snort. “Don’t start that,” I say. “Start what?” he asks. “Don’t start asking permission because you’re my boyfriend now,” I say. “Just fucking kiss me.”

He does.

EPILOGUE: TESSA A YEAR AND A HALF LATER

“

aybe he got cold feet,” our friend M Josh says. His girlfriend Marisol rolls her eyes and smacks him playfully.

“He’s parking,” she says. Alex’s mom comes up and puts her hand on my shoulder. “He would never,” she says, very seriously. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m not worried. He’s parking the car.” My dad looks at the big clock in the atrium of Portland City Hall as the minute hand clonks over ominously. Four minutes to three, when we’ve got our appointment. “Maybe he made a break for the Canadian border,” Josh says. Marisol and I just roll our eyes.

“What’s Canada got that I don’t have?” I ask, giving Josh a hard time while I wait. “Moose?” he asks. “Sure,” Marisol says. “Alex got cold feet and left her at the altar because she doesn’t have any moose.” Josh just grins and kisses her on the cheek. The clock ticks over again and my dad elevates his pacing to a whole new level. He and Alex’s mom are the only ones here who know the real story of how we met, and I wish they would stop exchanging those looks.

Alex and I drove here together. Ten minutes ago. From our apartment. He dropped me off out front of City Hall because I’m wearing heels and went to go park the car. I’m not getting jilted, for fuck’s sake. But when the clock ticks down to two minutes left, I start worrying. Not that he’s left, but that we weren’t as safe as we thought. That some leftover element of La Carretera found him parking his Honda Civic in downtown Portland, or that someone he busted in his new job got mad and took him out. Finally, with one minute left, I see him walk through the front door below and

look up at us, standing on the third floor mezzanine. I wave. Josh and Marisol cheer. His mom puts her hand on her heart. My dad relaxes visibly. Alex gives us a thumbs up, then jogs to the stairs. “I told you,” I say. Moments later he’s turning the corner and walking toward us, looking sharp as fuck in a three-piece suit, every bit as tall and handsome as when we met three years ago. “Sorry,” he says, coming up to me and putting a hand on my back. “The parking

garage was full and I had to go to a different one.” “We thought you left for Canada,” Josh says. “Nobody thought that,” I say. “Why Canada?” Alex asks. “All the strip clubs are right here in Portland.” I laugh. His mom looks embarrassed and my dad frowns, but then the door to the Pioneer Room opens and there’s a hush for a moment. “Last chance for Canada, buddy,” Josh says. The four of them go in first and sit down, but just as I’m about to follow them,

Alex grabs my hand and tugs me back outside. “I want one last kiss from my girlfriend,” he says. “I’m your fianceé,” I say. “You gonna argue, or you gonna kiss me?” he asks, putting his hand on my lower back as he bends down and plants his lips on mine. I put one hand on his shoulder and move my mouth against his just a little and his arm tightens around me. It goes on a little longer than a public kiss in City Hall probably should. When we pull back he takes my hand in his and

smiles at me. “Ready, tiger?” he says. “Ready,” I say. We walk in holding hands, and all four of our wedding guests applaud politely. The Justice of the Peace is a smiling woman with gray hair and glasses, and whatever she says I barely hear. Alex holds my hands in his and even though he’s trying to listen to what the officiant is saying, he’s absently rubbing one thumb over my knuckles, and it’s so comforting and protective and I’m so overwhelmed that I somehow ended up here, with him, that I almost cry.

The officiant lowers the book she’s holding and looks at us. “Tessa and Alejandro have written their own vows,” she says. “Who’s going first?” “Me,” I say instantly, because I’m already on the verge of losing my shit completely. I pull out a typed sheet of paper, because I’ve been working on this for a month and got all the words totally perfect. I take a deep breath and crumple it into nothing, then look up at Alex. “I was never sorry I met you,” I say. He squeezes my hand. It’s probably a

weird way to start wedding vows, but this is an atypical wedding. “There was one time when we first started dating that we just watched movies all day on the couch,” I say, looking up at him. “And I remember I fell asleep on you almost right away, because even then, I knew I was safe when I was with you.” “Pretty Woman?” he murmurs, and I nod, glad that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “I love that you’re never boring,” I say, my voice just a whisper now. “I wake up every day and think how fucking lucky I am that you’re there next to me, against

all odds.” I swallow. I’m crying now. “I love you,” I barely manage to whisper. There’s a loud sniffle from the crowd. Alex’s mom is crying. “My turn?” he asks. I just nod, pretty sure that if I say anything I’ll have a total break down. “You’re the bravest person I know,” he says. “I fell for you the second I met you. I’m still falling. I would have crawled across the desert on my hands and knees to get back to you. I’d do it tomorrow. Sometimes I see you across a room and

still can’t believe that you’re mine, and I wonder if this is a dream and I’m going to wake up someday.” He swallows, and his voice lowers. “This is it, tiger,” he says. “You were it for me from the moment I caught you. No one makes me feel like you do.” He sneaks a quick glance at his mom, then leans in close to my ear. “You’re my filthy sex tiger and you’re my fuck goddess, and I fucking love you,” he murmurs. I turn bright red, and he’s grinning. “I love you,” he says again, this time so everyone can hear it.

The officiant nods. If she heard what he said, she’s got a great poker face. “Do you have rings?” she asks, and Marisol jumps up, handing them over. Alex has mine and I have his. It’s a thick, simple gold band but it’s heavy in my hand, and I realize that Alex is going to wear this for the rest of his life, this thing I’m about to put on him. I close my hand around it and squeeze. “Do you, Alejandro, take Tessa to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “I do,” he says. I slide the ring onto his finger and then squeeze his hand.

“And do you, Tessa, take Alejandro to be your lawfully wedded husband?” “I do,” I say. He slides mine on, a smaller, thinner version of his, and I stare at it for a moment. Then I look up at him, and he starts grinning, and I do too. “Now that you’ve exchanged vows,” she says. “By the power vested in me by the state of Oregon, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Then I’m in Alex’s arms and he’s in mine and kisses me. It’s soft at first, tender, but then after a moment it deepens and I nearly forget where I am, in front of several people during my own

wedding because there’s nothing but the two of us. Finally we pull back and realize the officiant is looking at us with a wry expression on her face, and everyone is laughing. “You may now kiss the bride,” she says, and he does.

We go for dinner and drinks with our parents and our friends. The restaurant figures out from my tea-length white dress that we just got married, so they give us free champagne. “Appropriate,” he murmurs in my ear.

“We met when you leapt for champagne.” “I thought we met when you saw my picture the night before,” I whisper. “That wasn’t meeting, tiger,” he says back. We’re being super rude, carrying on right at the dinner table like this, not including anyone else. “That was just lust at first sight.” “Romantic,” I say. “You should have included that in your vows.” “I thought fuck goddess got it across pretty well,” he says, and for a second I think he might bite my ear while his mom

is watching, but he doesn’t. I wonder how inappropriate it would be to sneak off and fuck my husband in the bathroom of this very fancy restaurant.

We rented a hot tub suite in the Portland Biltmore with the money we didn’t spend on a wedding, and the moment the elevator doors close my back is against the elevator wall and his erection is pressing against me, both his hands on my ass. “I was right about something,” I say. “What?” he asks. “We never did fuck in an elevator,” I

say. “Not yet,” he says. “We’ve got ten more floors, tiger.” “Then get to it,” I say, unbuttoning his suit vest as the elevator slows. A couple with two young children gets on. They look confused when the elevator’s going up. We behave ourselves until our floor, and then Alex pushes me up against our hotel room door. “I still want you bad enough to fuck you right here,” he whispers, pulling my dress up as I bite his bottom lip. He moves his fingers up my thigh all the

way to the top, and then frowns. Then laughs. “You forgot panties, tiger,” he says. “I didn’t forget them,” I say. He runs one finger along my slit, grinning, and I arch my back against the door, fighting down a moan. At last, he reaches into his pocket and pull out the key card. He unlocks the door and then picks me up, carrying me inside and pushing me against a wall as I wrap my legs around him. “Think you taste married now?” he asks into my ear.

“Wait,” I say. He frowns. “I have a surprise,” I say. “Put me down.” “What is it?” he asks. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” I say. He grumbles but puts me down, and I head to the room where our suitcases are. In no time flat I’ve changed out of my wedding dress and into another outfit completely, and as I walk back to where Alex is, I grab a bottle of water from the dresser and then stand in the doorway.

“Holy fuck,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. I walk toward him slowly, then sit on the edge of the hot tub and open the cap on the water bottle as he watches me, nearly panting with anticipation. I take one sip of water, and just let him think about what’s going to happen. I’m wearing a tight white tank top, no bra, and a denim cutoff skirt that would get me arrested if I wore it outside. I pour the rest of the water on myself and then stand up and Alex is there, his mouth on mine as I tear him out of his clothes. “I’m not driving this time, tiger,” he

says. “Maybe it won’t be so hard to get you to give me what I want,” I say. He laughs. “When has that ever been hard?” he says. “Say the word and I’m yours. I always have been.” He bites one nipple through the wet fabric. “Tell me what you want, tiger, and I’ll fucking do it.” “I want the same thing as always,” I say. I’m molten and electric and I’ve had a couple glasses of champagne.

“What’s that?” he asks. “You,” I whisper. “Now.” He pushes me backward onto the bed and then he’s on top of me. We’ve done this a thousand times by now, but I’m still as desperate for him as I was that day in the car. “What if I can never get enough of you, tiger?” he murmurs into my ear. “I think I’m always going to want more.” “I’m right here and I’m yours,” I murmur back. I put one hand on La Santa Muerte and for a moment, I thank her for keeping him safe. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours. Forever.” He groans and licks my neck. “I like that,” he says. “I like it too,” I say. Then he pauses for a moment and lifts himself up and looks me in the eyes. “I love you,” he suddenly says. “And I love this.” “I love you,” I say back. “And I love being your fuck goddess.” He grins. “Good, because you’re stuck with it.” He kisses me again.

“Always,” he whispers.

The End

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ABOUT THIS BOOK

La Carretera, Chavez Heights, Rampart 18th, Chavez 13, and the Beverly Hills Resort are all fictional. On the other hand, Calabasas, Encino, Los Angeles, Ballarat, Lone Pine,

Bishop, Yosemite National Park, Portland, and pretty much everything else are real.

ALSO BY ROXIE NOIR North Star Shifters Shifter Country Bears Shifter Country Wolves Copper Mesa Eagles

ABOUT ROXIE

I love writing sexy, alpha men and the headstrong women they fall for. My weaknesses include: beards, whiskey, nice abs with treasure trails, sarcasm, cats, prowess in the kitchen, prowess in the bedroom, forearm tattoos, and gummi bears. I live in California with my very own sexy, bearded, whiskey-loving husband and two hell-raising cats.

roxienoir www.roxienoir.com [email protected]

Here’s your free BONUS book, Shifters & Soulmates!

ONE: NATHAN

athan revved his bike’s engine, N sitting at one of three stoplights in town. He knew it was probably pissing off the shopkeepers of Fjords, Alaska, but he reveled in the sound echoing off their

brick-and-glass storefronts. If he had to attend this engagement party, then he could make them listen to his racket. He already knew that Violet, his alpha’s mate, was probably going to murder him when he showed up on his motorcycle, but he didn’t particularly care. She couldn’t actually do anything to him, and this terrible party wouldn’t even have alcohol. What kind of party was a dry party, anyway? The light turned green and he roared forward, shooting ahead of the cars at the same intersection. For a moment, he considered not going to the party, just

taking the bike up the mountain and driving around for a few hours. But then Brock, his alpha, would be pissed, and his opinion actually did matter. Nathan’s job was security, though he didn’t know how much he’d have to do at a party with no booze. He sighed again and gunned his motorcycle into the gravel parking lot of the Fjords Room, his town’s most upscale event space. That wasn’t really saying much. “I thought you were going to wear a tie,” said Violet when he walked up to the door. She and Brock stood outside, greeting all the North Star clan members as they made their way inside.

He could hear the acid in her voice, but he didn’t really care what Violet thought. Nathan shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I don’t have one,” he said, meeting her steady blue gaze. He clenched his jaw, determined not to be the first one to look away, and he wasn’t. Instead, her eyes took a long, steady trip down his body, disapproval practically dripping from her face. “No jacket, either?” “Nope,” said Nathan. Brock, the North Star clan’s alpha, wasn’t paying attention to them. Instead

he was looking over the men and women trickling into the building, and Nathan could tell that he was mentally ticking off who was there and who was late. “Well, we were hoping to impress our visitors,” Violet said, pursing her lips. She looked up at Brock as she did, seeking backup. “It’s fine,” he said distantly, his eyes still roaming over the mostly-gray landscape, looking for people in the parking lot. “You know the Yukon City clan is somewhere between religious fanatics and rednecks.” Nathan’s eyebrows shot up, and Violet looked around quickly, to make sure that

no one had heard him. Brock had been trying to get the Yukon clan to agree to this betrothal for weeks. “No one heard me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He, of course, wore a dark gray suit, tailored to perfection. Finally, he looked Nathan in the eyes, coming back to earth. “You’re at the front table, on security.” Nathan nodded. He was always on security. It was, after all, his role in the clan. The enforcer. “You expecting anything?” Brock shook his head. “No. They seem like they ought to know how to behave,

but there are some cousins of the bride’s coming from pretty deep into the country. I don’t get the impression they spend a whole lot of time as humans.” Inwardly, Nathan groaned. It was true that being a bear was in their nature — it was in his nature, too — but there was such a thing as too much bear time. If you didn’t shift back into human form at least sometimes, you tended to go feral. Your social graces and manners went to shit. You roared and tried to claw other people at the smallest slight. You might start throwing your wine glass around, just because someone said the wrong thing.

In short, they were a lot harder to control. “I expect Jonah’s got them on their best behavior, though,” Brock said, going back to scanning the parking lot. “He does have an impressive level of control over that clan.” The words sent a slight shiver down Nathan’s spine. Was a level of control like that what Brock wanted, as the North Star clan’s alpha? It sure seemed like he already had a hold over them. “I’ll head in now,” Nathan said, nodding his head at the alpha mates. They nodded back, and he bounded up the steps to the Fjords Room.

In some past life, the Fjords Room had been a fishery, perched perfectly on the rocky edge of the water, leaning over the sea on enormous columns. Then, sometimes in the past fifty years, the fishing business had changed, moving further out into the ocean. Now, fisherman mostly processed fish on their own boats, making buildings like this one obsolete. All the others had been torn down, but the town had managed to save this one, completely remodeling it into a big room with a kitchen. The sort of place where people held weddings or big parties. Or, in this case, a betrothal, whatever the hell that was. Not that it really mattered

to Nathan, since he’d understood for years that he’d never get married or have a mate. Opening the big wooden door, Nathan scanned the room quickly, but nothing really stuck out to him. Boring, nicely dressed people milled around tables, drinking water and coffee. No one would quite make eye contact with him, and when they did, they looked at him and then at the floor, almost as if they were slightly afraid of him. Nathan knew he had a reputation, and tried not to let it bother him. Enforce the rules of an alpha as rigid as Brock and you got one after a while, he thought. It didn’t really matter.

He wished again that he were somewhere else, doing something that interested him even a little. I can’t believe this is a dry party, he thought again. Instead, he sauntered over to a side table, where there were a dozen platters full of cookies, pastries, and other sweets, all covered in a thin layer of plastic wrap. The sight of them made his mouth water, and he wondered when the last time he’d eaten had been. Well. It had been lunch, two hours ago. That didn’t make the desserts any less appetizing, though. Not even bothering to be sneaky, he

lifted the wrap on an incredible-looking platter of some kind of chocolate-filled tart and grabbed one from the edge. He replaced the wrap messily, and then lifted the confection to his mouth and bit in. The crust offered just a little resistance and then his teeth sank into the chocolate center, soft but firm at the same time. It practically melted on his tongue, and it tasted absolutely divine, like the fanciest chocolate he’d ever tasted, but fancier. He groaned, deep in his chest, very quietly. Just as he was taking another bite, the kitchen door swung open and someone

came out, carrying a huge cake on a cake stand. Then she stopped short, just in front of him. “Are you eating the mousse tarts?” a female voice asked, accusingly. Nathan had just sunk his teeth into another bite, and his mouth was full as he looked down to see who’d just accosted him. He forgot to chew. She had curly red hair, pulled back, and bright blue eyes. Freckles smattered across her nose and cheeks, with high cheekbones, a strong chin, and perfectly

plush lips. The kind of lips that Nathan could just imagine pressing his own against, or even better, the kind of lips he could just imagine wrapped around his cock, pumping up and down... She was still staring at him, eyes flashing with irritation, and she put the huge cake down in the spot reserved for it, then wiped her hands on the apron she wore. “They’re wrapped up for a reason,” she snapped, glaring at him. Then she pushed past him to the platter he’d disturbed, wrapping the plastic tightly again. When she was close to him, Nathan felt almost high. She smelled wonderful, a

combination of flowers and lemon, plus another, dizzying aroma underneath it all. Her scent. As she bent over the table, just a little, Nathan suddenly noticed her body. She was tall, though not as tall as him, with a generous bosom, a little waist, and ample hips. Her ass alone was incredible, and Nathan had to force himself not to reach out and squeeze it — or, worse, to press her against the table, lift her skirt, and just take her right there in front of everyone. Deep inside, his bear roared and he had to force it down. She stood up again and gave him a

withering glare, then snatched the rest of the tart from his hand, brushing her fingers against his for half a second. Nathan felt like a bolt of electricity had gone through him. “This is for after the ceremony,” she said, as though she were scolding a child. Then she turned and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry,” Nathan called to the nowclosed door. It was all he could think to say. He almost felt as if he’d had the air knocked from him, but she hadn’t done

anything but look annoyed and take away his treat. It was just her, the way she smelled, dear God, the way she looked. Nathan stood rooted to that spot for a few more moments, trying to process what had just happened. I saw a goddess, he thought. Then he thought, Is this how people feel when they meet their mates? That gave him the kick he needed to move again. Of course she wasn’t his mate. He didn’t have a mate, and he never would. That was ludicrous. She was just some really hot lady who

smelled really good was all. It’s been over a week, Nathan thought, finally turning around and heading into the main part of the room. I’ll head down to Seward tonight and get some cruise ship tail. That should fix me right up. Even as he smiled at the thought, there was a tiny itch of doubt, deep down inside.

TWO: LEAH

eah shut the door to the kitchen and L then stood right inside it, holding half a tart in her hand. She’d just snatched it from some stranger who’d had the nerve to try to eat it before her betrothal

ceremony. What an asshole, she thought to herself, but the thought didn’t have any teeth. Instead, when she’d first seen him, she’d felt a sudden shock, and for a split second, she thought she knew him already, that maybe he was some longlost relative or Yukon clan member that she hadn’t seen since she was a girl. Then, a moment later, once she’d given him a good, long look up and down, she realized she didn’t know him at all — it was a different kind of recognition that she’d felt. It was the kind of recognition that people in fairy tales and legends felt. Soul

recognition, like two halves of the same spirit coming back together. In the stories, it was how people knew when they’d met their mate. Leah shook her head and lifted the halffinished tart to her lips. Betrothal jitters, she told herself firmly. Ian’s your mate. Of course Ian’s your mate. Daddy wouldn’t mislead you. Still, for another moment, she thought of the mystery man’s huge frame, his muscles bulging against his dress shirt that he obviously wasn’t used to wearing. He’d look much better in nothing at all,

she half-thought to herself, something warm and molten beginning to pool between her legs. Stop it, she thought, and lifted the halffinished tart to her lips and took a bite. For a split second, her tongue felt the ridges that his teeth had left in the chocolate, skipping over them, and she thought of him kissing her, his tongue invading her mouth and wrestling with hers... Then Leah shook her head, hard, and proceeded into the kitchen, giving everything one final glance before she went to get changed. The desserts were all out, the cake finished, and her two sisters were finishing pouring sparkling

apple juice into about two hundred champagne flutes for the end of the ceremony. “Go!” shouted Rebecca, her next-oldest sister. “Don’t be such a control freak,” agreed Abigail, lovingly. “I’m not a control freak, I just want to make sure you’re doing it right,” Leah said, peeking over their shoulders. “We can pour apple juice,” said Emily, her youngest sister, who was only twenty. “Go get betrothed already.” “You deserve this,” confirmed Rebecca. “Okay, okay,” said Leah.

One last peek, and she was out, rushing to the tiny back room she’d put aside to get changed in. It wasn’t like this was her wedding or anything, except, well, it kind of was. For as long as anyone could remember, the Whitehorse clan had celebrated betrothals about a week before they’d celebrated weddings, in the interest of giving the two engaged people time to get to know each other at least a little before mating for life. Yukon City was so small that nearly everyone Leah had ever known was family, so they had a long tradition of arranged marriages with the other bear clans in the north.

Now, at least, it was Leah’s turn, and god knew she’d waited for long enough: two of her younger sisters, Rebecca and Abigail, were already married. It had been hard to watch them make good matches long before her father had even tried with her, even though he constantly assured her that he was looking for someone for her to marry. She’d always wondered if it was the way she looked. Her sisters weren’t skinny, but she had a good fifty pounds on them, a body that never seemed to follow her orders. When she was eleven, her breasts had grown four cup sizes in a month, and she still had stretch marks across her hips and thighs. It didn’t seem to matter that she had an

hourglass figure — bear men just weren’t interested in bigger girls like her. Now she was thirty-two, and until her father matched her with Ian, she’d been afraid of being alone forever. Quickly, she shimmied out of her dress, hung it on a hanger, and then donned a three-quarter-sleeve blue dress. Her mother had made it, and it was simple but flattering, hugging her in exactly all the right places, covering her elbows and knees, as was proper. There was a knock on the door. “Leah, it’s me,” said her mother’s voice.

She opened the door and her mother walked in, a solid woman in her fifties, eyes still bright and one streak of gray hair on each temple. “Turn around,” her mother said. Leah obeyed, and her mother zipped the dress up, then spun her daughter back around. “Perfect,” her mother said, and for just a moment, her face softened. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “Thanks,” said Leah, slightly puzzled. She hadn’t really done anything. “You hung in there, even when everyone else was getting married,” the other

woman said, as though she could read Leah’s thoughts. “I know it was hard. You wanted to get your life started already, but I think we’ve made you a wonderful match, sweetie.” Leah had one fleeting thought of the man who’d been eating the tart a few minutes earlier. The one who’d sent a shudder through her whole body when their fingers touched for a split second. “I’m really happy, mom,” she said, making herself smile. “You look beautiful,” her mother said, kissing her forehead. Deep down, Leah felt another tiny twinge of doubt. If Ian was her mate,

what had just happened to her? She forced herself to brush her worries aside and stood up tall. “Let’s go get me betrothed,” she said to her mom, who smiled.

In front of the Fjords Room, there was a very small stage. Leah peeked from a door, off to the side, her heart nearly beating out of her chest. The thing was, technically, she’d never met Ian. They’d written a few letters, of course, and spoken on the phone, but they hadn’t met. Then, just as the ceremony was about to

start, a man with graying hair in a threepiece suit walked to the front of the room and stood behind her father as he took his place at the podium. The entire room hushed. Leah thought that her heart might beat right out of her chest. That was him! That was Ian, her mate. She waited for the rush of recognition she’d felt earlier, with the mystery man, but it didn’t come. There was no sensation that she’d somehow known him all her life, or that she’d seen him once a long time ago and couldn’t remember his name.

There was nothing wrong with Ian. He was handsome enough, and he looked good enough in his suit. But she didn’t feel almost dizzy looking at him. Suddenly, hands were pushing her forward, out the door, towards the podium and toward Ian. He offered a huge smile and held out both his hands. As she walked, forcing herself to smile, Leah scanned the crowd quickly. There he was. The mystery man. Sitting at the table in the front — her table — between one of her sisters and a cousin, looking straight at her. For just a second, their eyes locked, and

Leah felt that strange sensation again, the feeling that she knew this man already, that she’d already known him for a long, long time. Then her hands met Ian’s, and she tore her gaze away. She looked up at her betrothed mate, smiling down at her, and her father began the rite. You’re doing the right thing, Leah told herself. Just ignore that other guy, and you’ll be fine.

THREE: NATHAN

ver since she had gone back into the E kitchen, leaving Nathan feel both breathless and tartless, he’d been trying to spot her again, but he wasn’t having any luck. Even though he’d stood around

the kitchen door, trying to peek in every time it opened, he hadn’t had any luck. Finally, he gave up on that venture, at least for now. The betrothal rite seemed to be starting, though, to be honest, Nathan wasn’t exactly sure what it entailed. No one had ever gotten betrothed in Fjords before, but apparently, it was the norm for the shifters from Yukon City. He wasn’t even clear on what it meant. Some kind of trial marriage, before the real marriage? Brock had said that it had originated because the Yukon clan had so many arranged marriages. If a marriage really, really wasn’t going to work, the couple had a week to figure it

out before being fully and irrevocably mated. But Brock had also said that, in practice, no one ever really got out of a betrothal. In practice, it was nearly as strong as mating, and undoing it simply wasn’t done. Trying to keep a watchful eye on the rednecks, Nathan sat at the table in the front. The man to his left was wearing khakis and a polo shirt — clearly his nicest outfit — but he was missing one front tooth. The man across the table from him was watching the ceremony while picking his teeth with a fingernail. No social graces at all, these

backwoods bears, he thought. We might be rough, but we can act right in public. As if on cue, the teeth-picking shifter across the table from Nathan ripped an incredibly loud fart, and Nathan had to stifle his laughter. Then, two men walked forward and a hush fell over the crowd. One was a man with gray hair and a long matching beard, who Nathan figured must be Jonah Whitehorse, the alpha of the Yukon clan. Jonah was a man with a certain reputation. It was said that he kept his clan on an even tighter leash than Brock did. After all, Brock didn’t control who married who in the North

Star clan. For the most part, with exceptions, everyone could mate with whoever they wanted. The other man was Ian Homer, the groom-to-be. The tooth-picking shifter elbowed the guy next to him in the ribs, and both of them quieted down and started looking attentive. When the man in front had everyone’s undivided attention, he began speaking. “Today,” he boomed, his voice a deep baritone, “We are here to witness the betrothal and lifelong mated marriage of Leah Whitehorse to Ian Homer.”

Polite applause from most of the audience, excited whoops from the rednecks near Nathan. The back of his neck prickled with irritation, his bear grumbling deep inside. Save it for the woods, you hicks, he thought. “While a betrothal is not binding, it is a promise before the clan and before God himself,” he went on. Nathan’s eyebrows went up. The North Star clan wasn’t big on this god stuff, but he’d heard that Yukon was. “Ian,” he boomed, half-turning to the man standing behind him. Ian was a tall, still-solid man in his

fifties. He had a solemn face, the kind that looked like it didn’t know how to smile, let alone laugh. Nathan didn’t know him well. Though he’d been in the pack for a long time, he’d been closer with Roy, the former alpha who Brock had usurped, and hadn’t really made the transition to the new leadership. Jonah Whitehorse nodded. “Brother Ian,” he said. Ian nodded back. “Brother Jonah,” he said. Nathan wondered if they’d rehearsed. He must have. After all, this had never been done in his clan before. “Today, you promise to marry my

daughter, Leah Whitehorse, and mate with her for all of her days.” “I do so promise,” Ian said, his hands solemnly clasped in front of him. “Until your death or hers,” Jonah said. “Until my death or hers,” Ian repeated. Jonah took a long moment to look out over the audience. The two clans were both silent, but Nathan could sense that they were different silences: his clan was slightly confused, but mostly respectful, while the Yukon clan was in downright awe. “Leah,” Jonah intoned, his voice echoing through the hall.

A door in the side of the room opened, and Leah Whitehorse came out. It was her. Nathan suddenly felt like he was made of stone. He was completely helpless to do anything but watch her cross the room to stand at Ian’s side. For one brief moment, she looked back at him, and their eyes locked. He had the same strange feeling he’d had before when she yanked the tart out of his mouth — like deja vu, but more intense. Like he’d already known her his whole life. She stood next to Ian, and Ian nodded once at her and reached for her hand. She took it, blushing, and looked out

over the audience, but she didn’t look at Nathan again. All of Nathan’s senses went on high alert, and finally, he felt like he could move. From where he was sitting, he could hear her breathing, he could sense the heat rolling off of her body. He thought he could even hear her heartbeat, the quick thump-thump-thump in her chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head a bit, and licked his lips, trying to feel more like himself and less like he’d been transported to another plane. “I know it, man,” the guy next to him murmured, the one with a polo shirt and

bad teeth. “I’d put a dozen cubs in her myself.” He grinned and scratched his balls, and Nathan saw pure red. His bear roared, and he broke into a sweat with the effort of keeping the shift away and staying human. Maybe these assholes didn’t see anything wrong with acting like animals and slavering over Leah, but he’d be more than happy to teach them how to behave. He forced himself to ignore the man and watch the ceremony happening ten feet in front of him. If he shifted and tore this jerk apart, he would be coming down to his level, and that was not what Brock

had wanted him here for. He was supposed to be making sure that everyone kept order, not causing trouble. Their ceremony went by, but Nathan was barely listening. All his senses seemed completely filled with her, her scent, her heartbeat, her incredible body, hidden but not well enough beneath that blue dress. It looked flimsy enough, he thought. He could tear it off of her easily, in just one motion, and then she’d be naked and he could just take her right there, in front of everyone, without giving a damn what anyone saw. His bear growled, and he realized he

was half-erect. Nathan moved in his chair and forced himself to look at Ian, who was decidedly un-sexy. It seemed like before he blinked, the ceremony was ending. Jonah said something in his deep, solemn voice — Nathan was barely listening — and then he watched Ian put a white ring on Leah’s left ring finger. Then he leaned toward her, as if to kiss her. Nathan couldn’t watch, so he squeezed his eyes shut and thought desperately of anything else as the room burst into applause. Everyone lifted their wine glasses at once, and Nathan followed

suit, clinking his against the others at the table. Then he took a sip, and nearly spit it out. He’d been expecting champagne, not the sickly-sweet apple cider. He frowned and put it back on the table, not bothering to finish the stuff. The redneck to his right nudged him in the ribs. “I got you covered, man,” he said, and pulled a flask from his jacket pocket, pouring a healthy dose of white alcohol into his glass and then into Nathan’s. Nathan sniffed. It smelled like pure raw grain alcohol, a very high proof. Moonshine, probably. He took a sip of

his drink and his suspicions were confirmed — hooch, for sure, and not high quality, either. He put the glass back down, forcing himself not to drink it, even though he wanted to. If he drank it, maybe if he had three more, he could get rid of this awful feeling he had, the feeling that he wanted to go over and rip Ian’s head off, then grab Leah and have his way with her.

During the dinner, Nathan mostly used the correct fork — Violet had given him a tutorial on silverware before the event — and Ian and Leah made their way around the dozen-plus tables, arm in

arm. Nathan did his best not to look at them and mostly succeeded. The rednecks at his table finished off the flask of moonshine and produced at least three more. At some point, Nathan lost count, but it took a lot to get a male shifter drunk, and they were definitely getting drunk. When dessert came around, suddenly, Nathan felt Leah behind him. His head buzzed, and all he could smell was her, her wonderful scent, smelling like citrus and flowers and pure, raw desire. “I’m starving!” she said brightly, sitting down one seat away from him. There was another woman between her and

Nathan, and when he looked at them together, he realized they must be sisters. “Hope they saved some for us,” said Ian. Nathan could tell that he was trying to sound lighthearted, but it wasn’t working for him. Everything he said came out sounding deadly serious. Nathan just concentrated on his cheesecake, briefly wondering what had happened to the table full of other goodies. “You take that back,” the teeth-picking redneck suddenly shouted. Nathan jerked his head up quickly. He hadn’t been paying much attention, but both of the redneck relations were

totally trashed. “I say what I want!” roared the other guy. “Take it back or I’ll knock your shitty teeth right out your pansy-ass mouth,” the first guy shouted. He stood so fast that his chair went over backwards. Then the other guy was also standing, leaning over the table, face bright red. Nathan could tell he was moments away from a shift, right there in the middle of this classy hall. “You just try!” he shouted. Nathan shifted. Years of practice meant that he shifted faster than most everyone

else — after all, as the clan’s main enforcer, being a grizzly almost instantly was valuable. That meant that he had claws and teeth and fur before either other man even had a snout, and in full bear-form, he picked up the redneck with the bad teeth and tossed him fifteen feet, not even looking where he landed before turning on the other man, roaring in his face. He stepped on the table with a front paw, teeth still bared, and the table snapped completely in half as the man shouted at him, struggling to shift faster, fur popping out of his rigid muscles as Nathan watched. I can’t let them hurt her, was his only

thought, the sole thing filling his brain, to the exclusion of everything else. With one enormous paw, he pushed the other guy backwards, knocking him head over heels and into another table full of people. Behind him, the rest of the celebrants had retreated backward. Nathan looked at them quickly, making sure that Leah was okay. Logically, he knew that a couple drunk shifters weren’t a big deal, and it was almost certainly nothing she hadn’t seen before, but his animal was furious, set to protect her at all costs. She was fine, using one arm to block her

sister. Next to her, Ian clutched at her upper arm, his fingers squeezing her beneath her dress so hard it looked almost painful. Nathan turned and growled, his bear taking over for a moment. Don’t you dare hurt her, he thought. If you hurt her I’ll fuck you up so good they’ll never even find— A gun went off, and everyone screamed. Nathan whirled as everyone began running for the door, only to see one of the two fighting men waving a gun in the air, a small hole in the ceiling above him. He looked as surprised as everyone else, staring up at the hole like it had

appeared there by magic. In two steps, Nathan was on him. Still half-bear but human enough to have fingers, the other guy pointed the gun at him but he was too slow. Nathan reached out and knocked it from his hands, claws raking across his arm as he did. The man’s mouth dropped open, like he was surprised that this grizzly bear was disarming him. “STOP!” boomed a voice at the front of the room, and everyone turned to look. It was Jonah Whitehorse, looking ferocious and commanding, and most of all, angry. Even Nathan could almost feel the man’s glare on his skin, icy and

metallic. Everyone stopped. The people running for the door stopped, the people who’d hit the floor stopped screaming, the rednecks stopped trying to shift and quietly, meekly, went back to human. Nathan snorted, fighting to bring his grizzly temper back under control. “Jedidiah and Carson, outside, now,” commanded Jonah, and just like that, both the men who’d been fighting headed for the front door, heads down, Carson bleeding heavily from his forearm. Nathan watched them go and then looked around, still in grizzly form. Leah was fine, even though he could

practically smell the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She looked more angry than frightened, even though Ian was still frowning and clutching her arm, his fingers digging into her sweet, supple flesh, hard enough to hurt... Nathan’s vision turned red at the edges, and he could feel himself about to lose control. Ian had a mate once. Her name had been Candace, and Nathan had heard her speak maybe twice. She seemed meek and constantly cowed by Ian, and had even shown up to things with bruises sometimes. Everyone knew that Ian was a worthless asshole, the kind of man who would hurt a woman if she so much

as questioned him, but no one had ever done anything. Then, finally, Candace had run off with a deep-sea fisherman. No one except Ian had been particularly sorry, and Nathan suspected that Ian just missed having someone to push around. Nathan growled, a low rumble in his chest, and bared his teeth. He’d rip Ian apart if he so much as bruised Leah, and he’d be more than happy to do it. “Nathan,” said Brock’s voice, behind him, bringing him back down to earth. Nathan turned and looked at his alpha, fury still pumping through his veins. “Clothes are in the back,” Brock said,

nodding toward the door. Nathan’s own clothes were in tatters. It happened when he shifted suddenly; even though he was big as a human, he was nowhere near grizzly-size. Nathan stepped off the now-broken table and back to the floor, but he didn’t leave the room. Leah was still there, and he didn’t want to leave her, not without him there in a room full of humans who’d brought guns to a betrothal. Ian wasn’t going to protect her properly, even though his hand on her arm had slackened. “Nathan?” she said, and he looked her straight into her eyes. He could feel something moving through him, a feeling

so strong, like someone had grabbed his ribcage and yanked on it. A deep, ancient instinct whispered to him: protect her, take her. He took a step forward, even his bear appreciating her perfect curves, thinking of how her soft flesh would yield under his, what she would sound like moaning his name. “I’m fine,” she said. Next to her, Ian nodded, his jaw tightening, and Nathan realized that two hundred people were watching them. He dipped his head at Brock, cast one last glance at Leah and Ian, then made for the door Brock had indicated. Better

not to be stark naked in front of two hundred people, half of whom he’d never met before.

FOUR: LEAH

athan, Leah thought, watching the N bear lumber into a back room. I wouldn’t mind seeing him shift back naked, though.

She felt herself turn bright red, from her toes to the roots of her hair, and cast her eyes down, looking at the destroyed table. The desserts she’d worked for days to bake were scattered around, but there were extras. Leah always made extra desserts, and it made her pretty popular wherever she went. A hand patted her back lightly, between her shoulder blades, and she turned to her husband-to-be and made herself smile up at him. “Are you all right?” he said, his face deadly serious. “I’m fine,” she said, folding her hands in front of herself primly.

She felt anything but fine, though. It wasn’t about her stupid cousins who’d brought their homemade liquor to her nice party and then shot a hole in the ceiling. She’d been hoping that wouldn’t happen this time, but she certainly wasn’t surprised by it. No, it was about Nathan, the man she’d said about three words to, and who’d shifted on a dime to put an end to the violence. To protect her. Sure, he’d protected everyone when he got the gun out of Jedediah’s hand, but deep down, Leah knew that he did it for her, and she had no idea what to think.

Ian rubbed her arm, his touch only a little soothing. Somehow, he seemed far away. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re safe here.” Not because of you, she thought involuntarily. Leah looked up at him, at his salt-andpepper hair and serious face. This is my husband, she thought. He’s my mate. I can’t think thoughts like that. I love him, she told herself, but even the thought rang a little hollow. “I apologize for them,” said her father’s

deep, booming voice behind her. “They’ll be dealt with.” Leah turned to face him, and for a moment, she was taken aback at the rage simmering just below the surface of his face. Jonah Whitehorse was angry as hell, and that was never good. Out of habit, she took a step back and looked down, tricks she’d learned long ago as a way to keep his anger from transferring to her. He’d never been physically abusive, but when he shouted, it felt like the whole house shook. “It’s quite all right,” said Ian, standing a little stiffly in her father’s presence. She

could almost feel his desire to run. “Leah, it’s time to leave,” her father said. “Brock said that they would take care of everything else.” Leah raised her eyebrows by a millimeter. Her cousins had shot a hole in the ceiling, and the other clan was doing the cleanup? Her father did have some kind of influence over other people. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told Ian, turning to face. “Yes, tomorrow, dear,” Ian said, and then bent to kiss her lightly on the cheek, his lips cool and dry. Leah hoped desperately for that electric sizzle, that

rush of heat, but nothing happened, just the feel of lips on her cheek and then nothing. She followed her father out of the hall and into the van with her parents and younger siblings, wondering the whole way what was going on. Something had happened with Nathan, and whatever it was, it wasn’t happening with Ian at all. The whole way back to the farmhouse they were staying in for the week, Leah fretted and chewed on her lip.

A few hours later, finally alone in the

tiny attic room she was sleeping in, Leah finally got some time to think things over. Her party dress off, she slumped onto the bed in a long flannel nightgown. Her mother had sewn that, as well. In fact, her mother had sewn nearly all of Leah’s clothing, ever since she was born — though Jonah Whitehorse might rule his clan with an iron fist, it had never been in his power to make any of them rich. Most Yukon shifters were just getting by, alphas included. At least, as the oldest, she got most of her clothes new. Her sisters hadn’t been so lucky, having to wear Leah’s old clothes. To make matters worse, they invariably had to take them in, since neither of them had Leah’s voluptuous

shape. Again and again, she ran through the fifteen seconds she’d had with Nathan when she caught him eating the tart. The way that, just seeing him, she’d felt like she’d always known him. Leah didn’t know if the North Star clan had stories and legends, but the Yukon clan did. When they mated, it was absolute. There was no way to undo a mating — no divorce, no separation.

The story went that, thousands and thousands of years ago, when shifters were mostly bear and hardly human, the alpha of one pack stole the daughter of

another alpha. He traveled with her for three days and nights, over rivers and mountains, and he didn’t notice or didn’t care that she was gravely ill and getting worse. When they finally arrived in his territory, the moment she stepped over the boundary, she died. It was only then that her captors realized she’d been carrying a cub all along, and it was dead too. The Great Bear looked down and saw this, and erupted into a righteous fury. He came down to earth to dispense justice. First he took the souls of the mother and baby bear, and put them into the sky, where they stayed, as the Mother

Bear and Baby Bear. Then he took the soul of the shifter who’d done the kidnapping, and he split it in two, along with the souls of all his clan, and cast the other halves of their soul out into the world. Now, the story went, no shifter was born complete. They were all born with half a soul, and could only become whole by mating with the shifter who held their soul’s other half.

Every couple who mated had found the other half of their soul, their perfect, fated mate. Leah had talked to enough mated shifters to know how they each

felt when they first met their mates: an electric buzz, a sudden, soul-deep knowledge and understanding, the feeling that there was no one else on the planet besides them. Some of them said that, when they first met their other half, they felt like they’d known each other their whole lives, and Leah had always thought that made sense. After all, if someone had the other half of your soul, wouldn’t you know it? Today, her betrothal day, the day she’d finally met her future mate, she’d felt every one of those things. The shock, the almost-deja-vu, the world tilting on its axis, the bone-deep desire.

The problem was that Ian wasn’t the person who’d made her feel any of those things. He was nice enough, sure, but he was none of that. There was no earthshaking, no gut-wrenching. Those feelings had all been reserved for Nathan, who was decidedly not the person she was supposed to marry. She was already promised to Ian, the man her father had found and approved of. Leah wanted to feel that way about Ian. She wanted to love him, not some stranger with a hair-trigger temper who ate dessert first without even asking. She had to love Ian. That was all there was to it.

Leah laid awake in her tiny bed for a long time, listening to the wind whistle through the eaves of the house where Brock had put up her whole family. She didn’t fall asleep until it was nearly time for her to wake up again.

FIVE: NATHAN

he extra pants that Brock had in the T back room of the hall were just sweatpants, so Nathan put them on and left. There was no point staying around any longer, especially if he was going to

look sloppy while everyone else had a suit and tie on. Violet had already gotten up his ass about it once, after all. All he could think about for the entire ride home was her. The way she’d looked, her red hair and the bright blue dress, the way she looked it in. He ached with the desire just to touch her, once. He’d never felt anything at all like it before, and it terrified him. For a long time, Nathan had assumed that the mated happiness that other people got just wasn’t going to happen for him. He was pretty sure that the whole onesoul-two-bodies legend was utter bullshit, but that didn’t stop other people

from being happy with their mates. Look at Brock and Violet, for instance. They seemed perfect together. Deep down, Nathan didn’t think that he deserved a mate. He didn’t deserve that kind of happiness. He wasn’t much more than Brock’s hitman, after all. Sitting on his couch, having changed into jeans and a t-shirt, Nathan tried desperately to stop thinking of everything Brock had him do over the years. Just last week he’d paid a latenight call to a family in Fjords, his pistol prominent on his belt, and told the sleepy parents that their son couldn’t attend college in Seattle, like he’d always dreamed of doing. Instead, he

had to stay in tiny, backward Fjords because Brock didn’t like it when people left. The father had started shouting at him, the mother clutching his arm, and Nathan had simply taken a step back from their front door and asked the man if he wanted to fight. He had a reputation. No one wanted to fight him anymore. Crushing kids’ dreams and offering to fight their fathers wasn’t the worst thing he’d done, not by a long shot. It was just the most recent. The worst was Kaitlyn. She’d been fifteen and hadn’t made it to sixteen,

because of him. Brock had ordered that one, too, and it still kept Nathan up at night until he finally hit the bottle so he could sleep. There was no way that he could be mated to someone like Leah. She was perfect and sweet, innocence practically shining on her face. Moreover, she was betrothed to Ian, and he was better for her. Ian had never done the horrible things that Nathan had, he’d be a good provider, and they’d have a lot of cubs together. Yeah, he had Leah had shared a moment, but what was that, really? In the grand scheme of things, a full-body jolt and pure desire that just wouldn’t quit

weren’t important. You have to stop thinking about her, he told himself. Whatever it takes, just get her out of your head. He jumped to his feet, grabbed his black leather jacket, and headed for his bike.

Seward was even smaller than Fjords; a town with a permanent population of only a few hundred. But it was on the ocean side of the peninsula, not the bay side where Fjords was. More to the point, it was completely surrounded by the Kenai National Park — meaning it was a popular stop for tourists who wanted to see the park, as well as for

cruise ships along the Alaskan coast. As soon as he came over the mountains, the cool summer night air whipping around him, Nathan could see the lights of a big cruise ship down below, anchored in Seward’s tiny harbor. This ought to solve my problems, he thought, tilting his motorcycle toward the town, knowing exactly what he was going to do that night. First was the Seward Seaside Inn. Despite its nice name, it was a motel at best. Clean, but a little threadbare, if you knew where to look, and Nathan did. As he walked in, the front desk clerk looked up.

“Hey, man,” said the kid. Paul, his name tag said, and Nathan felt a glimmer of recognition at the name. “Haven’t seen you around here for a while.” He winked, still grinning. Nathan shrugged. “Been busy,” he said, pulling out his wallet. He wasn’t an idiot, and he knew he had a reputation in all the towns on the peninsula. Most of the late-night motel clerks knew him as the guy who stayed at their place of business once or twice a month, usually coming in late with a different hot, drunk woman on his arm.

Lately he’d smartened up a little and started getting the room before the woman — that meant that once he was ready to go, there was less time between leaving the bar and getting his dick wet, and that was all Nathan wanted. “You want the one on the end?” the kid said. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-three or twenty-four, and he had a shit-eating smile on his face that said hey man, I know you get a lot of pussy and I think it’s awesome. “Less people to overhear, you know.” “Sounds good,” said Nathan, barely paying attention to what the kid was saying.

Instead he was looking at the halfbeardless face that still had traces of puppy fat. I’ve beaten kids younger than you bloody, he thought, and swallowed hard. He needed plenty of whiskey and a woman, stat. The kid pushed the key and a receipt across the counter, and Nathan pocketed one and signed the other. “Thanks,” he said, already heading for the door. “Have a great night, man!” the kid yelled after him. Nathan shut the door quickly so he didn’t

have to hear what the kid said next. It was probably something along the lines of have a totally sick night getting that pussy, bro, and Nathan just wasn’t in the mood.

Ten minutes later, he was sipping rotgut whiskey on the rocks and standing at the end of the bar at the Moby Dick Saloon, a bar on the waterfront that was heavily decorated with a seagoing theme. It was very, very popular with the sort of single woman who went on a cruise to Alaska. For the moment, he was alone. Years of just hitting on the first woman to make eye contact had yielded some good

results, but these days he was being the tiniest bit pickier and looking over the crowd before jumping right in with both feet. He sipped again, the whiskey burning down his throat, as he leaned his big, tall frame against the bar. It was still a little bit awkward. Besides the bar he’d built himself in his house, he’d never stood at a bar meant for someone his height. After all, there weren’t a lot of six and a half foot tall men in the world. There they were. Two blonds, down the bar a bit, both drinking colorful drinks from martini glasses and touching their hair a lot, like they wanted someone to notice them.

Deep inside, his bear made a noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh. They weren’t who he really wanted, and he knew it. But one of them might manage to scratch his insatiable itch, just for a little while. His bear grumbled, but Nathan quieted it and moved around the bar to talk to the women. He walked up right behind them and addressed the blond on the left. “Your tag is out,” he said with no introduction. “Do you want me to fix it?” Her hand went straight to the back of her neck as she twisted her head to look at him.

“It is?” she asked. “I got it,” he said, pretending to flip her tag back inside her shirt. His fingertips brushed against her skin, and he could feel her and her friend both look him up and down, their eyes lingering just a little extra on his bicep tattoo: a bear outline with a constellation inside. He nodded toward the bar, where their brightly colored cocktails sat. “You know, they sell real drinks here, too,” he told them. “Not just candy in a glass.” “These are alcoholic,” the one on the left

said, a little defensively. She was wearing a bright pink tank top, a short skirt, and those shoes that were high heels but the bottom was all one big triangle. Nathan had no idea what they were called, and really, didn’t care. “They’re totally alcoholic,” her friend said. She was wearing a blue tube top that showed off a prominent collarbone under tanned skin. Nathan could smell hairspray, fake tan, and soap on both of them. Nothing like the deep, sweet scent that Leah had. Stop it, he thought. “It’s fine if you like kid drinks,” he said, shrugging slightly. Blue Tube Top had a

pretty nice rack, and didn’t look like she was wearing a bra — a sure sign that she’d come here to meet someone and have some fun. Really, all that was left was to decide. Pink Tank Top looked at her drink, then looked down at Nathan. “What’s a real drink, then?” she asked. One hand went to her neck, fluttering near her collarbone, and Nathan knew it was all but over. He forced a grin. You’ll be enjoying this in an hour, so just shut up, he told himself.

“Whiskey,” he said, and stepped between them and up to the bar.

“The room’s not too impressive,” he told the women, one on each arm. That part, at least, was a surprise. He’d only had a threesome once before, and he hadn’t really liked it — the women were friends, but they’d been subtly fighting over him the entire time, making him feel like he was always doing the wrong thing to the wrong person. Much easier to stick with one woman. Tonight, though, he was feeling reckless. Maybe two of these cruise ship blonds

would erase the thoughts of Leah better than just one. After all, that was four boobs, two vaginas, two mouths to suck his cock. “I don’t care what the room looks like,” said Blue Tube Top, a little too loudly. The women were slightly drunk but not too much, and Nathan had to untangle himself from them to unlock the door to the room. “All we need is a bed,” giggled Pink Tube Top. “Looks like you got one of those, at least.” They went in, pulling him along, and he shut the door after himself. “We’ve never done this before,”

simpered Blue Tube Top, her erect nipples brushing against his arm through her shirt. She ran her hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscle there. “Ooh,” she said. “We’ve got to get this off of you.” “This too,” said Pink Tank Top, sliding her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. Nathan didn’t have an erection, not even a little. He knew if he took his pants off, both women would be incredibly disappointed. Trying to act cool, he took Pink Tank Top’s hand out of his pants and put his hands on both women’s hips as they

looked up at him. “How about you two do stuff for a while?” he said, trying for his most rakish grin. “I love to watch.” Normally, it was true, but even as he sat on the bed and watched the two women, whose names he still hadn’t learned, kiss each other with lots and lots of tongue, he could barely make himself pay attention. Blue Tube Top pressed her breasts against Pink Tank Top’s and let out a little moan as she pinched the other woman’s nipple through the cloth. “Touch me, baby,” Pink Tank Top said, a little too enthusiastically.

In one quick motion, Blue Tube Top took her shirt off. Nathan had been right — she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her round, full tits bounced free. Down below in his pants, absolutely nothing. Come on, Nathan thought to his dick. Come on come on come on. It wasn’t working. “You like it?” asked Blue Tube Top, turning slightly to face him and rubbing her hands over her tits, hefting them for his pleasure. Pink Tank Top bent down and flicked her tongue over one theatrically, and Blue Tank Top made an exaggerated sigh.

Nathan tried to imagine his face in between her breasts, their weight pressing against the side of his face, but he couldn’t. All he could think of was Leah, the way it might feel just to touch her, his hands sinking into her warm, yielding flesh. Biting her shoulder and sliding inside... “Just like that,” he said, his brain on autopilot, and Pink Tank Top’s shirt came off. She was wearing a serious pushup bra beneath it, and now it looked like her breasts might be ready to strangle her. “Let me see those pretty titties,” said Blue Tank Top, sounding like an actress

in a porno. Normally, Nathan was really into the dirty talk, but his mind was a million miles away right now, with a woman who’d told him to stop eating her chocolate tarts. “You wanna see?” Pink Tank Top asked him, and Nathan didn’t answer for a long moment. There was absolutely no movement in his dick. It was practically asleep, even watching two horny women rub each other silly. I shouldn’t be here, he thought. “Baby?” she asked, both women frozen and waiting.

“I gotta go,” he said, practically leaping off the bed. He grabbed his jacket from where he’d left it slung over a chair, and turned the knob. “Wait!” shouted Blue Tube Top. “What the fuck?” “Sorry,” he said, opening the door. “Keep the room, it’s cool.” Both of their mouths were little pink O’s of surprise, and then he shut the door, practically ran to his motorcycle, and drove off into the night before either of them could even get their shirts on.

SIX: LEAH

athan crouched in a kitchen, N carefully pulling the silverware drawer in and out, when the door swung open and Brock was suddenly in the room with him.

“I thought you might be here,” he said, crossing onto the paper-covered floor that served as Nathan’s workspace. “Watch the nails,” Nathan said, only half-paying attention to Brock, despite the knot that had suddenly formed in his stomach. When Brock found him suddenly, like this, it was rarely for a good reason. Usually, Brock wanted something bad done to someone. “You could have called,” Nathan pointed out, finally sliding the drawer smoothly back into the cabinet face and standing. “I did,” Brock said. “You didn’t answer.” Nathan patted his pockets and realized,

for the first time all day, that his phone wasn’t there. His eye fell on his jacket, draped over a chair in the next room. “What’s going on?” he asked, brushing sawdust from his hands. He could feel a single bead of sweat work its way down the back of his neck. “I think it’s time you mated,” Brock said. Nathan’s heart leapt and then sank. Brock wasn’t talking about Leah, and he knew it. Leah was betrothed already, and even if it was to a monster, she’d be married and mated within the week and Nathan couldn’t do much about it. “How come?” he finally asked.

“It’s time,” Brock said, simply. “You ought to settle down and have a few cubs. It’s not right for someone to turn thirty-five and still be unmated, you know.” I found her, Nathan desperately wanted to say. She’s going to marry the wrong man. He couldn’t do it, though. Jonah and Brock had agreed on this, and he knew neither man would be willing to turn his back on the deal — especially not Jonah, who didn’t seem like the kind of man willing to marry his virginal daughter to someone like Nathan. “You have someone in mind,” Nathan

said. He knew Brock well enough to know that, at least. “Emily Whitehorse,” said Brock, and Nathan frowned. He had no idea who that was. “One of the Whitehorses?” he asked. “The sister of the woman getting mated to Ian,” Brock said. “She’s the real reason I made this deal with Jonah Whitehorse. Twenty years old, pretty as a picture. Perfectly ripe. Comes from a very old shifter family.” Nathan’s rage surged, and he felt the itch of his bear just below his skin. Brock was making Leah marry Ian as some kind of side deal?

It wasn’t fair. Nathan flex his jaw and forced his bear back. “I don’t remember her,” he said. “You will.” Truth be told, he barely remembered anything from the party except Leah herself, as though she was a supernova and her light had drowned everything else there into background noise. “I don’t think I can marry a twenty-yearold,” Nathan went on. Needing to do something with his hands, he picked up a level and set it on the countertop, the bubble landing perfectly in the middle. At the very least, he was good at his

work. “The Whitehorse girls are supposed to make excellent mates,” said Brock, something icy and slimy in his tone. “Two are already married, and by all accounts they’re compliant. And fertile.” Nathan’s stomach turned, just a little, and he focused on the level instead of on Brock. Leah hadn’t seemed compliant, not in the moments they’d had together, anyway. She’d seemed fiery, a girl with plenty of backbone. Maybe that’s why her father was pawning her off on Ian, though. A chill swept through Nathan.

That’s it, he thought. They think she needs someone like Ian to control her. “I don’t think I can do it,” Nathan said, half his mind still on Leah. “I told Jonah you’d attend family dinner at their house tonight,” said Brock, still standing in the middle of the halfremodeled kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. “Just go. If you really don’t want her, there will be plenty of takers, but I wanted to offer her to you first, as my right hand man.” Nathan looked up. Leah will be there, he thought. Or will she be with Ian?

Nathan’s stomach clenched yet again, and he did his best not to break into a grin at the possibility of seeing her again, no matter how stupid and pointless it might be to see her. He realized Brock was still watching him. “Thank you,” said Nathan. What else could he say? “Six, at the old Soren farmhouse,” Brock said. “They don’t appreciate tardiness, so be on time. And try to clean yourself up.” “Think you could spare Violet to come yell at me?” asked Nathan, half-joking.

Brock turned to go, but looked over his shoulder, half-amused. “Watch it,” he said. Then he left Nathan alone in the halffinished kitchen remodel. Nathan rubbed his temples in the new silence. Elsewhere in the house, he could hear its inhabitants moving around, but they tended to avoid the kitchen for now, since it was still an empty shell. In fact, the kitchen was just another way that Brock lorded his power over the rest of the clan, and even Nathan had to admit he was kind of genius. The kitchen’s owner, Roy, had been

alpha for at least twenty years. He’d been alpha when Nathan was born, right up until his early twenties, and then Miles Kamchatka, Nathan’s older brother, had fucked everything up. Miles’s high school sweetheart had come back, now a doctor, and Roy had kidnapped her. Miles had snapped and challenged him to physical combat for alpha status — technically still allowable, but something that hadn’t been done in fifty years. Miles had won, nearly killing Roy. Then, the next morning, he’d driven out of Fjords with Delilah, and nobody had heard from then since.

The North Star clan had no idea what to do. What happened when your former alpha was nearly killed, and the new one picks his lover over his pack? Brock had stepped in, and at first everyone had assumed he was just filling in until Roy got back on his feet, but then he simply stayed alpha. Now, ten plus years later, he was still alpha, reinforcing his status by paying for Roy’s kitchen. This way, Roy was indebted to him and could hardly complain; besides, a man whose kitchen — and car, and vacations — got paid for by another man was hardly alpha material, after all. With a sigh, Nathan sank back to his

knees and went back to fiddling with the drawer, making sure that everything lined up exactly right. That, at least, was something he still had complete control over.

SEVEN: NATHAN

sually, Nathan worked until six or U seven before knocking off, but that day he was gone by four-thirty. It wasn’t like Roy or his mate would complain; after all, they were getting cabinets from the

best carpenter in southern Alaska for free. As he rode home on his bike, Nathan felt like he was buzzing, half with excitement and half with dread. Leah might be there, but she wasn’t his. He didn’t know if he’d be able to control himself around her — not with the incredible way she smelled, the way she’d looked at him when he’d been a bear just about ready to rip Ian apart. Once he was home, he spent a long time standing in front of his single dresser in his boxer briefs, frowning. He’d already worn his best outfit to Leah’s party — he refused to think the

word betrothal — and had torn it to tiny pieces by shifting out of it, so that was out. Otherwise, Nathan wasn’t exactly a fancy guy. Nine days out of ten, he wore a white undershirt, jeans, and work boots. In the winter it was a long-sleeve t-shirt and a sweatshirt. He was a carpenter, after all — it wasn’t like he wore a three-piece suit to work. As it turned out, he didn’t have a lot of options, and he was glad that Violet wasn’t there to give his choice of outfit the stink eye. He settled on a plaid button-down shirt, currently the nicest one he owned, and a clean pair of jeans, simultaneously wondering whether Leah

would like it and praying that she just hated everything about him. After all, he couldn’t have her, and if she wasn’t interested, that would make it easier. Then he donned his black leather jacket, got on his bike, and headed out to the Soren farmhouse, just a little ways outside of town.

On the way, he tried not to think about the Sorens. What he’d done to them wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done, but it was up there. Kaitlyn was the worst thing he’d ever

done. The Sorens had been an old shifter family in Fjords since the early 1800s at least. They hadn’t had an alpha in a few generations, but the Soren men were always among the pack leadership in some capacity. As advisors, as bankrollers, that sort of thing — their words held weight in clan meetings and with whoever was alpha. At least until the alpha was Brock. Brock didn’t like the Sorens and the Sorens didn’t like Brock. They didn’t like the way he ran the clan, they didn’t like that he was in his early twenties when he took over, and they didn’t like

the way his followers, including Nathan, deferred to him. Brock didn’t like the way they tried to wrest power back from him, or the way they tried to get their supporters to do the same. So, after midnight one night, he sent Nathan over, with two other clan members for backup and a .45 in his hand — a gun big enough to stop a grizzly. One guy guarded the Soren’s three kids while Nathan and the other guy told them that they had to leave, now, or their kids would be orphans. Phil Soren, the father, had challenged him, only to have his nose broken with the butt of a shotgun.

The Sorens left that night, their SUV filled with whatever they could grab in an hour. Nathan tried not to think about all that stuff, but he’d done it for the clan. They were the only brothers he had left, after all, and wasn’t clan unity the most worthy cause there was? Still, he couldn’t sleep sometimes. He’d smashed in a man’s face. He’d broken arms and given black eyes before, and after a while it had become just another part of his place as Brock’s right hand man. Brock told him what to do and he did it, because after the first couple, it wasn’t like another bad deed was going to make him a worse person.

He was pretty sure he’d already bottomed out. Kaitlyn was the only one he still had those perfectly clear nightmares about, though. The other dreams had gotten muddy with time and indifference, but every time he backhanded the fifteenyear-old girl in that cold parking lot, he could see his breath in the Alaska winter air, could hear the fateful crack. Nathan had never even answered for it. He hadn’t meant any of it, but it happened, and no one else in the clan ever seemed to mind. She was just some human girl, so who cared?

The Soren house came into view, just on the outskirts of town, so Nathan slowed down and rumbled slowly up the long gravel driveway, trying to keep his engine quiet. Still, when he pulled up and parked his bike next to the Whitehorses’ van, the front door was already open and Jonah Whitehorse was watching him from the house’s wraparound front porch. Nathan didn’t even have time to run his hands through his hair before the other man was greeting him in his huge, booming voice. “Nathaniel,” he said. Immediately, the hairs pricked up along

the back of Nathan’s neck. He hated being called Nathaniel. That was what his mother had called him when he was in trouble, usually right before she’d gotten out the belt and given him a good whipping. Bear parents tended to be strict and oldfashioned, and the Kamchatkas had been no different than most. “Mr. Whitehorse,” he said, coming up the stairs, remembering that he had to be on his very best behavior. He assumed that this included not shifting and giving the patriarch of the Yukon clan hell for using his full name. “Welcome,” boomed Jonah, and the two

men shook hands. “It’s Nathan, actually,” he said. As soon as he said it, he could practically feel the chill emanating from Jonah, just for a moment, before the older man renewed his smile. Nathan couldn’t believe he’d already fucked it up. Well, another hour or two, he’d have dinner, then be on his way. “Brock tells me Emily caught your eye at the party yesterday,” he said, his eyes glinting. “I’d be more than happy for you to get to know her during our Leah’s betrothal. I understand arranged marriages aren’t as common here.”

His heart beat a little faster, just at her name. “As far as I know, this is the first one the North Stars have taken part in,” said Nathan. Emily, he thought to himself. Try not to forget the name of the girl you’re allegedly here to see. Jonah frowned, just a little, a hollow just barely forming between his eyes, in his forehead. “Well, I’m glad you’re coming around to it,” he said. “Arranged marriages are much more stable than those allegedly based on love, you know. Kids fall in love for a month and think they’re ready

to spend their lives together. Much better to have cooler heads prevail and decide someone’s fate.” Nathan blinked and bit his tongue. That went against every fairy tale he’d been told growing up, and it wasn’t at all what the North Star leaders professed. They really pushed the “true mates” thing, practically insisting that every couple who managed to procreate were soulmates. Nathan had never really believed in the concept. Well. Until he’d locked eyes with Leah. Jonah walked to the front door and opened it, graciously allowing Nathan through the door first.

It looked different than the last time he’d been in there, but the last time he’d been inside it had been after midnight in the wintertime, and he’d been carrying a handgun big enough to stop a full-grown grizzly. Now, the wood floors shone in the evening light as Nathan walked into the house, a slight breeze drifting through the open, airy space. A short woman — short by shifter standards, at least — bustled into the front hallway and held her hands out. “You must be Nathaniel,” she said, her brown eyes sparkling. She had light brown hair with just a hint of gray, and

even though she’d pulled it back curls were popping free all around her face. “He prefers Nathan,” rumbled Jonah. “Of course he does,” the woman said. “I’m Margaret, Emily’s mother.” Nathan still hadn’t been able to remember what Emily looked like, and just hoped that he’d recognize her when he saw her. Leah’s face, on the other hand, was etched in his memory, and he could see the strong resemblance between her and her mom. “It’s nice to meet you,” he finally said, berating himself for almost forgetting his

manners. “I’m so glad you’re interested in Emily,” she said, putting a hand very lightly on his arm and pushing him into another light-filled room, this one with blue curtains that matched the blue couches inside it, all three pointing at a big farmhouse fireplace. He had a vague memory of seeing this room on his last trip through the house, looking to his left in the dead of night and seeing nothing more than shapes in the darkness. Margaret guided him to a couch, then bustled out of the room through a different door. Jonah had just disappeared, apparently, and Nathan was alone in the room with matching

curtains and couches. He had the feeling that whatever was going on was completely normal in the Yukon clan and utterly alien to everyone else. Having nothing better to do, he looked down and began picking at his fingernails, trying to wipe the memories of the Sorens from his memory. He could still remember the way the youngest child, probably not more than three, had been crying about leaving her favorite stuffed animal behind. It had been a lion named Simon. Strange the details you remember, thought Nathan. He picked his head up

and looked around, trying not to get lost in that dark memory. Finally, he heard voices. “You need to come chaperone your sister,” Margaret was saying, using a tone of voice that she obviously thought was very commanding. “I need to watch the pie,” said another woman’s voice. Leah’s voice. Nathan’s spine straightened, and his ears strained to hear what she was saying. “Rebecca will be back in a minute and she can watch the pie. This young man is here for Emily now. Don’t keep him

waiting.” “Mother, she’s not going to do anything inappropriate in the sitting room with a man she’s only just met,” Leah said, sounding exasperated, but also like she’d had this exact argument a thousand times and knew the outcome already. The way she was right now, this feisty, no-nonsense woman, that was how she’d been with him at the party when she told him not to eat the tarts. Nathan couldn’t lie: it got his blood up, but also didn’t square at all with what he’d been told about her. “You know the rules,” her mother said firmly. “Go chaperone your sister. I’ll

watch the pie until Rebecca gets back.” “She’ll let it burn. She always does.” “Leah, I am not having this argument.” “Fine,” Leah muttered, and then there was the sound of an apron being taken off, quick footsteps crossing the floor, and then everything went quiet for a moment. Nathan tried to lean back a little and not look quite so much like he’d been trying to eavesdrop. He also hoped, desperately, that Leah was going to wear a paper bag or burlap sack or something, just to hide her soft, luscious, perfect body. If he was

supposed to be there for her sister, he had to at least try to keep up the ruse, which probably included not simply drooling over Leah herself. Just as he was thinking about how easy it would be to remove a burlap sack from her — just whisk it over her head and there she’d be, gloriously nude — he heard steps at the other door, and he turned and stood. Standing in the doorway was a slight young woman, in a skirt that fell past her knees, with brown eyes and strawberry blond hair. She was blushing hard and looking at the floor, but behind her was Leah.

Leah looked like someone had just slapped her across the face. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, her flaming red hair slowly working its way free of the bun she’d pinned it into. She looked shocked to see Nathan standing in front of her. Then her forehead furrowed, just a tiny bit. She looked shocked and angry. Nathan’s stomach sank, and he saw Leah’s hand push Emily just a little, in the small of her back. The girl stepped forward awkwardly, finally looking up to meet Nathan’s eyes.

“I’m Emily,” she said, her small white hands twisting together in front of her. She looks like a child, Nathan thought. How could Brock think this is a good idea? “I’m Nathan,” he said. He had no idea at all how to proceed. Most of Nathan’s romantic experience was in bars, with women five or ten years Emily’s senior. Women who’d already been around the block a couple of times, the sort who’d have a drink and then jump into bed with a tall, handsome stranger and never even get his phone number. That was what he knew how to do, not

this. He had no idea how to pretend to be interested in this girl who was only twenty, practically still a child, when the person he really wanted was right behind her, glaring at him. One more time, he let his gaze drift over to Leah for just a moment, a small glowing ball of heat growing inside him. She was wearing another dress, a shortsleeved one that was a little baggy and went past her knees, and it would have been frumpy on anyone else. But on Leah, it only made Nathan hunger for what he couldn’t see: the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts. Both women seemed to simply be watching him, waiting for him to make a

move. “Want to come sit down?” he asked, trying to look at Emily and not Leah. After all, this was supposed to be her show. “Thanks,” Emily nearly whispered, and walked to the middle couch. Nathan sat on the couch to her left and Leah on the couch to her right, so they were facing each other. Perfect, thought Nathan. I’m on a date with a twenty-year-old, I can’t stop thinking about her sister, and I’m not even sitting on the same couch as either of them. I’m giving Brock a piece of my mind

when I see him again.

EIGHT: LEAH

eah kept her hands carefully folded in L her lap as she watched Nathan try to make conversation with poor Emily. Years and years of training from her parents kept her still and quiet, even as

inside, she was screaming and shaking. She couldn’t believe the way she felt around him. Not that she had very much experience at all with men outside her family, but this was insane. Whenever he made eye contact, her insides went gooey, and it felt like a ball of hot magma was sliding down the inside of her body, from her stomach all the way down to the spot between her legs. Not that he was looking at her very much. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding it, actually, and that made it even worse — he made her feel like this, shaky and nervous and sweaty, and he barely seemed to notice that she was in the same room.

If I’d known it was going to be him, Leah thought to herself, I’d have argued more with mother. As it was, she wanted to let her hair down, cross the room, and throw herself on him, and he didn’t seem to notice that she existed. That’s well enough, she told herself. You’re betrothed, remember? To Ian, your soulmate? Even the thought felt sour and stale. “Um, I really like embroidery,” Emily was saying in her quietest, meekest voice. “Sometimes I do custom pieces for the women in town, but there isn’t very much demand.”

“Embroidery is sewing, right?” asked Nathan, his eyes practically boring into Leah’s little sister. Emily just nodded, her eyes nervously flicking from Nathan to the floor and back. “What kind of things do you embroider?” he asked her. “Pillows, sometimes? Wall hangings.” There was a long silence as both of them seemed to try and think of something to say. Nathan had been trying valiantly to make conversation, but he looked like he was plumb out of leads, and poor, chronically shy Emily was clearly terrified that this enormous, handsome

man in a leather jacket was interested in her. “She did all the edging in my trousseau,” Leah offered. Nathan barely glanced at her before looking back at Emily, like he was deliberately trying to pretend she wasn’t there. “What’s a trousseau?” he asked, refusing to make eye contact with Leah. He won’t even look at me, she thought. Her heart sank. “The marital bed linens,” Leah said. She’d forgotten for a moment how different their clans were. “In our clan,

women usually make all the sheets and pillowcases and covers for their marital bed.” She shrugged. “It’s sort of a preparation for marriage, I guess.” “Leah has a really big trousseau,” Emily offered in her soft little voice, seemingly relieved that the conversation was no longer about her. Thanks, kid, Leah thought, though she couldn’t be mad at her little sister. Make me sound like the batty old spinster I am. Maybe thirty-two wasn’t that old to be unmarried in some places, but among the Yukon clan, it was practically ancient. If you weren’t married by twenty-four,

people started looking at you funny. “I’ve been working on it for a while,” she said, trying not to sound bitter. She didn’t want to sound that way in front of this perfectly gorgeous man, the one who made her feel so funny, even if he was there for her kid sister and refused to make eye contact. Leah’s other sister, Abigail, appeared in the doorway. “It’s dinner time,” she said. Leah thought she might pass out from relief.

Even though the house where they were

staying had come furnished, its dining room table wasn’t nearly big enough for all eleven of them. When you had seven siblings, it was rare that anything was big enough: houses, cars or bank accounts. They’d found two folding tables somewhere in the house and set them up next to the main table, making it all one long, if slightly shaky, eating surface. Then, her father spent most of the meal grilling Nathan about himself, no one else really saying anything. Leah sat far on the other end of the table from Nathan so she wouldn’t have to notice him avoid her eyes.

“Tell me what kind of carpentry you do,” boomed Jonah, his voice commanding even as he, in theory, made polite conversation. “A little bit of everything, actually,” said Nathan. He’d finally taken off his jacket at her mother’s insistence, and underneath he was wearing a blue-andwhite plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal heavily muscled forearms, a tattoo of a bear outline with a constellation in on one. Leah was discovering that she liked a man with nice forearms. Even though she had to lean pretty far forward to see Nathan’s face with four of her siblings in the way, she could see the way his hands

moved a little as he talked, the way he gripped his fork as he ate her mother’s pot roast. Even that made the heat rise to her face, and she hoped no one noticed. “Your alpha said that right now you’re working on a kitchen remodel.” Nathan’s hand twitched a little, the muscles in his forearm flexing. “I’m finishing up the cabinets this week,” he answered. “They should be done before too long. I also do a lot of custom furniture.” “You make a good living?” There was that twitch, again. Leah knew

that he probably wasn’t used to quite this level of nosiness on a first date, if this was even a date. Emily hadn’t said a word since the meal had started, but her father had already inquired after the purity of Nathan’s bloodline, Nathan’s place in his clan, and his older brother’s abandonment of the North Star pack. She was pretty sure this wasn’t how most people dated. It was more or less how I dated, though, she thought, and then remembered Ian’s face with a guilty rush. He’s my fiancé, she reminded herself. Stop looking at this other man already.

Although she hadn’t heard or read any of her father’s and Ian’s communication, she was certain the exact same questions had been asked. Of course, she hadn’t been invited to take part until the very end, so at least Emily was getting to know her suitor a little better than Leah had. Ian’s your soulmate and you love him, she reminded herself automatically. God, she wanted that to be true. Her sister Abigail nudged her elbow, and the two of them rose, collecting the dirty plates from the rest of the table, something that had been women’s work since Leah had been tall enough to reach.

She did it automatically, not realizing until it was too late that she’d be the one taking Nathan’s plate away. As she reached over him, her arm grazed his. There was that feeling again, the electricity that sent shivers down her spine. Then Nathan jerked away without even looking at her, responding to something else her father had said. Leah rushed to the kitchen, fighting back tears. What is wrong with me? She thought, dumping the dishes in the sink.

“Will you slice the pie? I always ruin it,” said Abigail, coming in behind her, her arms full as well. Leah turned her back and walked for the door. “One minute, I gotta pee,” she said, and vanished before Abigail could tell that anything was wrong. In the bathroom, she flushed the toilet for realism’s sake and then soaked a wash cloth in cold water, holding it to her reddened eyes. You seriously cannot freak out over this, she told herself. It’s nothing. It’s nerves. You’re about to marry your soulmate and this is all just normal

stress-stuff. Leah thought that maybe if she said it enough times, she’d start thinking it was true, even though deep down she knew it wasn’t, She remembered something her mom had told her, once, when her father had just started discussing the match with Ian: You’ll learn to love him. The advice had come as a shock, after being raised on the fairy tales of shifters who were soulmates, after being told that every couple she knew had experienced love at first sight, that special knowledge that they were right for each other.

Apparently, that wasn’t always true. Leah exhaled, hard, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were almost back to normal, and if anyone noticed something wrong, she could blame it on chopping onions earlier. “There you are,” said Abigail when Leah came back into the kitchen, setting out dessert plates on the counter for Leah to scoop pie onto. “You just ran outta here like your tail was on fire.” “Sorry,” Leah said, making the first, perfect cut in her signature strawberryrhubarb pie.

Nathan wouldn’t look at her during dessert, either, though Leah managed to make sure that Abigail, not her, gave him his pie. As soon as he bit into it, she could tell he didn’t like it. Good, she thought, just a little bit angry. At least I won’t marry someone who doesn’t like my baking. She did pride herself on her baking. “What kind of father do you think you’ll be?” asked Jonah. Leah sneaked a glance down at Nathan, who looked very much like he was trying not to look nervous. Quizzing

someone about his future children when he’d only said a handful of words to his possible mate was probably outside the norm, too, though Leah had watched it happen to both her sisters’ husbands. “My parents were pretty strict, and I turned out okay,” he said. It didn’t exactly answer the question, but it was close enough. “Didn’t your brother run off with a girl?” asked Jonah, and even watching nothing more than Nathan’s hand, she could see him stiffen. “It’s been a few years,” he said, and Leah did feel bad for him now. She tried to get her father to meet her eyes, hoping

she could somehow convey just let the man eat his pie, but he wouldn’t look at her, his gaze locked onto Nathan, his prey. “Didn’t he fight to take Alpha first?” said Jonah. He was holding his fork almost like it was a weapon, not even looking at his pie. “Yep,” said Nathan, his tone sounding the littlest bit angry, like he was keeping himself in check but barely. “He was alpha for about twelve hours, and then he drove off with his girlfriend.” Jonah Whitehorse seemed to consider this for a moment and he carefully cut the corner from his pie, scooped it onto his

fork, before he finally spoke, lifting it to his mouth. “Interesting,” he said. Nathan didn’t respond, but his gaze swept over the rest of the Whitehorses — everyone but Leah. He skipped right from her father to her sister, passing her by like she didn’t even exist. Leah clenched her jaw and cut through the buttery pie crust until her fork clinked loudly against her plate. She didn’t even understand why she was so upset — just because she found him so attractive, he was supposed to want her back? It’s more than that, a voice in her head

whispered. She took another bite of pie, trying to quiet that voice. The questioning continued through the rest of dessert and then coffee, also served by the Whitehorse women, though again Leah managed to get out of having to be near Nathan. Nathan seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated and agitated as it ground on, which Leah could tell through the funny little tics he had. The way the skin tightened around his eyes or how he held his fork. She couldn’t tell if anyone else noticed.

Finally, with the meal over, it was time for Nathan to leave. Leah couldn’t tell if she was relieved or upset. “The pie was very good, Abigail,” he said as they all stood around the table, formally saying their goodbyes. “It was Leah’s, actually,” she said. “Oh. Thank you,” he said, without even bothering to look at Leah. Inside her, something snapped. He didn’t have to like her pie. He didn’t even have to know her name, but if he going to compliment her pie, he had to give her credit. After all, it was her pie.

“I’m glad you liked it,” she said, her voice ice-cold. “Emily, why don’t you walk Nathaniel to the door,” said her father, in a tone of voice that said it wasn’t a suggestion. Quietly, she stepped forward, put her hand on his arm — Why does she get to touch him and not me, thought Leah — and they walked into the hall, out of sight of the rest of the family. Cleaning up in the kitchen, Leah could hear them talking. Or, at least, Nathan was talking, not much more than the usual goodbye pleasantries. I had a lovely time, I’m so glad that you could come, that sort of thing.

Nothing that conveyed the sort of pure light and heat she felt when she so much as looked at him, even if he couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge her presence. Finally, the front door opened and shut. Alone for a moment in the dining room, Leah made a split-second decision and bolted for the door as well.

NINE: NATHAN

athan stepped back into the cool N night air and felt relief wash over him in a wave. That was, by far, the worst first date he’d ever had in his whole life.

Not only had it been with someone fifteen years younger than him — someone who was, for all intents and purposes, still a child — but the entire time, he’d barely been able to stop thinking about her older sister. It was like she radiated something, some drug, and with her around it was almost impossible for him to think about anything but her scent, her beautiful eyes, the possibility of taking her in his arms and carrying her to the sofa in the next room and then taking her frumpy dress off— “Hey!” shouted a voice, and Nathan turned, surprised. There she was, stomping through the

slightly overgrown front yard, her hair a wild mess. She was alone, and if he’d learned anything from his ordeal that night, it was that unmarried Whitehorse women were not supposed to be alone with adult men. “Leah,” he said, standing still in shock, almost afraid that if he moved he wouldn’t be able to control himself anymore. “Oh, so you do know my name,” she said, stomping up to stand right in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed again. Her eyes were bright, but most distractingly, her

chest was heaving, pressing up against her dress with every breath. “Of course I know your name,” he said. “You took a tart straight from my mouth at your—” he couldn’t make himself say betrothal — “at your party.” Something in her softened, her lips parting just the tiniest bit. “Why do you hate me?” she asked, her voice suddenly no longer angry. She just sounded sad, and a little wistful, and Nathan felt like a giant hand was crushing his heart, just to hear her that way. “I don’t hate you,” he said.

“You wouldn’t even look at me,” she said, her tone bewildered and confused. “That’s not true.” She snorted and looked away, her jaw working. “Why would you think that?” he said. His stomach worked itself into a knot at the thought. Hate was the polar opposite of how he felt. “You can’t even make eye contact with me when I’m talking,” she said. “It’s like you’re pretending I don’t even exist, and I want to know why.”

Nathan felt awful. It was completely true. He’d been doing his best not to look at Leah over dinner, because he was afraid of what his bear might do. Every time he saw her, even from the corner of his eye, he wanted to grab her and take her far away, somewhere that her family wouldn’t be around, where she wouldn’t be engaged to someone else, and where he could sink himself into her sweet, soft flesh... “You’re doing it now,” she said, her arms crossed in front of her generous bosom. “You’re staring at the woods behind me.” Nathan redirected his gaze back into her eyes, two perfect pools of blue. He felt

like he was falling into them, drowning, the rest of the world utterly inconsequential. Her lips parted, just a few millimeters, and it was all he could do not to press his own against them. “Nathan, what is this?” Leah whispered softly, still staring up at him. She can feel it too, Nathan realized. “I was afraid of what I might do,” Nathan murmured. Her forehead wrinkled, just a little, and she finally broke their gaze. “It’s because I can’t think about anything else when you’re around,” Nathan said,

the words coming out fast and hard, like she’d broken their gaze and unstoppered a spout. “I can barely hear or see anything but you. It’s like you fill the air and you distract me from everything else.” Now she wouldn’t look at him at all. “When we met it knocked the wind out of me,” he went on, feeling like a balloon with the air rushing out, but it felt good to admit it to her, to at least clear the air. “I didn’t know what had happened, but when that asshole shot a hole in the ceiling, I was ready to take on every single shifter in that room before I let one of them hurt you. I’m sorry, Leah, I know it’s not supposed to

be like this. I know I’m ruining everything. You’re supposed to be getting married to Ian and here I am making a total ass of myself.” Leah didn’t say anything, and she wouldn’t look at him directly, but she bit her lip and he saw her eyes brighten. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Please don’t cry. I’m leaving, I promise.” “Wait,” she said. Nathan thought his heart might stop. “I thought it was just me,” she whispered. “I thought you wouldn’t look at me because you couldn’t stand me.” “Not at all. Not even close.”

They paused for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Nathan felt like he was falling endlessly, head over foot, into her, and he never wanted to come back up. “I was so jealous I thought I might explode,” she said. “Of Emily, for getting you.” “Not a chance,” Nathan said. “Not a single chance.” Gently, his fingers almost trembling, he put one hand on her chin, his fingertips just barely brushing her soft, pale skin. “What do we do now?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Can I kiss you?” He’d never asked permission before, but he’d never even been near someone like Leah before. “Yes,” she said, her eyes sliding closed. Just as Nathan bent down, his lips nearing hers, there was a shout from inside the farmhouse. “Leah!” Jonah Whitehorse’s voice boomed. Leah’s eyes flew open, only inches from Nathan’s, and now they bordered on terror. “I have to go,” she said. Then she gave his hand a quick squeeze in her own and ran back across the

unkempt lawn, barefoot, to her front door, giving him one last glance before rushing inside. Nathan was left standing in the driveway, open-mouthed and utterly unsure of what to do next.

Instead of going home, Nathan rode his bike around for a while. Though Fjords was in a fairly flat little area, the mountains were only about thirty minutes outside town and before he knew it, he was on a two-lane mountain road, climbing higher and higher, the air getting chilly even in the summertime. Muscle memory and sheer habit wanted

him to turn toward Seward and head back to its seedy bars, but he didn’t go. He’d already proven to himself that there was nothing there for him anymore. Cruise ship women were a thing of his past. All he could think about was Leah. He’d finally touched her, really touched her, and her skin had felt like rose petals and lava under his hands, soft and liquid and hot all at once. Nathan hadn’t known that just touching someone could feel like that, not to mention the rest of her. The logical part of his brain knew it was probably a good thing that Jonah had called her back inside, because he didn’t know if he’d have been able to control

himself. In another few minutes he’d have had her skirt up around her waist, her back in the grass. He tried to imagine what it sounded like when Leah moaned in pleasure and a chill went down his spine. I have to see her again, was all he could think. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that she was going to marry someone else in, what, five more days? He also knew that her father was an absolute tyrant, and that she’d grown up obeying his every command. But somehow, none of that mattered.

He had to see her again, and that was the one thing that he knew for certain. Everything else he’d figure out one way or another, but there was that one simple, soul-deep desire. He had to see her again.

It was late, nearly midnight, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Caller ID told him it was Brock, and so he pulled over to the side of the road, cut his engine, and answered it. “Yeah?” “Where are you?” “I took a ride around the mountains,”

Nathan said. Brock was quiet for a moment. They had known each other for a long time, and Brock understood what that meant. “So you didn’t hear the pandemonium,” Brock finally said. Nathan began to get a bad feeling about this call. “No. What happened?” “One of the bride’s redneck cousins caused another ruckus,” Brock said. “Again.” Nathan flinched when he heard Brock called Leah the bride.

“Oh.” “He got drunk, picked a fight in a bar, shifted near humans, and then knocked over a traffic light on his way out of town.” “Damn.” “I need you to do something about him,” Brock said. “I talked to him and to Jonah about this after the engagement party, but it seems that we need something a little stronger.” Nathan had that awful, crawling feeling in his gut, the feeling he got when Brock was asking him to do something really bad.

“How much stronger?” “Rough him up and leave him in the woods. Couple of broken bones. They usually learn after that.” Unbidden, Nathan thought again of Kaitlyn, of that horrible snap sound. He was quiet for a long time, staring at the yellow lines on the road. “Nathan?” “I don’t think I can, Brock,” he said, slowly. He thought of Leah, of her perfect, beautiful face staring up at him. How could she love someone who put her cousin in the hospital?

“Why not?” asked Brock. Nathan was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “I’d like to start being a better person,” he said. He didn’t say, I want to be someone that Leah could love. To his surprise, Brock chuckled. “For Emily,” Brock asked. It wasn’t a question. “Well, you know,” answered Nathan. He didn’t want to lie to his alpha, but he didn’t want to give himself away. “Understood,” said Brock. “I’ll find

someone else.” Then he hung up the phone, leaving Nathan straddling his bike, on a road in the dark. His refusal had gone surprisingly well.

TEN: LEAH

eah knew that she was in trouble the L moment she opened the front door to the house, her father standing at the other end of the short hallway, simply glowering.

For one moment she felt a flare of anger at the whole situation. She was thirtytwo years old, and even though she’d grown up in this clan and did things their way, how many other thirty-two-year old women could still get in trouble with their fathers? “What were you doing?” he asked. He stood perfectly still, the only hint to his fury the line sunken between his brows. “He left his phone on the table,” Leah said, brushing her hands together like she was wiping them off. Her heart was still beating so hard she was certain her father could hear it, but hopefully he’d think she was just afraid of him.

“I didn’t see it there.” Leah shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “It was sort of peeking out from under his napkin. I wanted to get it to him before he left.” The chasm between his eyebrows got shallower. It was working. “You should have had one of your sisters accompany you.” “I didn’t think of it, daddy,” she said, walking forward in the hallway. She was out of the danger zone now, she could tell. He still glared, but less severely. “It was just the front yard, daddy. It was

nothing.” Coming right up to him, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his beard-covered cheek. “You know that I don’t approve of you being alone with men.” “I know.” He stepped aside and let her through to the kitchen, and Leah felt her insides go droopy with relief. If he’d caught her actually touching Nathan, there’d have been hell to pay. Not only had she been in physical contact with a man she wasn’t at least betrothed to, but she was already

betrothed to someone else. Leah was playing with fire, and it had to stop, and she knew it. “So?” rang a voice from the kitchen, shouting over the clatter of the dishes. Leah stepped into the room to see Abigail, Rebecca and Emily all standing by the sink. The dishwasher was already running, but it never fit everything, so one sister was washing, one rinsing, and one drying. Emily, on drying duty, just shrugged. “He’s kind of old,” she said, noncommittally. Even at twenty, she obviously knew

better than to badmouth someone who might wind up her mate. That was the constant push-pull of being in the Yukon clan. On the one hand, they were expected to fall in love with their mates at first sight, recognize the other half of their soul in someone else. On the other hand, their fathers usually arranged marriages with men they barely knew. No one ever asked if the women felt that spark or that pull, it was simply assumed that, since a man had been chosen for them, they did. Leah was finding out what happened when the universe had other plans. “Nathan’s not bad,” she said, stepping

up to the counter. She began putting leftovers into the fridge. “He isn’t a very good conversationalist,” said Emily. “Daddy kept asking him questions and he just looked like a deer in the headlights every time he had to answer.” That’s because Daddy’s not normal, thought Leah, but she didn’t say it. “He probably wasn’t prepared,” she said out loud. “Then why come over here at all?” Emily said. Though the girl was shy in front of strangers, she was a firecracker with her sisters. Like right now.

“Beats me,” said Leah. Stop defending him, she thought. What if they catch on? “You guys want any more pie before I put it away?” she asked, sneaking a forkful herself.

Leah spent most of that night and the next day trying to tell herself that it had been nothing. Somehow, both she and Nathan had gotten the wrong idea, and sure, he’d touched her in the front yard, but that was it. She probably wouldn’t even see him again until her wedding, and at that

point, it didn’t even matter, right? Ian was her partner, her husband-to-be and her soulmate, and that was that. She just wished thinking that didn’t make her feel quite so awful. At six on the dot, Ian’s SUV rumbled up their driveway to pick her up for their date. It was a little strange for a groomto-be to only spend a little bit of time with his soon-to-be wife — in Yukon City, the two usually spent most of their time together for that week, chaperoned of course — but Ian seemed very busy with his import-export business. Leah was waiting in the sitting room on one of the blue couches, trying not to be

too nervous. She waited for him to come to the door, as was proper, and then opened it under her mother’s watchful eye. Ian stepped inside and handed her a small bouquet of flowers. Carnations, not her favorite, but he’d learn what she liked, right? “You look lovely,” he said perfunctorily, but Leah still blushed. She didn’t get many compliments, especially being the heaviest of four daughters. “Thanks,” she said. “Would you like to come in?” Most of Leah’s family was pretending to be busy in the nearby rooms, so she

walked him through them and Ian shook hands with everyone. He remembered most of their names. See, thought Leah, trying to warm herself to the man she was going to marry, he’s made an effort. You should appreciate that. She was really, really trying. Finally, Ian looked at his watch, then at Leah. “Grab your sister, our reservation’s at seven,” he told her. Leah blinked. “My sister?” “Emily,” he said. “It’s a double date. We’re meeting Nathan there.”

Leah nearly broke into a grin, and her heart turned over in her chest. It was only years of training that let her keep the same facial expression. “No one told me.” She saw the muscles around his eyes tighten just the tiniest bit. “Just get your sister and let’s go,” he said, the friendly joviality suddenly gone from his voice. Leah felt something small and ice cold settle in the pit of her stomach, but she went to go find her little sister. The drive to the restaurant was mostly silent.

ELEVEN: NATHAN

athan sat in the big corner booth N nervously. He felt overdressed for the Applebee’s: since his only ‘nice’ clothes had been torn to shreds, he’d gone out shopping after work, finding himself

another dress shirt and a nice-enough sport coat. He’d gotten lucky, since Fjord’s only real clothing store usually didn’t have a lot for the six-and-a-halffoot gentleman, but this time he’d found both things in one fell swoop. He flipped the laminated menu back and forth in his hands, looking at the drinks. It was mostly a cavalcade of fruity cocktails or things that were really just milkshakes with a splash of rum, but he could really go for a whiskey on the rocks right now. The only problem was that he didn’t think the Yukon clan approved of drinking — after all, the betrothal party had been totally dry — and he didn’t want to upset the girls.

Nathan pulled his phone out of his pocket one more time. 6:57. They weren’t even late yet. Maybe this was dumb, he thought for the thousandth time. It was probably insane at the very least to go on a date with the girl you couldn’t stop thinking about and her intended mate, using her little sister as an excuse. It was the best thing he’d come up with, though, and not seeing her again just wasn’t an option. As much as he wanted to just climb into her window and sneak off with her, he didn’t really know what she thought about this yet. Besides, if she wasn’t interested, there

were a whole lot of grizzlies in that house and only one of him. Even though he was more than willing to fight every one of them and die for Leah if he had to, better to leave that plan as a last resort. At last, he saw Ian walk in, say something to the hostess, then look over at Nathan. Leah and Emily trailed behind him, looking a little out of place in the bright, loud Applebee’s. They both wore simple clothes: a short-sleeve shirt and a khaki skirt that hit mid-calf. He tried not to stare at Leah, but he couldn’t help it, not even with Ian watching. There was just something about the way she moved, the way her hips swayed even under her ugly skirt,

that lit every nerve in his body on fire and made him feel like there was absolutely nothing else in the world. Nathan had never wanted anything so badly in his life. “Nathan,” said Ian, stepping up to him and offering a firm but quick handshake before slipping into the booth. As he did, Nathan locked eyes with Leah for one second before she looked down at the floor, cutting him off. Does she know I did this? He wondered. Does she know it’s because I thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t see her

again? “Hi,” said Emily. Nathan took her hand, kissed it for lack of knowing what else to do, and let her into the booth first. Then he got in himself, sitting directly across from Leah. He couldn’t have planned it better. The four of them stared at their menus in total silence for a long time. “You guys want to split some mozzarella sticks?” Nathan finally asked. “We could get an order of that and an order of wings, live a little.” “Are they chicken wings?” asked Emily,

her voice barely audible over the din of the restaurant. “Right,” said Nathan. Leah looked at him over the menu. He couldn’t see anything but her eyes, making her face inscrutable, but he thought she looked amused, or at the very least, hungry. “I’ve never been to a place like this before,” said Emily, her voice still so breathy and young-sounding. Nathan wondered what everyone else here must think, seeing the two of them together. Did they think she was his daughter? “An Applebee’s?” asked Nathan.

“There’s only two restaurants in Yukon City,” Leah volunteered, still looking at the menu. “Grandma’s Biscuit Hut and a McDonald’s.” She lowered her menu and Nathan could finally see that she was smiling. “This is a big deal for us.” “I’m glad I could show you ladies a good time,” Nathan said. At last, he was beginning to feel a little like his old self, someone who could make conversation with someone of the opposite sex. Leah had clammed him up at first, shocked him into silence. Bamboozled was the best word he could think of, actually. Just as he was thinking that this was

going pretty well, he caught the tail end of an icy cold glare from Ian, still brooding over the menu caddy-corner to Nathan. Nathan grit his teeth together and didn’t do anything. He knew that he could take Ian in a fight, but he also knew that Ian wouldn’t address his problems directly to Nathan — he’d address them to Leah, and from what Nathan had gathered about Leah, she’d been taught her whole life never fight back against her husband-to-be. “You guys ready to order?” asked the brunette, human waitress who came over, giving Nathan a particular smile.

He sent a polite smile back, but quickly tried to place her. This Applebee’s was one of only a handful of places in town where you could get a drink. Had he taken this waitress home at some point? All the women’s faces tended to blend together. All besides Leah’s, of course. Nathan ordered the wings and mozzarella sticks, then a burger for himself. Emily quietly ordered the chicken tenders, and for half a second, Nathan had thought she was going to order from the kids’ menu. Then it was Ian’s turn. “I will have the T-Bone steak, sixteen

ounce size, with a side of mashed potatoes,” he said, adopting an oddly formal tone with the waitress. Thinking it was her turn, Leah spoke up. “I’ll take the cheeseburger—“ “The lady will have the wild greens garden salad, dressing on the side, no croutons, and she’d like to add grilled chicken to that. Unsweetened iced tea for both.” Leah’s mouth was still open and she closed it, quickly, turning three shades of red. She looked down at her menu, and just nodded silently when the waitress asked if that was what she actually wanted.

Nathan saw pure red again and he had to fight against the bright white heat of shifting. It took every last ounce of selfcontrol he had not to shift right then and there and tear Ian limb from limb before the other man could do so much as stand up, but he knew he couldn’t. Not here, in the middle of this restaurant. Too many witnesses. “She was going to order a burger,” he said to Ian, doing his best to keep his voice calm and level and not the growl he felt. Ian fixed him with that same icy calm glare. “My wife could stand to eat a salad,” he

said. Leah looked desperately away, across the restaurant, her face still bright red. “She was going to order for herself,” Nathan said. His voice was beginning to lower, and despite himself, he could feel the shift starting in his core, his bear taking over no matter what he did. How could that asshole command her around like that? How could he not see her for what she was — the most beautiful, gorgeous, insanely attractive woman Nathan had ever laid eyes on? Just thinking about her eating a cheeseburger got him halfway erect.

“This is not your concern,” said Ian, with the same infuriating calmness, the same almost-smirk on his face, like he knew that he’d already won. Nathan pushed his hands down on the table and began to stand, fury lacing its way through his system, whispering for him to shift and tear this asshole apart and damn the consequences. To his right, Emily looked on, even more wide-eyed then before. He caught Leah’s eye, her face now just a deep pink. She shook her head slightly, her eyes pleading. “It’s okay,” she said. “I like salad.”

Then reality came crashing back to Nathan and he remembered where he was, what he was doing. This wasn’t the deep woods, this was polite human society. He sat back down and glared at Ian, breathing hard.

TWELVE: LEAH

lease don’t cause a scene, Leah P thought. Please, please don’t draw any more attention to me. It was bad enough that Ian — her future husband and soulmate, she automatically

reminded herself — had decided she was getting a salad instead of a cheeseburger, as if one meal would magically make her skinny or something. Her family ate at a restaurant once a year, and the rest of the time, things like cheeseburgers and fries were rare — most of her meals were chickens from their farm or veggies that she’d harvested. The Whitehorses weren’t poor, since there always seemed to be money when her father wanted it, but the rest of the family had to scrimp and save. At last, Nathan sat, and relief flooded through Leah. The whole situation with him and Ian was quickly getting out of

hand, she could tell, but she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. She hardly even knew any men that she wasn’t related to, and now there were two of them, fighting over her. One of them she was going to marry, and the other she thought about almost constantly. At night, she prayed to hear his motorcycle coming up the driveway, even as she knew that she could never, ever disobey her father so seriously as to actually go off with Nathan. Ian was going to be her mate, and that was that. She needed to stop having this schoolgirl crush on the other shifter. It would help, though, if he didn’t keep

showing up in her life. After Nathan’s little moment, they sat in silence for what felt like an eon, though Leah knew it was probably about thirty seconds, Nathan practically growling and baring his teeth at Ian. She stared at her hands and picked at her cuticles, pretending that no one else in the restaurant had noticed. Finally, the silence was too much and she had to say something. “You ride a motorcycle?” she asked. It was the first thing she could think of, and she’d do nearly anything to break the tension. Nathan’s eyes moved back to her, and it

looked like he relaxed, visibly. “Yeah,” he said. “Best way to get around, hands down.” “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” said Leah. “Isn’t it dangerous?” Nathan shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “But driving in a car is dangerous, flying on a plane is dangerous. You might even get E. coli tonight from your salad and die.” He still seemed tense, something in the way he held his shoulders and neck, speaking to the table at first until, at the end of his sentence, his eyes flicked up to Leah. Then his body seemed to relax a little into itself, the simple, tiny motion

releasing something deep inside Leah that responded to every movement he seemed to make. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks for that,” she said. “Now I’ll really enjoy my dinner.” Nathan looked guilty, but there was a sparkle of something in his eye. He was having fun, Leah realized. “Sorry,” he said, a hint of a smile making its way onto his face. “Maybe I’ll enjoy my danger salad a little more now,” she said. Leah leaned her elbows on the table, moving her body forward just barely. She felt like

Nathan was a magnet, pulling her toward himself, even with Ian right next to her. “You could be one of those inspirational posters,” Nathan said dryly. “Eat every salad like it’s your last.” Leah licked her lips and moved her knife with one finger, just barely, tilting her head to one side. “Tell me about Fjords,” she said. She glanced at Ian for a half a second, not wanting him to feel left out of the conversation, but she felt caught up in the moment, tiny as it was. She was pretty sure she was flirting with Nathan, and worse, she was pretty sure

that she was having a great time doing it. Leah didn’t think she’d ever flirted with anyone before. After all, she rarely met men that weren’t somehow connected to her family. Ian’s chest puffed up, and he sat up straighter, lacing his fingers together on the table in front of him. Emily, who’d been quiet as a church mouse this entire time, scooted back in her seat just a little, as if expecting him to explode. “Fjords was founded about a hundred and fifty years ago by Thomas Rowland, my sixth great grandfather, the North Star clan’s first alpha,” Ian said, pompously. Nathan raised his eyebrows, and Leah

glanced over at him. She had to do her best not to giggle, and she didn’t even know why — because Ian was being such a weirdo? Because it just felt good to be near Nathan? Ian didn’t seem to notice any of this. “Under him, Fjords was a small settlement. It soon attracted humans who had come to Alaska and the Yukon for the gold rush and who elected to stay in the area. For many years, it had a strong fishing industry, led mostly by the North Star clan.” He cleared his throat and looked around the table. Leah desperately hoped that her face

was composed and wifely. She felt anything but. “The clan has always had a hand in the affairs of the town, usually running things. The humans do not officially know what we are, but most have some sort of informal knowledge.” Informal knowledge? Leah thought to herself. She didn’t dare look over at Nathan for fear that she’d burst into giggles at her fiancé. Ian frowned, just a little, but he went on. “We prize independence and a wild spirit over almost all else,” he went on,

looking straight at Leah. “We are traditionalists, and believe in bear sovereignty. We frown on intermarriage as well as those who would deny or run away from their ursine heritage.” She bit her lip, sensing that this might turn into a lecture of some sort. She still couldn’t look over at Nathan, even though she wanted to make sure she wasn’t the only one who found this a little odd, Leah glanced over at her little sister, still sitting ramrod straight in the chair, a very faint crease between her eyebrows. Okay, good, she thought. “Fjords is beautiful,” Nathan said.

Leah turned her head to look at him. Now he was on his elbows on the table, leaning in toward her. His eyes sparkled — no, blazed — with something she couldn’t name but that she found captivating. “I mean, you’ve seen a lot of the town,” he said, looking down at the table almost shyly and then back up at her. “But in the summer, the bay is beautiful. Across it you can see all these glaciers that come down to the ocean, these gorgeous white ice cliffs.” He rubbed his hands together and looked at them, thinking. “You’ve probably seen the huge

mountains to the south, right? You can drive across those and get to the national park, and it’s beautiful there, all these majestic fir trees and ice-capped rocks. It really feels like you’re in the middle of something spectacular. And there’s no one around, mostly, not for miles and miles.” He looked up at her and smiled. “It’s a wonderful place if you like that sort of thing,” he said. “I love that sort of thing,” Leah said, nearly mesmerized. Then Ian cleared his throat, loudly. The sound was nearly a growl, and right away, Leah’s heart skipped a beat.

What are you doing? She scolded herself. “I can’t wait for us to make a life together here,” she said, and made herself smile up at Ian, putting one hand on his arm. There was nothing. No sudden zap of electricity, nothing besides lukewarm flesh that barely responded to her touch. I’ll learn to love him, she thought. Then, at last, the food came, and everyone ate in silence.

THIRTEEN: NATHAN

fter the meal, the men both paid for A their respective dates and, without much further ado, Ian began leaving. “I’ll also be taking Emily home if you don’t mind,” he said solemnly to Nathan.

He’d almost forgotten about Leah’s shy younger sister, even though she’d been sitting next to him the entire night. He turned to look at her one more time and was struck yet again by how young she looked. Almost as young as... He shook his head quickly. Now wasn’t the time to think of that. He followed Ian and Leah out, Emily next to him, and he could feel his anxiety and desperation rising. I have to see her again, he thought. I don’t care what I have to do. I have to see her again. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he

didn’t deserve her and he knew that, come hell or high water, she was marrying Ian in a matter of days, and he was powerless to stop it. The four walked back to the restaurant’s small lobby, which had two wooden benches, a few chairs, a bunch of ugly stuff on the walls, and both bathrooms. Ian nodded at the men’s. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and headed off. Nathan watched his back as the other man walked away, and he had an idea. A way to see her again, an even riskier idea than this one.

The moment the men’s room door closed behind Ian, Nathan turned to Leah, not caring that Emily was also nearby. “There’s a place not far outside of town called the Pinnacles,” he said, his voice low enough that the people waiting for a table couldn’t hear him. He took a step toward her, not touching her, but she went wide-eyed. “It’s this outcropping of granite, and it’s an easy hike. It sticks up above everything around it, and from there, you can see everything. The town, the mountains, the glaciers, and most nights it’s dark enough that you can see the Milky Way overhead, even in the summer.” “The Pinnacles?” Leah said, seeming a

little lost at this sudden onslaught. “In the winter you can see the northern lights but it’s too warm right now,” he said. He took a deep breath. The men’s room door opened, and for a moment his heart stopped. A stranger walked out. “What window is yours?” he asked. “In the house?” “Top floor, north side,” Leah said, breathlessly. Her eyes darted around to the other people waiting in the Applebee’s lobby. “Midnight tonight,” Nathan said. “Look

out your window. I’ll be there. If you don’t want to come, don’t, but I’ll be there, okay?” Leah had turned bright pink, and she just barely nodded. “I know this is stupid and dangerous, but I can’t just let this be,” Nathan said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands were jammed in his pockets out of fear of what they might do — he wanted to take her face in his hands, tilt it up and kiss her long and hard. If he let himself, he might just take her right there in the middle of Applebee’s, make her scream his name over and over —

“Okay,” she whispered. Then the bathroom door opened again and Ian walked out. Both Leah’s and Nathan’s heads snapped around, and Nathan instinctually took a step backward. Ian frowned, as if he knew something had been going on. But they hadn’t been touching, thank god, and there was nothing he could really say. Even if she was his fiancée, she could talk to another man in public, with her little sister right there. “Shall we go home?” Ian asked, his tone still oddly stiff and formal. Leah nodded, her color quickly returning

to her usual pale. “It was nice to see you again,” she said, nodding her head forward. “I had a very nice time tonight,” Emily said, her small hand reaching out and touching Nathan on the shoulder. “Thank you for dinner.” “You’re welcome,” Nathan said. Then he watched the three of them leave through the double doors, still standing in the lobby of Applebee’s. After a long moment, long enough for them to get to Ian’s car without feeling like he was following them, he strode out into the cool air of the parking lot and hopped onto his bike.

It wasn’t even eight in the evening. He had to find something to do for four hours.

He ended up going home and watching stupid television for most of that time. He’d tried driving around some, but out of habit he kept steering himself toward Seward and the women fresh off the cruise ships, only to remember that there was nothing for him down there anymore. Television, at least, provided some measure of distraction. There was a game show and then news before a long, tedious police procedural. They caught

the bad guy and then, at last, it was eleven, late enough to head to Leah’s. Anticipation hummed through Nathan’s veins as he walked to his motorcycle, bringing along an extra helmet. All at once he was excited and terrified: he’d get to see her again, alone for the first time, just the two of them. On the other hand, he might get caught by her father or one of her brothers. Someone might see them. Worst of all, she might not come out. She was promised to someone else, and he knew that the Whitehorses were very very traditional. Maybe Leah was really, truly in love

with Ian and just thought Nathan was funny. Maybe she didn’t want to get involved with someone she wasn’t promised to. Maybe that moment in her front yard he’d just been imagining — after all, what had she really said when Nathan spilled his guts to her? A half mile from her house, he dismounted his motorcycle and left it by the road, in some bushes. Much too late he realized he should have brought the car, since at least that wasn’t loud enough to wake the dead. Oh well, he thought. Besides, she’d asked about the bike. He thought he sensed something wild deep

down inside Leah. She’d had a circumspect upbringing, it was true, but he had the feeling that once she was out of her father’s house she’d be a real wildcat. The kind of woman who couldn’t be held back from anything. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. At last, he could see her house from the road. He didn’t want to walk up her driveway, just in case someone else was still awake, so he fought his way through some bushes and vines to get to the field where the big farmhouse was. For the first time, he didn’t think about the family he’d frightened out of there,

all those years ago. All he could think of was Leah. He crept around to the north side of the house, his heart beating nearly out of his chest with excitement. The house was dark, but he couldn’t see the window that Leah had said was hers just yet. Then, as he rounded the corner, there it was. Her light was on, though there was a curtain over the window. Nathan checked his phone to see what time it was. 11:53. He crouched in the tall grass, just at the edge of the field surrounding the house,

and waited.

FOURTEEN: LEAH

eah spent the ride back to the L farmhouse feeling awful. Everything felt right and good when Nathan was around, but the moment he left, she felt terrible about him.

Mostly, she felt terrible about how she felt around him. When he was there, nothing else at all mattered, but in his absence, reality came crashing back down around her ears. She was marrying Ian, not Nathan. Leah sneaked a quick glance at him. He sat up perfectly straight in the driver’s seat, his hands at nine and three, and he stared straight out the car’s front window without wavering at all. He never even looked over at her, and everyone was silent for the entire ride home. Even though she didn’t have a very good sense of who Ian was — nothing like the

sudden, bone-deep understanding of Nathan — she got the feeling that he preferred to speak rather than be spoken to. At last, they pulled up in front of the farmhouse, the sky just barely starting to turn a light blue-purple at nine in the evening. They were far enough north that it only got truly dark for an hour or two every night, and even then, the edges of the sky would be light. Not that Leah had ever been any further south. Ian got out of the car, and Leah and Emily followed suit. “Go on inside,” Ian said to Emily. “I’d

like to have a word with my future wife.” Emily nodded once, her big eyes looking over at Leah, who nodded at her. As she watched her sister go back in the house, Leah felt a twinge of something like fear. Ian was on the small side for a shifter, but that meant he was still sixfoot-three, easily, and Leah was nervous about that. She got a strange energy off of him. Something about him made her nervous, as much as she didn’t like to admit that to herself about her future husband, but she pushed the feeling away and turned to face him.

She even managed to plaster a smile on her face, even though Ian was glowering and serious. “I won’t have you embarrassing me in public like that,” he said. His voice was low and threatening, and despite herself, Leah shrank away, suddenly afraid that he might get physically violent. “What do you mean?” she said, trying desperately to play the part of the innocent country girl. “Letting that man stand up for you like that,” he said. “Throwing yourself at him like you’re some kind of harlot, practically spreading your legs right there at the dinner table and giving him a

good, long sniff.” Leah’s mouth dropped open in shock and rage, and she could feel the heat rush to her face. “I was not—” “Let me make myself perfectly clear,” he said, simply talking over her like she didn’t matter. “I will not have that. My wife is to be above reproach. When you speak to other men, you do it demurely. If I say you’ll have a salad, you’ll have a salad. You could stand to lose a couple of pounds.” Tears of rage sprang to Leah’s eyes, and she turned her head away from Ian.

He put one strong hand on her jaw, grasping it and forcing her to look at him again. “I am the man of our household,” he told her, his face a hideous snarl. “And you’re to be by my side at all times, not off making a spectacle of yourself. Is that understood?” Don’t you dare cry, Leah thought to herself, tears wobbling dangerously under her eyelids. Don’t give him that satisfaction. She nodded once, his fingers still clamped around her jaw. “Very good,” he said, letting her go and turning toward his car. “I’ll pick you up

for the clan barbecue tomorrow at six.” Leah barely dared to move or breathe for fear that she might do something terrible. He’s your husband, she told herself, over and over again. He’s your husband and your soulmate and you’re going to learn to love him. When he had driven down their long driveway and Leah felt like she might have herself under control again at last, she carefully took a deep breath and turned toward the house. Quickly, the curtains in the living room moved back across the window, but not quite quickly enough.

Her father had just watched the whole thing. Leah steeled herself to walk through the front door, but when she got inside, he was gone. I’m alone here, she thought to herself, the thought coming as a shock. My father won’t do anything to defend me. I’m Ian’s now. She was almost in a daze as she mounted the stairs to her room, telling her sister something about how she was tired from her long day.

Leah didn’t leave her room again that night. She tried to read a book, but kept

reading the same paragraph over and over, totally unable to concentrate. Nathan was coming at midnight. She didn’t even know what the punishment would be if she was caught sneaking out to see him. It would be bad, that was for sure. Whitehorse women weren’t allowed, under any circumstances, to be alone with adult men who they weren’t related to. Leah had never done that before, but she knew of one or two girls who had. Both had basically been shunned and considered unmarriageable afterwards, forced to either leave everything and everyone they knew to start a new life, or be spinsters.

Leah didn’t want that. She wanted to be married to her soulmate. She wanted kids, a family life. She just didn’t think that she wanted it with Ian, but that was her only real option. It was Ian or nothing, and she knew it. At thirty-two, there weren’t many people who’d be willing to marry her. They all wanted younger brides, brides who could bear six or eight cubs still. And yet, Nathan would be there at midnight. If she got caught, she knew she’d never see him again. It was that simple. She looked over at a round clock on the

wall in the corner of the tiny attic room. 11:55. Time to decide. Leah paced back and forth, trying to be as quiet as possible. Emily was sleeping in the room right below, and she didn’t want to wake her little sister. She knew what she should do. She should turn out the light and get in bed and not even lift the curtain. That way she’d never know whether Nathan was really out there, or what she’d missed. She should behave herself properly, marry Ian, follow his rules, and make herself learn to love him in time.

That was the reasonable, safe plan. It wasn’t what she wanted though, not even a little. 11:59. She stood at the window, behind the curtain, her hands shaking. If anyone catches you, it’s over, she told herself. You’ll be gone so fast that there won’t be anything anyone can do. But then she thought about the way he looked at her, the way she felt magnetized around him. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about the stars at the Pinnacles. Leah opened the curtain just a crack,

peeking out. She was terrified that he wouldn’t be there, that she’d betrayed her family and her fiancé for nothing. For a moment she didn’t see anything. Then, her eyes adjusting to the dark, she saw someone down below wearing a black leather jacket and waving. Leah’s face broke into a huge grin and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing Come down, he mouthed, still waving at her from the ground. What’s done is done, Leah thought. She felt free and almost giddy, and she grabbed shoes and a jacket, then padded

down the stairs and out the back door as quietly as she could. The grass was cold and wet under her feet, but nothing had ever felt better or freer. This is stupid, part of her brain thought as she broke into a run toward Nathan. I don’t care, the rest of her answered.

FIFTEEN: NATHAN

he time between Leah’s face T appearing in the window and her coming through the back door was the longest thirty seconds of Nathan’s life, he thought. Even after that smile, he wasn’t

totally sure she’d come down — maybe it was a goodbye smile. Maybe her father would catch her sneaking out. His heart squeezed in his chest. But then she came out, carefully shutting the screen door behind her as quietly as she could, and she walked and then ran across the field toward him. Moments later she was in his arms as he scooped her up and spun her around, finally touching her, an electric thrill singing through every nerve. She laughed as he did, her bright red hair flying out behind her. “Shh,” he said as he put her back on her

feet, leaning down toward her. “We’re far enough away,” she whispered. Nathan didn’t respond, but he cupped her face gently with one hand, the other still at her waist, and ran the pad of his thumb over her full bottom lip. It was perfectly soft and yielding, and the way she looked at him made his breathing go ragged. “Now can I kiss you?” he asked. “Yes,” she whispered. Nathan bent down and touched his lips to hers, just barely, half afraid of himself. His bear was roaring, wild to

rip her dress off and make her his right there, in the wet grass, and damn the consequences, but he resisted. Leah’s lips were soft and lush and at first Nathan barely brushed them with his own, not wanting to hurt her or rush things. She was perfectly firm, but yielding at the same time, a combination of soft and hard that made him wild inside. But then she pressed herself up against him, taking him by surprise with her urgency. One of her hands found its way to the side of his torso and he swept his tongue along her lower lip, almost as if he was asking her permission.

Beneath him, her lips parted, her hand tightening on the side of his body, and he nearly lost control. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, finding hers, just barely touching it with the tip of his and then, to his surprise, she pushed her tongue past him, moving her mouth hard against him, tangling them together in the sweetest embrace he’d ever felt. Nathan thought that he could have stayed there, kissing Leah, for eternity, but at last she pulled away, breathing hard, her chest heaving, still looking up at Nathan. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she said, a smile playing around her lips. His hand was still on her chin. He felt

like he couldn’t stop touching her. “It felt like my first time,” he said. Someday, you’ll have to tell her, a small, mean part of his brain thought. Not just about the other women. About everything. He shrugged it off. “Can I take you to the Pinnacles?” he asked. She held something up in one hand: shoes. “I didn’t want to make noise sneaking out,” she said softly, her voice musical in the night.

“You’ve sneaked out before?” he asked, Leah shook her head and bent down, slipping sneakers onto her bare feet. “Never?” “Never,” she said. Then she looked at him, a little oddly, and took his big, hard hand in her small, soft one. “There’s a lot I haven’t done before,” she said. He could hear something odd in her voice, a mixture of fear and longing, that made Nathan’s heart skip a couple of beats. Quietly, they walked for the road, going completely silent as they passed below

the windows of the farmhouse where Leah’s family slept. He helped her through the undergrowth and to the road. Leah only looked back over her shoulder at the farmhouse once, and Nathan admired her for that. The consequences were much greater for her than for him, he knew, and yet here she was, defying her father and Ian and years and years of tradition, just to go look at the stars with some stranger. We’re not strangers, a voice whispered, deep inside Nathan. We’re anything but. It was incredible, the way she made him feel. Like his past didn’t exist, like he’d never touched another woman before.

He felt brand new, all the bad parts of him erased. “Tell me more about these rocks,” she said. They were still holding hands, walking close together, and her fingers tangled with his, her face looking up at him. For a moment he was struck by her, by how utterly perfect she was. His bear roared again, wanting to lower her to the asphalt right now. He shrugged. “They’re a couple of rock spires on a hill not far from here,” he said. “In the middle is a big flat rock, and you can lie

on it and look up and see all the stars, these crazy spires all around you.” “Sounds beautiful,” she said. “It is.” They walked in silence for a moment, Nathan’s whole body humming. “I think I’ll like Fjords,” she said, swinging their arms back and forth. “It reminds me a lot of home.” “Of Yukon City?” Leah nodded, her hair bouncing in the dark. “Yukon City isn’t on the ocean, but it’s got a similar feel. It’s freezing cold eight

months of every year, and everything is flat and evergreen the same way.” Another pause, and their hands swung back and forth. Up ahead, Nathan could see the bush where he’d hidden the motorcycle. “It’s on the Yukon River, and a lot of people stopped there during the gold rush, so we’ve got that in common,” she went on. “It still sort of feels like the wild west, honestly.” They reached the motorcycle, and Leah’s eyebrows went up. “You brought the bike,” she said. “You asked about it.”

She ran one hand along the seat, and Nathan could have sworn she was savoring the touch of the hard leather. “Be careful with me,” she said. She looked up at him and bit her lip, but Nathan could see the sheer delight in her eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I even brought you a helmet.” “You didn’t know that I’d come out,” she said, tugging his hand and pulling him against herself. “I knew,” he said, and realized that it had been true all along. They kissed again, long and slow,

Nathan biting her bottom lip softly and Leah making a little noise in response. Control yourself, he thought, even as he squeezed her waist, kissing her even harder.

SIXTEEN: LEAH

eah had never experienced anything L like being on a motorcycle before. It was terrifying and exhilarating, all at once. The closest she’d ever come had been the time that her cousin gave her a ride

in the back of a pickup truck once, when she was a kid, only for both of them to get chewed out by her father not long after. She laughed until her ribs hurt out of nothing but exuberance, watching the dark scenery fly by. Nathan took the back roads, careful not to let anyone see them together. Finally, he pulled into a small turnout from the main road and pulled his helmet off. He helped Leah with hers, kissing her as he did, like he simply couldn’t help himself. Leah felt almost delirious with the double thrill of happiness and anxiety,

knowing she was doing exactly what she wanted to be doing, and also understanding the consequences of it. Even so, she felt lighter and better, just being there with Nathan. He took her by the hand and led her down a path, crowded with bushes and trees, holding back the branches for her as she walked behind him, letting him lead the way. A few minutes later, she could see the Pinnacles, just as promised: big spears of granite, sticking up toward the sky. “Is that them?” she asked, excitedly. “Yep,” said Nathan, tugging at her hand. He was so excited, he almost seemed

like a kid, and she could tell that he wasn’t like this, normally. When the people of Fjords talked about Nathan Kamchatka, they tended to lower their voices and hunch their shoulders, like they didn’t want to be heard, but Leah didn’t know why. They obviously hadn’t seen the real Nathan, the sweet, sexy guy who brought an extra helmet and wanted to show her the stars. Finally, they broke through the trees and into a clearing where there was a big, flat rock surrounded by the Pinnacles themselves, big gray rocks pointing at heaven.

“This is incredible,” Leah breathed, her neck craned up. “Come into the middle,” Nathan said, still leading her. Now he was behind her, his hands on her waist over her simple, almost-frumpy dress. She looked up. “There it is,” she said, pointing at the Milky Way. “You really can see it.” “You can’t in Yukon City?” he asked. “Not as well,” Leah said. “I guess I never really look, to be honest.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and Leah felt herself relax into his embrace, almost like she’d done it a

thousand times before. It just felt so familiar and right. Even though she knew that what she was doing was wrong, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt exactly right. “Do they tell the legend of the North Star in Yukon City?” he asked. Leah could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest, against the back of her neck. She’d never felt so warm or so safe in her life. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Do you want to hear it?” he asked. “If you’re telling it.”

“Once upon a time,” Nathan said, “there were two bears, mates, and they lived on the island off the eastern coast of Siberia, north of Japan.” His hand found hers, still holding her tight, and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “They were together every day, all day, hunting and fishing, and they were so in love that the sea got jealous of them, so jealous that she couldn’t stand it.” Leah had never heard this particular story before, but it had the elements she was familiar with: the distant past where shifters had just been bears, the forces of nature with human feelings.

“Was the sea in love with the male bear?” “Maybe,” Nathan said. Leah could hear the smile in his voice. “But whatever the reason, maybe because the sea was in love with him or because there is only one sea and she’ll be lonely forever, the sea stole his mate away from him.” Leah went silent, holding her breath. “Even though he swam and swam after her, the sea was greater and it took her away from him. After hours, he swam back to shore, wet and bedraggled and heartbroken. When he was back, he tore down the trees on the shore, he tore the forests away from the mountains and he

was so angry that his anger infected the earth, made it spew forth lava until the beautiful place they’d lived was ugly and scarred with fire.” Leah turned her cheek to nestle again Nathan’s hard chest, the better to feel his voice. “So he lived on worms and berries and fish, too heartbroken to care that he’d destroyed everything they loved, until one day a raven came to him and said that he knew where the bear’s mate was.” “Where?” “I’m getting there. The raven wanted to make a deal, though. The raven had

always been afraid of bears, and he wanted the bear to give up some of his power. So the raven said that he’d tell the bear where his mate was if he agreed to spend some of his time utterly defenseless, without claws or teeth or fur.” Nathan pulled Leah even closer. She felt like they were breathing as one. “The bear agreed right away. ‘She’s east’, the raven said. ‘You have to follow the coast and then, when you get to the great ice bridge, keep the North Star on your left, and follow the coast back down.’ So that’s what the bear did. In those days, the land still connected Siberia and North America, so he spent

months walking, hunting his food, sometimes starving, always staying away from the jealous sea who wanted to keep them apart. As long as he kept the North Star on his left, he knew, he’d find his mate.” “Did he?” “As soon as he got close he could feel her in his bones, and he wandered the coast, howling for her until, at least, a naked woman stepped out of a cave in front of him. The raven had stripped her of her defenses, too, and when the bear saw her he became human as well.” He placed a kiss on the top of Leah’s head.

“And that’s how shifters became human.” There was a brief pause, where neither of them said anything, just basking in the glow of the moment. “It’s also why we don’t go swimming much,” he said, and Leah laughed out loud. “I’ve never heard that story,” she said. “Our’s is about kidnapping and the soul getting split into two.” She turned around in his arms, looking up at him. “Do you believe the stories?” he asked. Leah bit her lip. She wanted to believe

the stories, sure, but she didn’t know what she believed anymore. After all, so much of what she’d thought until recently was just wrong, and yet she had to abide by it. Really, she shouldn’t even be here alone with Nathan. She’d sneaked out, directly disobeying her father’s orders. Betraying her future husband. “I don’t know,” she told Nathan. Suddenly she couldn’t meet his eyes. What are you doing, she thought. You can’t have him. You shouldn’t be leading him on like this. It isn’t fair. “I used to believe in them,” she said. “I

wish I still did.” He frowned and reached up, cradling her face in one hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Leah opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find the words to explain that inside, she felt like a whirlpool of disbelief, chaos, betrayal, and happiness. How could she be so happy here, with him, when she was letting her entire clan down? How could she enjoy this when she’d never get to do it again? You know you can’t keep him, she thought. “Just kiss me,” she whispered, tilting her

head up. Then Nathan’s lips met hers, Leah’s heart felt so full that she thought it might burst. Electricity sang through her as she pressed herself against him, harder. Shyly, not quite sure of herself, she nudged the tip of her tongue against his lips and felt him give way, opening them to her and meeting her tongue with his. Nathan’s hands tightened on her body and, beneath his shirt, the muscles in his chest moved under Leah’s fingers. A bolt of heat shot through her, along with a bone-deep sense of longing and unfulfilled want. Without thinking or understanding what was happening, she

pressed her hips to his. Deep in his chest, Nathan made a noise and it reverberated through both of them, somewhere between a growl and a moan. It only deepened the desperate ache inside Leah, and she slid her hands around his body to his back, holding him closer and closer. Nathan broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard, his eyes closed. “I didn’t believe in the stories until I met you,” he whispered. It sent shivers down Leah’s back, and she swallowed hard, trying to understand what was happening.

“What are you saying?” Leah asked, suddenly nervous. Her sense of unease deepened. Not with Nathan, but with the rest of her life. He isn’t yours and he can’t be yours, the voice in her head said. This can’t last and you know it. “I thought all the stories were lies,” he said. “Leah, I did a lot of bad things, but then you grabbed a chocolate tart out of my hand and I don’t think I’m the same person anymore,” he went on, the words coming in a rush, like he had to say them and couldn’t be stopped. “Stop,” she said. “Don’t tell me this.”

He opened his eyes and moved his head back so they weren’t touching anymore. “Stop what?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Stop telling me this,” she said, tears starting to come to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Nathan said, taking her cheek in his hand but she turned her head away quickly, then took a step back so they weren’t embracing anymore. “I can’t be here,” she said. “I can’t do this.” All she could think of were the angry faces of her father and Ian, looming in front of her.

They were her future, and she knew it. “Yes you can,” said Nathan. “Forget Ian, forget your father.” Leah sniffled once, still backing away across the flat rock. “I wish you could be mine,” she said. And then she shifted, her dress tearing off into shreds. Before he knew what was happening, Leah had run into the woods, headed back to the house where her family was staying.

SEVENTEEN: NATHAN

athan stood there for seconds on end, N staring after where Leah had suddenly shifted and then run off. What the hell had just happened?

As soon as he came to his senses, he tore off his clothes and shifted himself, running after her. She wasn’t hard to track, an upset grizzly headed straight for the house where they were staying. He had the urge to tackle her, to shift back, to tell her that everything would be fine and that he’d kill her father and Ian and anyone else who said she couldn’t be his. He didn’t, though. He could tell it was more complicated than that, so even though it felt like his heart had shattered and the shards were slowly making their way through this ribcage, he stayed behind her, making sure that she got home safely, watching her walk up to her front porch.

Nathan even looked away when she shifted back to human. If Leah wanted him to see her naked, she’d let him know. He walked slowly, still a bear, back to the Pinnacles, dressed, and rode his bike back home. He felt empty. He felt like nothing had a point, so he just laid on his bed in his clothes, hoping that dawn would come soon. At least he had a cabinet to finish.

It was early when his phone rang again, and Nathan was still in his clothes, on his bed. Every time he’d tried to sleep he’d had the nightmare again, the one

about Kaitlyn. A dark parking lot, bright headlights, and that awful, sickening snap. “What,” he said into the phone. “I’m sorry to do this,” Brock started. Nathan frowned. Since when was Brock sorry about anything? “One of the Whitehorse boys is still a pain in my ass, and I really need you to teach him.” Nathan flexed the hand that wasn’t holding the phone, all his pent up restlessness and rage flowing through him. Punching somebody would feel pretty good right now, he thought.

“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.” She’s not going to love me anyway, so who cares?

It was a gray day, constantly threatening to rain, as Nathan stood next to his shitty car outside the inn that had once been a hunting lodge. It wasn’t really an inn, but the clan called it that — it was really just a free place to put guests for a while. Nathan had been standing there for an hour already when Carson emerged, wearing a jean jacket and a day’s worth of stubble.

He stopped for a moment when he saw Nathan and frowned at the other man, looking like he couldn’t quite remember where he knew him from. Nathan stared back for long seconds, before he realized: Carson wasn’t going to figure out who he was. The only time they’d met, Carson had been far too trashed to remember anything. “Hey, man,” Nathan called. “You still want to go fishing today?” It was a wild guess, but with the men up here, fishing was usually a good bet. Carson squinted at Nathan, looking like a man who really needed some sunglasses.

“Fishing?” he said. “Yeah, we said we were gonna go fishing today,” Nathan said. “Last night? At the bar? You said to meet you here around eleven?” “Oh, right,” said Carson. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. It was all Nathan needed. Obviously the other man believed him. “Hop in,” Nathan said. “Actually, my recollection of last night ain’t so good,” Carson said, scratching his head. “I was kinda hoping to find breakfast or coffee or something.” Nathan faked a big smile, leaning one

arm on top of the car. “I’m not doing so hot after last night either,” he said. “Want to go get some bacon instead? I know a great diner twenty minutes away.” “They got coffee?” “Of course. It’s a diner.” Carson walked toward the car. “I’m in,” he said.

The two men didn’t talk a whole lot on the way to the diner that Nathan had invented. There was no diner, of course; he was taking Carson to the middle of

the national forest. Grizzlies had a wonderful sense of direction, and he knew that Carson would find his way back to town — it wouldn’t be fun, though. It would be nerve-wracking and exhausting, especially with a black eye or two. That was Nathan’s job, though. To teach people lessons. The lesson here was that you didn’t get drunk and nearly cause a riot in Fjords. It was impolite. “The diner’s down here?” Carson asked as Nathan turned down an unmarked paved road. “It’s really out of the way,” Nathan said.

He’d been in a terrible, dark mood ever since he’d woken up that morning, and it was comforting in a terrible way to know that someone else was about to have a worse day. “The bacon though, man, it’s worth it,” he said. He turned onto a gravel road, barreling down it so fast that it sounded like the wheels might rattle off. Carson had gone very, very quiet, and he looked at Nathan strangely. “Were you at the engagement party?” he finally asked. Nathan glanced over.

“Why?” “You just look real familiar is all,” Carson said. Up ahead, the gravel stopped and the road turned into two ruts. Nathan pulled up and stopped the car. “We’re here,” he said, and Carson looked around, obviously lost. “We are?” he said. He still hadn’t gotten suspicious, which Nathan found incredible. “This is the parking area,” said Nathan. Carson got out of the car and looked around for few moments before he

started to get angry. “Where the fuck are we?” he asked, confronting Nathan. He was a little shorter than the other man, and he bounced on his toes in a not-verythreatening way. “You think this is—” Nathan punched him, sending Carson stumbling backward, and he shut up. Even as his knuckles blossomed with pain, power shot through Nathan. This, at least, he knew how to do. He knew exactly what was going on, and he was in control of it. Then Carson straightened up, and a pang of guilt shot through Nathan. Carson’s

cheek was already swelling where he’d hit the other man. Unbidden, Leah’s face flashed in front of him. Is this who you want to be? She asked him, and Nathan stopped dead in his tracks. “What the hell, man?” said Carson, still partly bent over, his hand on his face. “I thought we were going fishing!” Nathan watched to see if Carson was going to try anything, but the other man looked far too hungover and sick to throw a punch, much less land one. This isn’t what I want, Nathan thought.

He actually felt bad that he’d punched this guy. Be better than this, even if she’s not yours. “Fuck,” Nathan muttered. “What?” Nathan turned and stomped around the gravel road, kicking rocks into the trees. “FUCK!” he shouted, listening to the echo shout back at him. Carson just watched Nathan like he was a crazy person. Finally, Nathan marched back to the car and opened the doors.

“Get in,” he told Carson. “I don’t know—” “Get in unless you want to walk back to town from here,” Nathan commanded, in no mood to deal with this man or his hangover logic. Carson did as he was told, sitting as far away from Nathan as he could, still holding his hand to his face. Halfway back to town, Carson finally spoke up. “Can you at least tell me what this is about?” “You’ve been getting drunk and shifting in the middle of town,” Nathan said.

“I’m supposed to convince you to quit it.” “Oh,” said Carson. Half a mile from town, Nathan stopped, pulled off the road, and told Carson to get out. The other man didn’t ask questions, just did what he was told. “If you tell anyone I went easy on you, I’ll break all your bones,” Nathan snarled. Carson nodded dumbly, and Nathan took off again. Walking half a mile with a hangover wasn’t a bad punishment, he figured, but it was something.

EIGHTEEN: LEAH

eah woke up late the next morning to L someone pounding on the door of her tiny attic bedroom. “I’m UP!” she shouted crankily.

She felt awful, even though she’d slept like a log. She hadn’t showered when she’d gotten home for fear of waking someone up at two in the morning, and her hands and feet were still covered in grass stains. The dress she’d worn yesterday had been shredded to ribbons when she’d panic-shifted, of course, so she’d have to find a way to explain that. Worst, she’d finally realized that she couldn’t have Nathan. There was no way. What her father said was more or less law in his family, and there was no way he’d go for Nathan over Ian. He especially wouldn’t want to lose face after publicly promising Leah to Ian in a ceremony.

Jonah Whitehorse wasn’t the kind of man who ever changed his mind, and Leah knew that if he caught her with Nathan, he’d have her back in a tiny cabin in the Yukon so fast her head would spin, and he’d be furious with her for embarrassing him. It was best, Leah thought, to just take what comes and make the best of it. What she wanted didn’t matter at all, and it never had. “Come ON,” shouted Emily through the door, and Leah rolled her eyes. How could one person be so meek in public and such a loudmouth around her own family?

“Give me FIVE MINUTES,” she hollered back, desperately looking for another skirt. At least she hadn’t been caught last night. Thank God for small mercies.

All day, Leah’s job was pies. They needed at least a dozen for the barbecue, in addition to all the desserts that they’d already made. Rolling out the dough, listening to her sisters bicker and laugh and tease each other, she finally found a sense of peace. She loved baking, and she especially loved it right now because it distracted her from her thoughts just enough.

Besides, being in the kitchen always made her feel like she was loved. Unlike almost every other room in a house, it was her mother’s domain, and however prickly her mother could be with strangers, she was warm and loving with her own children. Maybe that’s how I’ll cope, she thought, her mind drifting back to her impending marriage. At least I know I’ll love my children, no matter who they’re with. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she wanted it to be, but then she caught Emily sneaking a bite of pie dough and swatted her sister’s hand. “That’s raw!” she said. “Don’t mess up

my circle.” “It’s fine,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “Can’t you go be useful?” Leah said, half-teasing the other girl. “Emily, come pit cherries,” called Abigail from across the kitchen. Emily made a face. “Either cultivate a skill or help us out over here,” hollered Rebecca. Leah couldn’t help but smile. At least there was some love in her life. Through the kitchen window, she watched her brothers sweat and set up tables, meat already cooking and smoking over a wide assortment of grills and fires. Her

father, not working, looked over everything. If someone knows how to do meat, it’s Whitehorse men, she thought, her hands deftly lacing up a pie crust.

Hours later, after she’d showered the thin coating of flour off of herself, Leah sat in a chair in the room her sisters were sharing and let them deal with her hair. It was curly and wild, completely untamable as far as she was concerned. But, of course, her father wouldn’t let her cut it off, so she moved through the world with a cloud of red around her at all times.

Now, Rebecca held a blow-dryer with diffuser to her curls while Abigail sprayed her hair with something that smelled faintly of flowers. Leah had no idea what it was. “Where’d you get that?” she asked. “Internet,” said Abigail. “Where did you learn about that stuff?” she asked. “Internet again,” said Abigail. Then she sighed. “Leah, you’re going to be so glad to be out of Daddy’s house,” Abigail said. “There’s so much to the world.”

For a moment, everyone was silent. Then Leah spoke up. “Did you love Caleb and Ethan when you got married?” she asked, her voice very quiet, barely audible under the hum of the blow dryer. In the mirror, she could see her sisters exchange a look. “Caleb’s a good man,” Rebecca said. “So is Ethan.” “That’s a no,” said Leah, making a face. “Ethan provides very well,” Abigail said, carefully. “And he gave me Emma, of course.”

Emma was her daughter, somewhere downstairs, running amok with all the other kids. “I don’t see too much of Caleb, really,” said Rebecca. “It works out.” “I see,” said Leah. That answered that. “Life’s not a fairy tale,” said Abigail. “But, I mean, you knew that.” She shut off the hair dryer, and Rebecca gave Leah’s mane one last good squirt. “There,” she said, and Leah looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was less wild, at least, and it was very shiny.

“That’s better,” she said, in a tone of voice that suggested it wasn’t that much better. “It’s as good as you’re gonna get,” Rebecca said, one hand on her hip. “Once you’re married you can just shave it all off.” Leah stuck her tongue out, into the mirror, and her sisters laughed. Then Emily leaned in the door. “Ian’s here!” she shouted before scampering off to somewhere else. Abigail leaned in to kiss Leah’s cheek and whisper in her ear. “The first year is the hardest,” she said.

Rebecca just nodded in agreement. Then Leah stood and went downstairs to greet her future husband.

Overall, the barbecue wasn’t so bad, she thought. With her entire extended family, most of her clan, and nearly all of Fjords in attendance, she barely had to spend any time with Ian, and that was well enough. He was odd and stiff, and seemed to mostly speak with the older men of the North Star clan about business or something. She saw Nathan come in at one point, and it felt like her heart might seize up in her chest. He wouldn’t look at her,

though. Not that she could blame him, after the stunt she’d pulled last night. If he never wanted to look at her again, that was fine. She would simply have to handle living in the same town as him, feeling that tug in his direction all the time, and never acting on it. Finally, she stood around with her cousins, laughing for once, actually enjoying her family. “I think it was the look on his face,” her cousin Paul was saying. “That thing just bucked him off and he landed right on his ass, looking surprised as all get out that a sheep could do that,” he said, grinning. “I don’t know what that idiot

thought would happen if he tried to ride a sheep, but that was the end result.” “Did he chase it?” Leah said, trying to stifle her giggles. “Tell me he tried to chase it down.” Paul just grinned. “He didn’t not chase it,” he said. “He was so drunk he just fell right over, though, and one of the goats came over and peed right on his back.” Leah nearly shrieked with laughter. Paul and his brother lived pretty far out in the middle of nowhere, the two youngest of her father’s brother. Every time she saw them, they had great

stories, mostly about getting drunk and trying to ride various farm animals. Then, everyone around Leah suddenly went quiet. She was looking down at her paper plate, stabbing herself a forkful of delicious pie. “I would like to speak with you,” said a horribly familiar voice. Her cousins and siblings quickly scattered. Leah tried to smile, but something in the way he spoke to her made her wretchedly nervous. Just try to be a good wife, she thought. The first year is the hardest.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked. Even as she said it, the endearment tasted bitter on her tongue. Ian scowled and grabbed the paper plate from her hand, stalking a couple of feet and throwing it in a nearby trash can. She’d only eaten one bite, and she stood there and watched open-mouthed. “What are you doing?” she asked, then bit her tongue. Don’t question your husband like that, she thought to herself. Ian looked her up and note disdainfully. “You don’t need another slice of pie,” he

said. That was my first and I can’t believe you just wasted delicious pie, Leah thought, tears starting in her eyes, but she didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t say anything. “I’d like to talk about your behavior,” he said, stepping forward to tower over her. Leah bowed her head. The first year is the hardest, she reminded herself, but she’d met her sisters’ husbands, and she wasn’t sure that they’d had it this hard. “What about it?” she said, softly.

“You’re embarrassing me,” he said, his voice too loud. “My wife should be quiet and ladylike, not rambunctious and loud. At least cover your mouth when you laugh.” Leah blushed hard, the red rising to her cheeks. She balled her fists in her skirt, furious but impotent. How dare he, she thought, but didn’t say anything out loud. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking down at the ground. From the corner of her eye, she could tell that everyone was pretending not to watch them.

“You also need to be by my side whenever possible,” Ian went on. “I don’t want to go looking for my wife when I want her.” Leah ground her teeth together, feeling her jaw flex. I’m not your wife yet, she thought. I’ve still got a couple days. “Yes, Ian,” she said softly, still doing her best not to cry. Ian nodded, and if he noticed her distress, he didn’t seem to mind it. “That’s all understood?” he said. Leah could feel everyone’s eyes on her, and wrung her hands together, trying not

to squirm. “Yes,” she said, quietly. “I’d like some more pie,” he said. “That blueberry is delicious.” Then he walked back to the knot of men, turning his back to her. Leah took two deep breaths, forcing the tears back down. Then she walked to the pie tables, cut a big piece of blueberry, grabbed a fork, and brought it to Ian. At least try, she told herself as she walked toward him, forcing a smile onto her face. At least give this a shot.

As she handed the plate to Ian, she felt like her skin was crawling. She was nauseous, and she broke out in a sweat as she got closer. Still, she forced herself to hand over the plate, smile, and kiss his cheek. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said. Her hands and voice shook, but she didn’t think anyone noticed. Then, calmly as she could, she crossed the yard into the house, sprinted up three floors to the tiny cramped bathroom on the top floor, locked the door, sat on the toilet in all her clothes, and burst into tears.

NINETEEN: NATHAN

athan got to the barbecue late, hoping N that no one would notice. He’d spent a long time in the shower, washing off the sawdust of the day, trying to avoid thinking about Leah at all.

Her choice had been clear. As awful as it made him feel, it was understandable: choosing her family and the way they’d always done things over him, a violent wildcard who she barely knew, made sense. After all, he’d beaten up her idiot cousin just that morning. When he got there, he went straight to the meat. That, at least, would be good. Shifters always knew how to grill, and this time was no exception. He sneaked glances over at Leah, laughing with a bunch of people her age who looked kind of like her — family, he assumed. She looked happy for once,

and even though Nathan wished he was the one making her happy, he was glad for her. Then he got into a long conversation about custom dining tables with Evan, one of the few men who’d made the transition from Roy’s leadership to Brock’s leadership very well. “Do you ever use reclaimed wood?” Evan was asking, sipping on his lemonade. No alcohol here, either. “Sometimes,” said Nathan, glad for a topic he could talk about without too much effort. “I prefer to use local, though, and with reclaimed wood the choices are pretty limited.”

“I see,” said Evan. “What I’m really looking for is...” Nathan wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, he was watching Ian chew Leah out while she lowered her head in submission. Everyone was watching the two of them and pretending not to. Fury clawed its way through Nathan, and he only just fought down his bear, watching Leah wring her hands and look at the ground. Whatever he’s saying to her, I want to murder him, Nathan thought, barely under control. Is he just doing this to show us she’s cowed? To prove he can be a man?

Men don’t need to berate women, he thought, breathing hard. Next to him, Evan had stopped talking as well, also watching the spectacle unfold. Then, Ian went back to the men he’d been talking to. Evan went on about tables, but Nathan watched Leah. He didn’t want to, but couldn’t help himself: the way she moved, the thought of her perfect, warm, curvy body beneath that simple dress. She walked to the table, got a big piece of blueberry pie, and then delivered it to Ian. Then she kissed him on the cheek.

Nathan felt himself actually begin to shift at that, his bear roaring in pure rage, but he closed his eyes and forced it down. Not here, not now. Then Leah walked into the house. “Excuse me,” Nathan told Evan, and walked toward the house himself, forcing himself not to break into a run. The back door went right into the kitchen, where Leah’s mother was standing and directing the veritable army of her children. Nathan listened hard for Leah’s footsteps, trying to follow her exquisite scent through the house, but it was all

chaos and pie, every scent mingling together. “Hi, Nathan,” said Leah’s mom, her apron covered in flour and her own gray-streaked hair curly and wild. “Hello, Mrs. Whitehorse,” he said, his eyes roving over everything, trying to figure out where Leah had gone. He’d only seen two rooms of the house, but he knew there were two more stories. “The bathroom’s through that door and on the left, just next to the staircase,” she said, pointing. “Or were you looking for something else?” “That was it,” he said, forcing a smile. He hoped it looked normal. “Thanks.”

He followed her directions out of the kitchen and into a hallway, finally out of sight of the kitchen. Leah wasn’t on this floor. She’d probably run up to her bedroom. What better place to hide? He took the stairs two at a time, trying hard not to make any noise to arouse Mrs. Whitehorse’s suspicions, but he also figured that the racket in the kitchen would take care of that. The bedrooms and the bathroom on the second floor were empty. He went up another flight, still trying to be quiet. The attic was smaller, just a hallway with two doors and a bedroom.

The bedroom was empty. He even checked behind the door, but no one was in there. It didn’t smell like Leah had been in there lately, either. Then Nathan heard a very, very soft noise coming from another door in the hallway. He stepped closer, inhaling as he went. There she was. Softly, he knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” Leah’s voice came out. He could tell that she was crying, but he bit back his rage at Ian. “It’s me,” he called, softly. He wondered if she’d recognize his voice.

There was a long, long pause. No noise came from behind the door. Nathan didn’t even know whether it was a closet or a bathroom or something else. Maybe she doesn’t want me here either, he thought. What have I ever made better for her? He leaned his forehead against the door, praying that she’d open up. It would be easier if she didn’t. He’d have tried, and then, maybe, they could both just get on with their lives. Not that he wanted to get on with his life. Now that he’d met Leah, there was almost nothing he wanted less than his old life, the one where he took care of

Brock’s problems and had a different woman in his bed every week. “Leah? Please?” he said softly, into the crack between the door and the doorframe. The lock clicked back, and very slowly, the door opened. Leah’s beautiful eyes were bright red, her whole face puffy and pink, her hair sticking up at every angle. She’d been wearing eyeliner, and it was streaked black down her face. “Come in,” she whispered, stepping back into the tiny bathroom. Nathan closed the door behind him,

sliding the lock into place, and took Leah in his arms, feeling her heartbeat against his skin. “I’ll murder him,” he said, his voice thick in his throat. Seeing Leah cry nearly overwhelmed him. “He’s my husband,” she said softly. As soon as he’d wrapped his arms around her, it felt like she’d simply melted into him. “Not yet,” Nathan said. “He’s going to be,” she said, sounding so small and defeated that it broke Nathan’s heart. “I’m out of options. Either I marry him, or my father exiles me. If I refuse Ian, I’ll be back in the

Yukon by this time tomorrow, and not even my own family will talk to me,” she went on. He just held her tighter. “It happened to my mother’s aunt,” she went on, her voice listless. “She ran away from the man she was betrothed to, and they shunned her because of it. I only met her once, when I was a little girl, at my grandmother’s funeral. She lived alone in the woods and she looked so, so sad.” Nathan stroked her hair, the wild curls springing out between his fingers. He could almost feel her despair seeping through his skin, digging its hooks into

him as well. Just stay here, with me, he thought. I can protect you. He knew he didn’t fully understand, though. And he knew that Jonah Whitehorse wasn’t a man who was likely to take well to his daughter disobeying him. Unable to think of the right thing to say, he laced his fingers through hers and kissed the back of her hand. Leah sighed “I don’t want to marry him,” she said, shaking her head. Her voice broke. “I don’t.” Then, something dawned on Nathan.

“Leah,” he said. “I might have the answer.” She looked up at him again, her big eyes blinking. “It’s kind of crazy,” he said. “What is it?” she asked, their fingers still curled around each other. I can’t believe I’m doing this, Nathan thought. It was the most right thing he’d ever done, though. He knew that much deep in his bones, right down to the very center of his being. “Promise you won’t freak out?” he said.

Leah smiled and half-laughed through her tears. “I’m already freaking out,” she said. “How about I promise not to freak out more?” “I’ll take it,” he said.

TWENTY: LEAH

eah watched, confused, as Nathan L suddenly lowered himself to the floor of the tiny bathroom, kneeling on one knee on a very ugly light pink bathmat. The soles of his shoes were against the

wooden door, and Leah had to take a step back, her feet going slightly around the bowl of the toilet, her hand still in his. Apparently, whatever his idea was, it involved getting on the floor of a bathroom. “Marry me,” he said, gazing up at her. Leah’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at him for seconds on end. Finally, she spoke up. “What?” she asked. “Marry me,” he said, and then he licked his lips and looked down at the ground, collecting himself for a moment. “I know

it’s kind of nuts, and if things were normal then I think we’d probably wait a year or something and I could propose properly and get a ring and take you out to dinner or however people propose, and I’d probably know your middle name—“ “Nicole,” Leah said. “What?” “My middle name is Nicole.” “Marry me, Leah Nicole,” he said. Leah had no idea what to do. Every cell of her body, every fiber in her being, was screaming ‘say yes!’, but she couldn’t get her mouth to comply. She

hardly knew Nathan, for starters, and then there was the matter of Ian and the betrothal. “How?” she asked, bewildered. “There’s — I’m already—” She gestured vaguely toward the bathroom’s tiny window, at the barbecue still happening outside. “We’ll elope,” he said. “I’ll come get you tonight. There’s an Indian casino between here and Anchorage. They’ve got a chapel.” Despite herself, Leah started to smile. “You’re crazy,” she said, wiping away tears with one hand.

“Crazy about you,” he said, and winked at her. Leah laughed out loud. “Cheeseball,” she said. “Say yes,” Nathan said, still on one knee on the bathroom floor. “We’ll figure everything else out. Say yes. Marry me.” Leah was still open-mouthed, trying to force her mouth into the shape of yes but she couldn’t, not quite, even though her entire being was willing her to. “My father will be furious.” “Forget him. I’ll protect you. Say yes.” Leah took a deep breath and closed her

eyes. “Okay,” she said. “Yes.” Nathan sprang to his feet and before Leah knew it, she was being picked up as Nathan started to twirl her, only for her feet to bang into the shower stall. “Ow!” she said, laughing. “I got carried away,” Nathan said, and he put her down and kissed her hard. Leah wrapped her hands around his head and did her best to draw him down, into herself. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, but somehow it felt incredibly right, it felt perfect. Nathan broke away from her, both of

them breathing hard, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Hey,” he said, “I love you.” “I love you too,” Leah said, the words coming out so easily she could barely believe it. There was a loud knock on the door. “Leah?” said her father’s voice, so loud she felt like it shook the whole attic. “Yes, daddy?” she asked. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and she started to panic. He couldn’t find the two of them alone together, in a bathroom.

“Are you all right up here?” “I’m fine,” she called. Leah tugged on Nathan’s arm and pointed to the shower. He got the hint and stepped in silently, pulling the curtain shut behind himself. “Someone said they heard sounds coming from up here.” I can’t get even a moment to myself, Leah thought. She’d have been furious if she wasn’t so giddy. Certain that Nathan was hidden, she opened the door. On the other side, Jonah Whitehorse saw her and frowned. “You’ve been crying,” he said. “Just nerves,” she told him, eyes on the

floor. “Leah, listen to me,” he said, touching her under the chin and tilting her face up. Leah flexed her jaw, grinding he teeth in anger, but she did nothing. What could she do? “Your ancestors have all done this,” he said, sternly. “Arranged marriage is a long, happy tradition, and your union will bring our clans together. Your mother did it. Your sisters did it, and now that it’s your turn, I expect better of you,” he said. “Yes, father,” Leah said quietly. “You’re missed at the barbecue,” Jonah went on. “Wipe your face off and go

back downstairs.” Leah nodded, and he let go of her face. She turned to the sink, taking toilet paper and wiping her eyeliner from where it had run, under her eyes. Her father stood in the hallway and watched her. She prayed that Nathan wouldn’t do anything — cough, sneeze, make a movement. Finally, with her face clean, she left the bathroom and descended the stairs, her father close behind. Right before they left the house to return to the yard, he took her by the arm, stopping her for a moment.

“Respect your husband,” he said. “He’s not my husband yet,” she said. It was the most she’d ever defied her father. His grip tightened. “He will be,” he said, and then descended the steps into the yard. Not anymore, thought Leah, a strange lightness taking hold in her heart. Not now. She followed her father outside, and even though she spent the rest of the barbecue hovering at Ian’s elbow and getting him more lemonade whenever he wanted it, she felt cheerful, almost

giddy.

It was nearly ten thirty when she found the note on her bed, scribbled on a page torn out of the book she’d been reading. Meet me on the road where I left my bike the other night. Bring anything you need. Midnight. Love you, Nathan Down below she could hear the sounds of the rest of her family slowly getting ready for bed, brushing their teeth. Her sisters doing the last of the dishes, leaving a couple to soak in the sink

overnight. As quietly as she could, Leah rolled a few of her dresses into a neat pile, along with underwear and socks and a few personal effects. For her wedding dress, she grabbed the blue one that she’d gotten betrothed in. She hated that it had that associated with it, but it was by far the nicest thing she had available. The dress she was supposed to wear to marry Ian in was somewhere downstairs, being tended to by her sisters. Besides, she’d been wearing the blue when she met him. That had to count for something.

Finally, everything downstairs was quiet, and Leah didn’t think she could wait another moment. She imagined Nathan deciding she wasn’t coming and getting back on his bike at ten after midnight. When she reached the bottom floor, she realized that the light was still on in the den, back behind the staircase, by the kitchen. Standing on the bottom step, she froze. Leah knew that someone in that room couldn’t see her if she stayed on the staircase, and the front door was only a few paces away to the front of her, but what if they could see her? What if they heard the door shut? The screen door practically beckoned to

her, promising freedom outside of it. Freedom and Nathan, waiting for her on the road. Waiting to making her his, once and for all. That was the point of getting married. Her father wouldn’t dare to try and undo an official mating union. He couldn’t. Nothing could. “We always preferred to stay out of the way of the humans,” her father was saying. The topic sounded familiar, and it came up a lot when different shifter clans came together. “Hmm,” said another voice, and Leah felt cold shoot down her spine.

It was Ian. “Most of the humans in Fjords have some sort of unofficial knowledge,” he was saying. “There are old Native American legends about shifters, that sort of thing. Noting official, though.” “We’ve worked hard in Yukon City to keep it to a minimum,” her father said. They didn’t sound like they were moving. As best Leah could tell, they were sitting on the couch together, and her super-sharp nose could just barely pick up a hint of alcohol. Whiskey, maybe; she certainly wasn’t an expert. She knew her hypocrite father kept a bottle in the house, though.

“I agree with you,” Ian was saying. Brown noser, thought Leah. “We shouldn’t let any humans know that we exist,” he went on. Satisfied that they wouldn’t see her, Leah hoisted her bag over her shoulder and studied the door. It was a metal screen door, the kind that would slam shut loudly if you let it. She slid her shoes off and put them in her bag. Then she took a deep breath and, on her tiptoes, crossed the two steps to the front door. As slowly as she could, she pushed in the latch, exhaling softly when it went in

silently. Then, she pushed the door open, a millimeter at a time. She could still hear Ian and her father talking gravely about shifter-human relations, but she wasn’t listening to their words. The door was open just enough for her to get out, so she did, praying that the old wood of the house’s front porch wouldn’t creak under her weight. Now, all that was left was to carefully shut the door, making sure the lock didn’t click too loudly, and she was free. In moments, she was running across the yard, her feet getting soaked in the dewy grass, but she didn’t care. She ran until

she reached the bushes along the road and battled her way through. On the road, she looked left and right, though she didn’t see anything yet. It had been ten ’til midnight when she’d left, and the run through the yard had left her breathless and disarrayed. She smoothed her skirts down and walked along the road, trying to move quickly while she caught her breath. It wouldn’t do to meet Nathan sweaty and out of breath, right? Then, she saw it: up ahead in the road, a car pulled off to the side. He didn’t bring the bike? She wondered.

As soon as he saw her, he waved, and she waved back, grinning and unable to keep it inside any more. When she got to him, Nathan leaned down and kissed her, his thumb on her chin, his lips soft and pliant. Leah felt like he was holding something back, for her benefit, and she pressed herself into him, that warm, liquid feeling traveling through her body again. “You came,” he said. “Of course I came,” she said. “I’m going to pick you up and twirl you now,” he said, his face very serious. Then he did, hoisting the curvy Leah like

she was made of feathers. She gasped and laughed, suddenly flying through the air in a circle, trees and stars and the empty road flashing by in front of her face. Then he put her down and kissed her again. This time, she was the one to break away first. “Hey, focus,” she said, her big eyes finding his in the dark. “We’ve gotta go before they realize I’m gone.” “Don’t we have all night?” Nathan asked. “They won’t know you’re gone until morning.” Leah shook her head, sobering up for a moment.

“My father and Ian were still downstairs,” she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. “Talking about human-shifter relations.” Nathan’s face changed, his jaw clenching. Suddenly he seemed businesslike. “We’ve gotta go,” he said. “The passenger door’s unlocked.” They got into the car and drove with just the parking lights for a long time, both of them silent. “I don’t see anyone behind us,” Nathan finally said. “When we get on the highway, I think we’ll be good.”

Once they were there, even though the highway was still a two-lane road, only better maintained, Leah heaved a sigh of relief. “Where are we going?” she asked. Nathan glanced over at her, looking a little nervous. “I think our best bet is an Indian casino just outside Anchorage,” he said. He flicked the headlights on and took Leah’s hand in his own, his eyes still on the road ahead. “They’ve got a twenty-fourhour chapel, I made some calls this afternoon, and a justice of the peace is meeting us there tomorrow. We’ll need witnesses, but we can just grab a few

people from slot machines or whatever.” Leah laughed. “How romantic,” she said. Nathan grinned and shrugged a little. She felt incredibly light, now that she was in a car with him, speeding away from her old life. Even though she knew she was probably speeding away from her family for a long time, at least she was doing it on her terms, she thought. Besides, that had always been the plan: she’d stay in Fjords while they went back to Canada. Only now, she got to stay with Nathan. She squeezed his hand.

“Let me know if you want me to drive,” she said. “Do you know how to drive?” “Of course I know how to drive,” she said. “We’re not Amish.” Nathan looked over at her quickly. “Okay, I know I dress like it,” she said, sounding a little miffed. “You dress beautifully.” “My clothing options have been limited,” she said, pretending to frown at Nathan. Then she went quiet. “Actually, all of my options have been limited.” “I don’t care if you walk around Fjords

wearing a bikini and nothing else,” Nathan said. Then he frowned. “Well, maybe I care,” he said. “But you understand what I’m trying to say.” Leah leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, still holding his hand. “No bikinis. I promise not to get more risqué than booty shorts,” Leah teased. Nathan frowned harder, and Leah just laughed as they zoomed on toward the casino.

TWENTY-ONE: NATHAN

ven though it was the middle of the E night, nearly two in the morning, when they got to the casino, the place was still hopping. Leah had fallen asleep in the passenger seat and woke up when they

pulled into the parking lot, blinking sleepily at the display of lights on the outside of the building. “I guess they’re still open,” she said. “Gambling never sleeps,” Nathan said. He leaned over and kissed her, letting his mouth explore hers just for a moment. “Shall we?” he asked. Leah was still half-asleep, so they were quiet as they walked toward the glowing entrance of the casino, her eyes getting wider and wider as they approached. Inside was a cacophony of light and sound, the constant flashing and dinging

and buzzing of a hundred slot machines, everything in the building vying for their attention. As he searched for the front desk so he could get a room, he realized that Leah seemed almost overwhelmed. She’d probably never been anywhere like this, he realized. “You okay?” he asked, tugging lightly on her hand, trying to bring her back to earth. She shook her head a little, those red curls bouncing, and then looked up at him. “Sorry,” she said. “This place is crazy.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much,” he said. “I promise we can just stay in our room until later tonight, though.” Then he winked. Leah’s face was unreadable, and suddenly, something occurred to Nathan. She was a virgin. He’d known, of course. She’d told him she’d never been allowed alone with a man before who wasn’t a family member, so obviously she was a virgin. Nathan had never really thought about it, though. But of course she was nervous about going from zero to sixty in the span of a couple of hours. Before last night

she’d never even kissed someone, let alone taken her clothes off, let alone actually touched someone else who was also naked. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, smiling comfortingly at her. At the front desk, he requested a room with two double beds, and he thought he could feel Leah relax at the thought. Together, they went up the elevators and walked down the hall. The casino-hotel wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t nice. The carpeting everywhere was insanely ugly, and the walls were starting to get dingy from all the smoke. The flowers on the table by the elevator

were fake, and the keycard for the room took a couple of tries before it opened. For a moment, Nathan thought about the last time he’d been in a motel room, not even a week ago, with those two women from the cruise ship, taking each other’s tops off, licking at sucking at their nipples. The memory still held nothing for him. Nothing erotic whatsoever. “This is nice,” Leah breathed behind him, and he opened the door to let her through. Very carefully, she put her single bag — a backpack — down on the luggage rack, then walked slowly through the room,

looking everything up and down, spinning in a circle before stopping and looking at Nathan again. He clenched and unclenched his hands, over and over again, fighting himself. More than anything, he wanted to walk toward her, run his hands over her magnificent curves, and then tear her clothes off, take her on the bed right there, right then. It was something deeper than pure, raw lust he felt for her — though it was that too. He wanted to be part of her, meld with her, become one. “You should get some sleep,” he said. “You had a long day.”

“So did you,” she said. She walked toward him, placing her hands on his chest, in a way that made his blood turn hot and his pulse race. He put his hands on her shoulders, carefully, sure to keep his raging, horny bear in check. “I’m gonna take a shower first,” he said. A very cold one, he thought, just looking at her. “Do you, um,” Leah said. She got flustered and looked down at the ground, grabbing at her hair with one hand. “Do you need any help or anything?” It was the most adorable come-on

Nathan had ever heard, and he couldn’t help but break into a wide grin and laugh. “What?” she said, quickly turning bright red. “Was that a pick-up line?” he teased. He didn’t think it was possible, but Leah turned even brighter red, and then moved away from Nathan, slumping to sit on one of the beds. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry. “This is the first time I’ve ever even been alone with a man,” she said. “I’d never even kissed someone before you, and I really just have no idea what I’m

doing.” She sighed, looking to one side. “I’m thirty-two, and I’ve never even gotten to second base.” Nathan sat down next to her, the mattress sagging under their combined weight. “I don’t care,” he said, kissing her on the top of the head and pulling her close to his side. “You’re still the sexiest, most arousing woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, even if you wear a muumuu all day, every day.” “Thanks,” she said. Nathan hung onto her for a moment. You should tell her, he thought. She has a right to know.

“I’m not exactly a virgin,” he said, slowly, his hand still rubbing her shoulder. Leah sniffled. “Of course you’re not,” she said, sounding very practical. “I know that my life hasn’t been typical, but still, it’s the only one I’ve had.” “I’m really not a virgin,” he said. At that, Leah went silent. “What does that mean?” “I’ve been with a lot of women,” Nathan said. “How many is a lot?”

He had no idea. He’d been going down to Seward, the port town, every couple of weeks for how long, years? “Fifty?” he said, not even sure of the number himself. “Seventy-five?” Leah recoiled, pulling herself away from him and scooting across the bed by about a foot. She turned to face him. “You’ve had sex with seventy-five women?” her tone was somewhere between astonishment and disgust, and Nathan felt his stomach plummet downward. “Something like that,” he said. “I didn’t really keep count, honestly.”

She just stared at him. “It started when I was in my early twenties,” he said, the words spilling out of him. “I tried to date a couple of the girls in Fjords, and it never really worked out, for one reason or another, and so I started just... picking up women in bars and taking them home for the night, you know? Everyone else in town was meeting their soulmates, finding real happiness and having relationships, and I just never thought it would happen to me, so I thought it didn’t matter who I had sex with.” Leah swallowed and began tracing the ugly pattern on the bedspread with her finger.

“I didn’t think I would meet you,” Nathan said, his voice bordering on desperate. “Leah, if I’d have known, if I’d have had some inkling, I swear I would have waited. I’d have waited fifteen, twenty years for you to show up in my life, but I didn’t know.” He put his hand on the bedspread and moved it toward hers until their fingers were just touching, and she looked up at him. “I would have waited forever if I’d known I was going to feel this way,” he whispered. “I thought that was the closest I was going to get to happiness, but I was wrong.”

Leah looked at him for a second, then stood from the bed, hugging herself with her arms. She walked to the window and looked out over the parking lot, the fluorescent lights shining down over all the cars. Then she turned around and nodded, still hugging herself. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a lot to process, but it’s okay,” she told him, chewing on her lip. He knew that face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, still on the bed. Leah sighed and hugged herself tighter,

not looking him in the eyes. “What if I’m not enough for you?” she finally blurted out. “Seventy five, or even fifty, is a lot, and I’m more than clueless. I’m super-clueless, and worse, I’m really nervous,” she said. “And you must be used to these confident women who have tons of sex and do the one night stands and know all the sex tricks, and I barely know the basics of the birds and the bees...” She trailed off and shrugged helplessly. “And I’m still just worried it’s going to hurt,” she said. “C’mere,” said Nathan, holding out his hand.

She walked back toward him, sitting next to him on the bed. “If I wanted to be somewhere else, with anyone else, I’d be there,” he said, simply. “But I’m here with you and it’s two-thirty in the morning at an Indian casino, and we’re getting married tonight.” Leah slumped against him, and he put his other arm around her, holding her close, his lips right by the top of her head. “Let’s wait,” he whispered, her hair half-muffling the sound. “A whole sixteen hours?” she asked. She sounded like she was trying to joke.

“As long as you want,” he said. “I swear I won’t do a thing until you tell me to.” No matter how much I want to, he thought, and swallowed hard. I think there might be even more cold showers in my future. “Okay,” she said, and looked up at him. “I want you to kiss me,” she said, and Nathan was only too happy to comply.

An hour later, he couldn’t sleep. Leah was curled up beneath a mountain of blankets, just the top of her head visible, that orange hair springing free across the pillow. The curtains across the window

didn’t quite meet in the middle, and there was a slash of bright fluorescent light across the TV. You have to tell her about Kaitlyn, he thought. You have to tell her the worst thing you’ve ever done and then let her decide.

TWENTY-TWO: LEAH

hen Leah woke up at ten the next W morning, she was spread-eagle across the double bed, face down in a veritable mountain of pillows. She felt like Cleopatra or something: an

entire double bed to herself! All the pillows she wanted, and probably more if she asked! Leah knew that regular people stayed in motels sometimes, and had their own double beds, and that the little things she found so outlandishly luxurious were normal to them. Still, they were nice, weren’t they? She sat up in her bed and stretched. Somehow, she’d had the forethought to pack a nightgown the night before. Even though it was incredibly frumpy — a long-sleeved, floor-length, frill-neck flannel granny nightmare — it was better than the awkwardness of sleeping in the buff with a man in the same room.

Your fiancé, she told herself. He’s your fiancé. Just the thought sent a little electric thrill humming through her body. Her fiancé was fast asleep in the other bed, on his back, one arm thrown out toward her. From the looks of it, he did sleep in the buff, even though the blankets were covering most of him. For long moments, she just stared at him, studying his body while he slept. He had powerful arms and shoulders, the thick, ropy muscle defined even as he slept. Leah’s heart beat faster, and she had that feeling in the pit of her stomach again,

the one that made her crawl out of her bed, tiptoe to his, and bend over him, just watching him sleep. I just want to lick his neck and bite his shoulder as he... She blinked, biting her lip. As he what? As he held himself above her, sliding himself inside her for the first time? Leah turned bright red and quickly turned away from Nathan, like he’d be able to read her thoughts or something. Like he hasn’t thought about that already, she thought. Mom always said that men only want one thing. There was still something deep inside

her, a desire, a hunger that she couldn’t exactly put her finger on, but it had a lot to do with the naked man in the bed next to hers. The naked man rolled over in his sleep, onto his side, so he was facing her. Leah took a deep breath and got into the bed with him, staying on top of the covers with him beneath. Nathan opened his eyes. “Morning, beautiful,” he said as Leah laid her head on his outstretched arm. “You sleep ok?” “I slept great,” she said. “It’s so quiet.” She reached one hand out to his face,

daintily tracing her finger around his chin. “Do I get a good morning kiss?” he asked. He reached his other arm around her back and pulled her close, the thick blanket still between them. “I have morning breath,” she warned, but Nathan just shrugged and kissed her, the warm softness of his lips making her feel melty and strange, all over again. She wondered again whether he was naked under the blankets. It wasn’t a bad thought. When the kiss ended, Leah put one of her hands on Nathan’s bicep, sliding it up

his arm and to his shoulder, squeezing as she went. “You’re naked, aren’t you?” she asked. Nathan laughed, looking a little embarrassed. “I didn’t think to bring pajamas,” he said, looking a little guilty. “I live alone, so I... spend a lot of time naked.” Also not a bad thought. “I’m wearing boxers,” he said. “So, not technically naked.” Her hand moved onto his back, and then suddenly felt a change in his skin texture, a smooth lump that went on for a couple of inches.

“Is that a scar?” she asked. “Yeah,” Nathan said. “Motorcycle accident?” she asked. “No,” he said, slowly. “It’s a brand.” Leah frowned in confusion, her fingers still tracing the smooth spot on his back. “Like for livestock?” Nathan tried to laugh, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “I guess so,” he said. “It was a long time ago, right before my brother left. A bunch of us got them. Brock’s got one, to show our loyalty to the clan. Shifter pride and all that.”

“That must have hurt,” she said. “It did,” Nathan said, simply. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but...” He shrugged again, his words trailing off. “Let me see,” Leah said. She got on her knees and Nathan rolled over onto his belly. The brand curved across the top of his back, the white-pink flesh obviously faded from how it had once been, but it was still obvious. “Brock wanted you to do this?” she asked, tracing it lightly with one finger. “My god.”

“It goes all the way down,” he said. Lightly, Leah grabbed the blanket and pulled it down, revealing more of Nathan’s muscled, defined back — and more of the pink scar tissue, curving around the bottom as well. In the middle, she could just make out the shape of a bear in profile, a dot above it that she guessed was supposed to be a star. Probably the North Star. “It used to say ‘true bear’ across the bottom,” he said as Leah fingers ran over him. “It turns out that twenty-yearolds are stupid and brands don’t heal very neatly, though.” “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Nathan said. “I mostly forget about it by now. It’s a symbol of how I used to feel about the pack, willing to burn myself that bad for it.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “My brother nearly killed me when he saw it,” he said. “I’d never seen him that angry.” “What happened to your brother?” Leah asked. “How did he die?” Nathan laughed, and Leah jumped a little, pulling her finger away from his back. Nathan rolled back over, putting his arms behind his head, his whole torso exposed, his chiseled pecs and abs gleaming in the morning sun.

“Miles is fine,” he said. “He’s alpha of the pack in Montana.” “Everyone talks about him like he’s dead,” Leah said, confused. “He left,” Nathan said. “He really fucked some stuff up. I was angry with him for a long time, but we’ve been talking again lately. Brock doesn’t know.” “What happened?” “His mate happened,” Nathan said. “His high school sweetheart came back to town. The pack was really awful to her, and the former alpha tried to kidnap her, so Miles fought him for alpha, won, and then they drove off the next morning.”

Leah’s eyes went wide. “He left the pack without an alpha?” she said, sounding incredulous. That was nearly unforgivable — packs always had alphas. It was just the way things needed to be. A shifter pack was volatile and needed someone to be firmly in charge. Just leaving a pack like that was almost unthinkable. “Well, first he challenged the alpha to a fight, which no one had done for fifty years, won, and then he split,” Nathan said. “He set the precedent that you won alpha by violence again. The former alpha was too hurt to be alpha again. There was a lot of fighting, and some

bad shit went down, but then Brock won out and he’s been alpha since.” “Wow,” breathed Leah. “He did some crazy shit for his mate,” Nathan said, tugging on Leah’s arm, making her lie back down next to him. “You know, I think I get it now.” Leah giggled and snuggled into his side, careful not to disturb the blanket covering his lower half. Then, her stomach growled. “Oops,” Leah said. “Breakfast?” Nathan asked. “There’s a diner that’s supposed to be good.”

“Sounds perfect,” Leah answered.

Once they got there, Leah realized that she’d barely eaten in twenty-four hours — she’d been so busy making food for everyone else at the barbecue that she hadn’t eaten anything herself. When they were finished wolfing down bacon and sausage and pancakes, they held hands on the table. “You guys on your honeymoon?” the waitress asked as she left the check. Leah laughed. “Not yet,” she said.

This is what it feels like to be part of a couple in public, she realized. You can hold hands and everyone knows you’re together. She sneaked a look at Nathan as he paid the check. He’s mine, she reminded herself. Mine, not anybody else’s. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops. They walked back into the casino holding hands, Leah practically humming with happiness. Then she saw him. His back was to her, but she knew exactly who it was, facing away from the

door, glowering at the casino room in a button-down long-sleeved shirt and slacks. For a second, Leah’s heart froze in her chest. But then, she was furious. How could he follow her here, after she’d left him? It was perfectly clear that she wasn’t interested in him. Or at least she’d thought it had been. She left Nathan behind and walked up to Ian, her fury making her brave. Besides, he couldn’t do anything here in a room absolutely full of humans. “What are you doing here?” she shouted, and he turned around.

Then he smiled a very unpleasant smile. “There you are,” he said. “Are you all right?” “Of course I’m all right,” she said. “How did you find us?” His eyebrows went up in mock surprise. “You’re my bride-to-be,” he said. “I would go to any lengths to find you when you’ve been stolen from me.” Leah snorted and crossed her arms. “You know perfectly well I haven’t been stolen,” she said. Nathan came up behind her and put one protective hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she told him, taking a step toward Ian. “I’m here because I want to be here,” she told Ian. “You need to come home with me,” Ian said. He took a step forward and now he was towering over her, threateningly. “Your father is furious. I’m sure you’ve guessed that, though. But we could forgive some of what you’ve done if you just come back with me, right now, even though you’ve been—” he looked at Nathan, disgust on his face, “—spoiled.” Leah slapped him. She didn’t mean to, but it just burst out of her. “Don’t you dare,” she said. She felt

dangerous and wild, her own bear tearing at her skin to be let out. Stay down, she told herself. There’s humans everywhere. “Nathan is twice the man you’ll ever be.” “Carson,” Ian said. “Come over here.” Suddenly someone else stepped forward, and Leah looked at him. Then she gasped. It was her cousin, only his face was broken and bruised almost beyond recognition. Both his eyes were swollen nearly shut, his lip was puffy and cracked, and his nose was bent. “Who did this to you, Carson?” Ian

asked. Carson didn’t speak, just pointed at Nathan. By now, a small crowd of humans was gathering around the four of them. “It’s not true,” Nathan said. “You didn’t take him out into the woods yesterday morning to teach him a lesson on Brock’s order?” Ian said. His voice sounded slimy, somehow, and just listening to him made Leah’s skin crawl. Nathan’s gaze flicked to Leah, uncertainly. “I did,” he said. “But I didn’t beat him up. I’m done with that. I told Brock. We

drove out there, but I couldn’t do it, so I drove him back toward town. I made him walk half a mile with a hangover is all.” “So he beat himself up,” Ian said. “I don’t know who beat him up,” Nathan said, holding his palms in the air. “I swear it wasn’t me.” Leah turned and gave him a long, searching look. He’s done a lot of bad things, she thought. What’s one more? His eyes turned pleading, and something inside her snapped. He hadn’t done this. “Get out,” she said to Ian. “I’m not

coming with you, because Nathan and I are getting married. You probably beat Carson up yourself.” “Don’t make me take you,” said Ian, his voice getting dangerously quiet. “If you don’t think I’ll shift right here and take you with me back to Fjords, you’re very wrong.” Leah stepped forward until they were almost touching. “I dare you to shift,” she said. “Shift in a room full of Alaskans. See what they do when there’s suddenly a grizzly bear in here. I can see three forty-fives just from where I’m standing, and that’s only the guns that would get through a grizzly’s

skull. I’d bet good money that there’s a rifle behind the front desk, too.” Ian paused, his face moving almost imperceptibly. Then he glanced around nervously, as if trying to find the guns. Finally, he snapped his head around. “Carson, come on,” he said. Then he stormed off the casino floor, headed to the big glass doors that led to the outside, but when he reached the final bank of slot machines, he turned around. “Nathan,” he shouted, much louder this time. “You told her about Kaitlyn,

right?” “Keep walking,” Leah shouted, but as soon as he turned his back to her, she glanced nervously at Nathan. Who was Kaitlyn? Last night he’d told her that he’d been with dozens of women, but he’d also sworn up and down that those women didn’t mean anything to him. He hadn’t mentioned a Kaitlyn, though, and now Leah felt a stab of jealousy, right below her breastbone. The big doors open, and Ian and Carson finally left the casino. Leah exhaled, and suddenly realized that

her hands and knees were shaking, but Nathan caught her up in an embrace. Around her, the humans started applauding, and Leah looked at them all, baffled. “Why are they clapping?” she asked. Nathan kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he murmured. Even though she was in Nathan’s arms, she felt uneasy about him for the first time.

TWENTY-THREE: NATHAN

ven as they walked away from the E knot of humans on the casino floor, holding hands, Nathan could feel something wrong right away. Leah was suddenly distant, her mind somewhere

else rather than wholly right there with him. “I’m impressed that you spotted those guns,” he said, once they were in the elevator. “I didn’t,” she said, her voice still sounding like it was coming from far away. He had to bring up Kaitlyn, Nathan thought. God damn it, I was going to tell her. He watched the light in the elevator click on for the third floor. Maybe, he thought. He didn’t want to tell Leah. He wanted

to bury that part of himself forever, forget about the Nathan who could do something like that. A small, possibly stupid, part of himself thought that if he just never told anyone about Kaitlyn again then the nightmares would go away, and it would be like he’d never done it. Of course not. Of course it couldn’t work that way, and of course that asshole Ian would use her to try to ruin the one truly good thing that Nathan had in his life right now. It was Kaitlyn who’d gotten him here, in a way; before her, he’d had morals, he thought, as questionable as they might have been. It was only after Kaitlyn that he’d turned

into someone who’d do whatever Brock wanted, no questions asked. It was only after Kaitlyn that the other members of the North Star pack started avoiding eye contact with him, started being extrapolite when they had to interact. The elevator doors opened, and silently, Leah and Nathan walked to their hotel room. He opened the door and they both stepped inside, and then stopped, in the slight space between the beds and the TV. Leah opened her mouth, but Nathan stopped her. “Sit down,” he said. “It’s easier if you’re sitting down.”

Without a word, she sat in the arm chair in the room, but Nathan paced in front of her. Four steps and turn. Four steps and turn. “Well?” Leah finally asked once she got tired enough of waiting. “Were you in love with her? Engaged? Married? Secret love child?” Nathan just shook his head, then ran both hands through his hair. He took a deep breath. “Worse,” he said. Leah’s face didn’t move. “It happened five years ago,” he said, slowly. “Well. Not really. It starts when

Brock became alpha, after everything that happened. We’d always been best friends, and when he became alpha, I more or less became his enforcer.” He rubbed his hands together and started pacing again. “And, you know, at first it wasn’t a big deal. I’d go threaten people, tell them that they needed to step up, get their kids to stop dating humans, that sort of thing. It was just my job to look like I could hurt people, and since my brother had won alpha in a duel, I kind of got a reputation as someone you don’t fuck with. Plus, you know, I was this bachelor, I rode a motorcycle and got laid a bunch, so people weren’t really

sure about me.” He cracked his knuckles, not sure how to get into the next part. “It got worse,” he said, slowly. “Brock started asking me to rough people up, threaten them with guns, that sort of thing. You ever wonder why that house is empty that your family is staying in?” Leah didn’t answer, just looked at him with her big saucer eyes, waiting. “I made the people who lived there move,” Nathan said. “Brock asked me to. There was this minor rebellion in the pack, and they wanted someone else to be the leader, so I got sent over there at midnight. I think I broke the father’s

nose, but they left.” Nathan sat on the bed, the flimsy mattress sinking under his weight. “They had kids,” he said, shaking his head, talking to the floor. “The thing I remember is, as they were driving away, the little girl had her teddy bear in the back seat and she just looked right at me, and she was so sad.” Leah swallowed, hard. “Was that Kaitlyn?” Nathan just shook his head. He didn’t even know where the start the story about Kaitlyn. There was no good part of it, no way to ease into the terrible

thing he’d done. “The thing that Brock hates the most is intermarriage,” he said. He was slumped, with his elbows on his knees, examining his hands. “Shifters marrying humans. He absolutely hates it, and he thinks that shifters who try to intermarry should be killed, the humans run off, the whole thing. He says it dilutes our blood, renders strong bears weak, you know.” Leah just nodded. “My father too,” she said. “There was this kid in the pack named Boone,” Nathan said, slowly. “He was fifteen, and he was dating a human girl

from town. Him and his friends thought that the pack didn’t know, but of course we did. He wasn’t very good at hiding it.” He rubbed his palms together, desperately not wanting to say the next part. You have to, he told himself. She deserves to know. It would be easier to tell Leah that he’d been in love before, even been married. A thousand times easier. “Brock wanted me to teach this kid a lesson,” he said. “One Friday night, we found out that him and this girl and two of his friends were going to the movies

in town. So we followed them, and when they came out, we were going to talk to them. Give them a good scare, that kind of thing.” Nathan felt almost nauseous, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he could just say it and not have to relive it at the same time. “This human girl mouthed off to me,” he said. “Nobody did that. Not by then, when I had the reputation. And for a second, I just saw red. Who the fuck did she think she was, you know?” He flexed his hands into fists. “So I slapped her,” he said. “I backhanded her right across the face, but

I’d forgotten how fragile humans are. She just crumpled, and as she fell her head hit the bumper of the car behind her with this awful crack and then she just stopped moving. I barely even noticed right then, I was so hopped up on nerves and adrenaline, and we grabbed the three shifter kids and took them to an empty lot to teach them a lesson.” “What about her?” “We left her.” Nathan looked up and could only see Leah flex her jaw, siting rigidly in that chair, her mouth a hard line. She must hate me, he thought. Why wouldn’t she?

“The three kids we beat up pretty bad,” he said. “Brock did, really. He said he just wanted to teach them a lesson, but he was really hard on them, and then we drove away. He swore up and down that they’d show up in town the next day, ready to toe the line, be better shifters and all that.” Nathan swallowed. He couldn’t look at Leah. Unshed tears burned behind his eyes. “The shifter kids disappeared. The girl was in a coma for a week.” Nathan’s chest tightened. “She never woke up.” He took a deep, deep breath and forced himself to look up at Leah, bracing

himself for what he might see. As far as he was concerned, she’d have every right to storm out of the hotel room and never see him again. “That was Kaitlyn,” he said. “She was fifteen.” Leah was crying, silently, tears running down her face. She looked out the window at the parking lot, and then finally at Nathan. “What happened to the shifters?” she asked, quietly. “They ran off into the woods,” said Nathan. “Are they dead?”

Nathan paused. “I don’t know,” he said. “For a while, people around Fjords kept saying they saw them around, always as bears. But that hasn’t happened for years.” “Maybe they went somewhere else,” Leah said. “I wouldn’t blame them.” “What were their names?” “Jake was the oldest,” he said. “Boone had the girlfriend, and Coleman was just along for the ride.” Leah was quiet for a long, long time, and Nathan felt all the words he wanted to say gnawing at him from the inside, until

finally, he spoke. “I have nightmares about it still,” he said. “But I feel like I’m broken, Leah, and the only thing that’s any good around here is you. I don’t want to be this person that I became, and I feel like, around you, I’m not. I’m the guy I was before Kaitlyn, before my brother left and Brock became alpha.” When Leah finally spoke, she spoke slowly, her words deliberate. “Could you give me twenty minutes?” she asked, very politely. “I need a little time to think.” “Sure, of course,” Nathan said, standing quickly from the bed. He walked toward

the door, Leah sitting still, and then turned when he was almost there. “If you don’t want to marry me I understand,” he said, the words rushing out of him. “I’ll tell them that I kidnapped you or something, that it’s not your fault you’re here with me. Or I’ll give you money and put you on a bus to Seattle.” He looked at her one more time, eyes pleading. “Leah, I’m at your mercy,” he said. “I’ll do anything.” Then he left the room.

He gave her half an hour, more time than she’d asked for. At first, he went downstairs and tried to play blackjack, but he couldn’t even concentrate enough to add two numbers together. Even the slot machines were too hard for him just then — all the big noises and bright lights, when all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and freeze time for a little while. Nathan ended up getting a club soda at the bar. What he really wanted was whiskey, but he made himself stay sober. You can drink after she ends it, he told himself. He checked the time on his phone.

Just ten more minutes, and then you can get as drunk as you want. Hit on every woman in the place, fuck three of ‘em at once. The thought offered absolutely no comfort. He didn’t even want to fuck anyone else. I’m ruined, he realized. She’s going to reject me but she’s still going to be the only one I’ll ever want. Seven more minutes.

Finally, he forced himself to go back upstairs and hear Leah’s verdict. As he opened the hotel room, he felt nothing

but total dread. What if she wasn’t even there? But then he saw her, standing by the window, wearing the same brilliant blue dress she’d worn to her engagement party. She’s gorgeous even though she’s about to break my heart, Nathan thought, and Leah turned her head to look at him. “I’m back,” he said, saying the only thing he could think of. “Good,” she said. “We’re almost late. Come zip my dress up, I can’t reach.” Obediently, Nathan crossed the room. For the first time, he dared to hope.

Leah didn’t say anything until she turned around and gave him a long, hard look from head to toe, her face critical. “Aren’t you going to change?” she asked. “Why?” “You can’t get married in a t-shirt and jeans,” Leah said, matter-of-factly.

TWENTY-FOUR: LEAH

n the bathroom, trying in vain to do Isomething to her hair, Leah wasn’t certain that she wasn’t making a huge mistake. After all, hadn’t he just told her that he was capable of doing terrible

things to other people? Hadn’t he just admitted that he’d caused pain and suffering to plenty of people? He’s not a bad person, she reminded herself. No matter what happened, she couldn’t believe that he was. When she looked at him, she saw goodness shining out. Maybe she was the only one who could see it, she thought. Maybe it’s because I didn’t meet him earlier, she thought. But whose fault is that? Around her neck, Leah wore a thin, delicate gold necklace. It had four small gold beads on it, hanging perfectly in the

hollow of her throat, and she touched it once, a little afraid that she might break it. Her mother had given it to her for her to wear at her wedding. It had been intended for her wedding to Ian, of course, but that wasn’t the wedding she was going to have. She’d wear it at her wedding, like her mother had, and like her grandmother had. It had been saved for her, being the oldest, even though she had two married younger sisters. For a moment, Leah felt a pang of sadness that her mother and her sisters weren’t there with her.

It’s the happiest day of my life, and it’s going to be me, and Nathan, and a couple of strangers in a chapel, she thought, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from welling with tears. But you’ve got the most important part, she reminded herself. You’ve got your mate. Just thinking it made something in her heart swell. I’ve got my mate, she reminded herself, then knocked on the inside of the bathroom door. “Are you decent?” she called. “I’m never decent,” Nathan called back.

Leah rolled her eyes and opened the door. “Is this what I’m getting myself into?” she asked, teasing him. “Stupid jokes for the rest of my life?” He wore gray slacks and a long sleeve, plaid, button down shirt. “I don’t actually own a suit,” he said, apologetically. “And I ripped up my other nice outfit when I shifted at your... party.” Leah just laughed. “Roll up your sleeves,” she said. “You may as well go full lumberjack for the wedding,” she said.

Nathan raised one eyebrow. “Besides, I think your forearms are sexy,” she said, feeling the heat creep into her face even as she said that. I don’t think I’ll ever master dirty talk, she thought. Not if I can’t handle ‘Your forearms are sexy.’ In a flash, Nathan’s sleeves were rolled up and he was ready to go. “All right,” he said. “Are you ready?” Leah nodded, but then put her arm on his. “Wait,” she said. “I just want to say something.” Nathan waited, taking her hand in his.

“It’s not okay that you nearly killed a girl,” she said. “And I thought really hard about leaving, just now, when you were gone. I almost did.” She swallowed. “But I don’t think you’re a bad person,” she said. “You did a bad thing, and now you wish you hadn’t. I think that’s all I can ask for, in the end.” Nathan squeezed her hand. “I wish that every day,” he said. “Let’s go get married,” Leah said.

The justice of the peace was waiting for

them outside the door of the chapel, two rose corsages in his hand. “You must be the happy couple,” he said, smiling. “That’s us,” said Nathan. As he pinned the corsages onto them, he spoke. “The ceremony will be fairly short,” he said. “No religious stuff, no frills, as long as that’s fine with you. Most people just want to get married.” “That’s us,” said Leah, blushing as the justice of the peace pinned her corsage to her chest. He didn’t even touch her, but she was still a little embarrassed by

it. How am I ever going to manage sex? She wondered, feeling a little desperate. “Who are your witnesses?” he asked as he finished pinning. Leah and Nathan looked at each other. “I forgot that part,” Nathan said, apologetically. The justice pointed at the casino floor, only about fifty feet away. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This comes up all the time. People love to witness a wedding.” “We’ll just grab someone and be right

back,” Leah said, grabbing Nathan’s hand and walking toward the floor. The first people she saw were two older women, gossiping with each other on the casino floor. They both had lanyards around their necks, casino membership cards hanging from them. As Leah and Nathan approached, they stopped talking and looked up. “Hi,” Leah said. “We’re getting married in the chapel, and we were wondering if you’d be our witnesses?” The woman on the right, who wore a pink shirt and had reading glasses on a chain around her neck, clapped both hands over her heart.

“Are you eloping?” she said. “Yes ma’am,” Leah said, not certain what the reaction would be. “That’s so romantic!” the woman said. “What?” asked the other woman, her gray hair back in a severe bun. “THEY’RE ELOPING, PHYLLIS,” shouted the first woman. “Oh, you poor thing,” said Phyllis, a bit loudly. “You look lovely!” “Thank you!” said Leah at top volume. Then she noticed that the first woman was giving Nathan a pretty good onceover.

“If I were forty years younger I’d show you how to elope properly,” she said, winking at Nathan. Leah and Nathan looked at each other. Neither had any idea how to respond. “Thank you,” said Nathan, a bit formally. “What?” asked Phyllis. “I THINK HE’S A HUNK,” shouted the first woman. Leah felt like they were getting nowhere. Then, a man came up behind them. He looked very Alaskan: jeans, a camouflage t-shirt, suspenders, and a gray beard. “You’re getting married?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Leah, hoping she could get this back under control. “We need witnesses.” The man smiled and pointed at Leah, then winked. “Hold that thought,” he said, and walked away quickly. “So, would you mind being our witnesses?” she asked the two old ladies. “Of course, dear—” Phyllis was interrupted by the PA system crackling on over the whole casino floor. “Everybody listen up,” said the man’s

voice. “You all remember that sweet girl who told off that asshole an hour ago? She’s gettin’ married, and she needs a couple of witnesses.” Suddenly, everyone on the casino floor was looking at Leah and Nathan. “Please raise your hand if you’d like to help these two lovebirds out,” the man’s voice said. Every hand in the casino went up. “We’ll need a change of venue,” the justice of the peace said, coming up behind them.

Fifteen minutes later, everything was

sorted. The crowd had formed an aisle between the rows of blackjack tables, and everyone stood alongside it, with Nathan at one end, next to the justice of the peace. Someone had cued up something classical on a Walkman and was holding it up to the microphone of the PA system. Leah stood in the women’s bathroom, two old ladies fussing with her hair. It didn’t look any better, but she felt like she might cry with gratitude. Could these two women possibly know that they were doing more for her than her own family? “All right, dear,” one of them said. Leah hadn’t even gotten her name. “Ready?”

Leah just nodded, afraid she’d cry if she said anything. The other woman opened the door to the ladies’ bathroom, and Leah looked out, down the aisle that the throng of people had made for her. She thought her heart might just beat out of her chest as she started walking. There was Nathan, grinning. It was the happiest she’d ever seen him look. Right away, Leah felt better. It’s going to be okay, she thought. For the first time since they’d run away, she felt like it was true. It felt like she was walking on clouds,

even as she walked between old people at poker tables, all of them watching. Then, when she reached Nathan, they started applauding. He reached for her hands and bent down to kiss her. “Not yet!” a lady shouted from the crowd, and everyone laughed. Chastised, Nathan straightened up. “Ladies and gentlemen, today I present to you Mr. Nathan Kamchatka and Miss Leah Whitehorse, here of their own free will, to be joined in matrimony before us.” Nathan squeezed her hands and Leah

almost laughed. She felt giddy with happiness. “If anyone knows a reason that these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Dead silence. “That’s what I like to hear,” the justice of the peace said. “Shall we get to the good part?” The room erupted in cheers. “Do you, Nathan, take Leah to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage?” “I do,” Nathan said. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Leah’s hand.

“Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, for as long as you both shall live?” “I do,” he said. “And do you, Leah, take Nathan to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage?” She swallowed. “I do,” she said quietly. Nathan rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb again. “And do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him for

better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?” “I do,” she said. Someone in the crowd cheered, only to be hushed immediately. “By the power vested in me by the state of Alaska, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the justice of the peace announced. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Leah felt like her heart might burst. “You may now kiss the bride,” the justice said. Nathan leaned down, and the noise of the

rambunctious crowd faded to a dull roar in Leah’s ears as she raised herself on her tiptoes. Their lips met, and there was nothing else in the world. Leah felt like she and Nathan were alone, together, in a cocoon of their love, like no one else was watching. He deepened the kiss, sliding one hand around her back and pulling her body closer into his. Leah put her arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life, feeling almost dizzy. “Save it for tonight!” someone in the crowd yelled, and everyone laughed, even Nathan and Leah. They pulled

apart, and then Nathan reached for her hand. As they walked back down the aisle, people showered them with torn up bits of paper like confetti, the cheering only getting louder and louder. “Where are we going?” Leah shouted, squeezing Nathan’s hand. “Our room, of course!” Nathan shouted back over the din. They reached the elevators, and he hit the button. Then he bent down, and before Leah knew what was happening, he scooped her up in his arms like she weighed

nothing. The crowd went even more nuts. Then the elevator doors opened and he carried her inside.

TWENTY-FIVE: NATHAN

s he carried his bride down the A hallway, Nathan felt like every millimeter of his skin was hypersensitized, like he was about to burst out of his own body.

She’s mine, he thought. She’s really and truly mine. The thought was going to take some getting used to. In the room, he tossed her onto the bed, and she shrieked, giggling at the same time. “You’ve got to be gentle with me, Nathan,” she said. “I’m your wife now.” Nathan couldn’t do anything but laugh, he was so happy. He bent over the bed again and kissed her hard, feeling her body with his, all softness and yielding flesh, driving him out of his mind with crazy lust.

His bear was roaring harder than it ever had before, completely desperate to mark her, to make her his even more than he already had. Nathan wanted to bury himself in Leah, get sweaty and naked again and again until neither of them could move. Under him, Leah stiffened, and he came back to his senses for a moment. Remember how she’s never even been to second base before? Even though every muscle in body protested, he lifted himself off of her. With one hand, he played with a curl. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “I’m

ready.” “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he said. “It’s okay.” Nathan shook his head. “Not like this,” he said. Her chest rose and fell against her blue dress, the motion utterly mesmerizing, awakening something deep and primal in Nathan that he’d never felt before. “How about this,” he said. “I’ll stand here, and you can do whatever you want to me. I promise not to touch you until you’re completely ready.” Leah stared for a moment.

Then she nodded. Slowly, reluctantly, Nathan stood. He had an inkling that this might be the hardest thing he’d ever done — letting her touch him without touching her at all. Without letting his bear take over and tossing control to the wind. Deep inside, he trembled, but he stood firm. Leah stood and looked at him. She seemed more than a little nervous, but then, very gently, she unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, fingers shaking a little. “I don’t bite,” Nathan said, trying to keep it light, even as it took all his self-

control not to throw her back on the bed. “Not unless you ask nicely.” That got a laugh as Leah undid the second button, then the third button and the fourth. When she reached his pants, she pulled the shirt out and undid the last button, then slid her hands inside, along his stomach. Nathan suppressed a groan, his breathing getting shallow. Her touch sent little zaps of electricity over his skin, and he trembled as he forced himself to remain perfectly still. There was nothing he could do about his cock, though. That had stiffened the moment that he’d opened the door to

their room and still stood at attention, its entire length aching and rock hard. Leah traced the muscles on his stomach with one finger, slowly making her way up his chest, over all his hard muscle until she reached his shoulders. “Can I take your shirt off?” she asked softly. “You can do anything you want,” he said. Carefully, she slid his shirt off of his shoulders. Nathan heard it hit the ground behind him with a soft whump as Leah ran her hands over his arms and shoulders, biting her lip as she did. Then she stood on her tiptoes and, very

carefully, pressed her lips to one shoulder. Her body brushed up against his cock, softly, and Nathan nearly moaned out loud, even at that tiny touch. Nathan squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, forcing himself not to move, not even to put a hand on her back. Nothing unless she tells you to, he told himself yet again. It was nearly impossible, but he managed. Her lips, hot and soft, moved along his collarbone slowly, almost shyly, followed by Leah’s finger. Then she looked up at him,

questioningly. “Do you like that?” she whispered. “Yes,” Nathan whispered back. She smiled, running her hands down his torso again. A shiver of pure desire ran down Nathan’s spine, and her fingertips brushed against his belt, looking at the impressive tent in his pants. “Sorry,” Nathan said. “I can’t control quite everything.” To his surprise, Leah looked up at him and smiled. He could sense the wild thing, deep inside her, threatening to come to the surface, and he dug his nails into his palms.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, sounding half-shy and half-coy. Then her fingers moved lower, just barely grazing the tip of his cock through the material of his pants. Nathan exhaled hard, fighting to maintain control. Don’t you dare cum in your pants, he told himself. Don’t you DARE. Her fingers moved down the shaft, toward the root, and Nathan forced himself to remain completely still. As she moved her hands up, she pressed her hand against it harder. You promised, Nathan told himself.

Leah was staring at him in near-wonder. Don’t ruin the first cock she’s ever touched, he told himself. She squeezed it again and he gasped, every hair on his body standing on end, every nerve on full alert. “Did that hurt?” she asked. “Not at all,” Nathan gasped out. A slow smile spread across Leah’s face. “Did it feel good?” she asked, her grin becoming almost wicked. “Yes,” Nathan growled. Without saying anything else, she undid

his belt buckle, only fumbling a little, then undid the button on his pants and slid his zipper down, his cock pressing against it the whole time. It was slow torture, Nathan thought, as he saw white spots dance in front of his vision. “Take your pants off,” she said. Nathan didn’t need to be told twice. “Get on the bed,” she said. “Lay down.” “Yes ma’am,” he said, teasingly. Her dress still on, she knelt over his knees, then took the long, hard rod of his cock in one hand, gripping him through the cloth of his boxers. This time, he did groan with the effort of

not moving. He didn’t even lift his hips up off the bed as she stroked him, hard, putting both his arms over his face and exhaling. “Are you okay?” Leah asked. He had to laugh. “I’m more than okay,” he said. “It’s almost impossible for me not to touch you right now. I’ve never wanted anything more.” “Really?” “Of course.” She bit her lip, her hand pausing. Then she took it away and slowly got off the bed, standing next to it.

“Undress me,” she whispered. Nathan paused. He wanted to undress her with every cell in his body. He felt like his entire being was channeled into that singular desire: take her, mate her. But he stopped himself. “Are you sure?” In response, Leah turned and reached for the zipper on the back of her dress herself, nudging it down slowly over her upper back, revealing the pale white flesh there inch by inch. Nathan almost lost his mind. In a flash, he was sitting on the edge of

the bed, the zipper between his fingers, his hand trembling with the sheer force of his lust, unzipping her dress himself. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his lips barely half an inch from the back of her neck. “Yes,” she whispered. He pressed his lips against the base of her neck, feeling an electric current pulse through her and into him, making his mind go fuzzy. Leah sighed. He unzipped her dress further, following that widening V of skin with his lips, down each vertebra of her back, past her

white bra strap until he reached her midback and the zipper ended. Then, with a slowness that made him ache, he pushed the shoulders of the blue dress forward, easing the fabric over her arms and down her body, tugging at it little by little until it fell around her feet in a blue puddle. He held his breath as she turned around, and for the first time, he saw her perfect, luscious curves in their full, nearlynaked glory. Nathan was stunned into perfect stillness, using every ounce of self-control he had to fight down his pure, primal, animal urges. Leah blushed bright pink, and the

warmth spread down her neck and onto her perfect full, creamy breasts, mostly hidden by a plain white bra. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. In response, the blushing girl reached one hand out to Nathan’s face, cupping his cheek in her palm. He was still sitting on the bed, his eyes even with her neck, and he had to tilt his head up to look at her. She bent down and kissed him, and one at a time, Nathan put his hands on her waist. Her skin was perfectly soft and warm, just like he’d imagined a thousand times. “You aren’t finished yet,” she said, her

mouth still half on his. “With what?” he asked. “Undressing me,” she said, and kissed him more deeply, slipping her tongue into his mouth. She pressed her body against his and he could feel all her curves, warm and soft and utterly tantalizing as he moved his hands over her small waist and curvy hips, up to the clasp of her bra in the back. He undid it but held it in place for a long moment, still kissing Leah deeply, part of him afraid that she might change her mind at any moment. When she didn’t, he pulled her bra off slowly, letting her perfect breasts

bounce gently out, the dusky pink nipples pointed at the sky. Nathan didn’t even ask permission. He felt like he couldn’t think straight, and he just took them in his hands, very gently pinching one nipple between two fingers. Leah closed her eyes, her hands on his shoulders for balance, her head tilted back and her mouth slightly open in pleasure. It was all the invitation he needed. He took her other hard, pink nipple in his mouth, delicately running his tongue over its pebbled surface. Above his head, he heard Leah moan, just barely. His body responded but he forced

himself to do nothing, forced his bear back yet again. For all Nathan cared, a nuclear bomb could go off outside and he still wouldn’t leave. Leah ran one hand over his hair, and he took it as a sign. As carefully as he could, he took her nipple between his teeth, applying the slightest bit of pleasure. She gasped. “Do that again,” she whispered. He did, listening again for that slight gasp of pleasure. Already, even through her underwear, he could smell the musk of her arousal. Yet another thing to drive him utterly wild.

Most men would have torn the room apart by now, he thought to himself. Then Leah let his head go and hooked her thumbs underneath her simple white panties, easing them from her hips and letting them join her dress and bra on the floor.

TWENTY-SIX: LEAH

eah had no idea what she was doing, L but she knew that somehow, it felt right. At a certain point, she’d stopped thinking and simply let her body take over — and her body wanted her naked

with Nathan, his hands and lips all over her. At first she’d felt awkward at giving him instructions, but it was immediately clear that whatever she said, he’d do in a heartbeat or less. He almost seemed to tremble from within from some force she couldn’t understand or name, but she understood that he was fighting something. Probably himself. Now his hands were on her back, gentle but wanting, and he had moved his lips to the sensitive space between her breasts, his mouth slowly making its way down her stomach, each kiss raising goosebumps all over her body.

Then he looked at up her, one hand gripping her hip, his fingers working against her flesh. “Can I touch you?” he asked. “Of course.” “Can I stand up?” Leah nodded, slightly confused. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the basics of sex and what all — or at least most — of the sex acts were. After all, she was sheltered, not an idiot. In one quick motion Nathan stood and then kissed her, his throbbing erection straining at his boxers, pressed up against her stomach. Without thinking,

she tugged them off of him and then she could feel it, all soft skin and smooth hardness, against her. There was a drop of something at the tip. It was the first time Leah had ever seen an adult man’s penis, and mesmerized, she reached down and took it in her hand. Nathan growled, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside his chest. It awakened something inside Leah, too, and she squeezed his cock even as he kissed her harder, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and exploring her wantonly. Then there was a hand between her legs,

stroking her curly red hair and slipping between her thighs to her sensitive places. He just barely touched her, but even that was enough to make Leah gasp in surprise and delight. “Lay down,” he murmured. Leah’s nerves returned, and she felt a stab of anxiety run through her, despite everything. “I promise it won’t hurt,” he said, smiling, his face half an inch from hers. “I just want to taste you.” Leah blushed furiously. “I don’t know—” she stammered. “Please?” he said.

His hand just barely grazed her lower lips, slick with desire, and Leah shuddered. She took a step backward and laid on the other bed, Nathan over her. Before she knew it, her legs were around his wide torso, his erection bobbing somewhere in between them as he left a trail of kisses down her belly to the top of her mound. Gently but firmly, he pushed her thighs wide, his fingers digging into the soft, creamy flesh and with the very tip of his tongue, he traced the wet, musky outline of her lower lips. “Oh!” Leah exclaimed, her back arching

instantly, her hips bucking forward. Nathan chuckled, the heat of his breath making her squirm. Lightly, his tongue danced around her, making its way up to her clitoris, that pleasure button. Leah couldn’t help herself any longer and buried both her hands in his hair, clenching it tightly, moaning. She couldn’t even begin to describe what was happening as Nathan moved his tongue in a slow circle around her clit, lazily flicking it back and forth as she lay on the bed, squirming and moaning. It felt like a river of fire was making its way through her, slowly, every movement of Nathan’s tongue and mouth

feeding it into a frenzy. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her hands tightening in his hair. “Nathan, that feels so good.” She could almost feel him smile, his tongue still gliding smoothly around. “Don’t stop,” she said. “Whatever you do, don’t stop, just please don’t stop...” The river inside her suddenly crested and she felt herself tilting over an edge as she came, the fire inside her consuming everything. Leah cried out, her toes curling and one hand squeezing the bedspread, her head to the side, her hips bucking desperately off the bed even as Nathan held her down and

continued licking at her, patiently. She saw stars, and for a moment, she thought that everything was going to go black. Her body was completely out of her control, writhing and buckling. “Nathan,” she gasped, biting her lip, worried she was making too much noise. “Oh my god, Nathan...” Finally, she practically collapsed into the bed, her body quivering a little from the sheer force of her orgasm. Nathan leaned his chin against her lower belly and grinned up at her. All Leah could do was start to laugh. “Get up here,” she said.

She didn’t have to ask twice, as Nathan crawled upward over her, his hard, taut body against hers as he kissed her deeply. She could smell herself on him, but she didn’t mind at all. There was even something sexy about it. “Thank you,” she said, her hands roving over his muscled back. “My pleasure,” he rumbled. His erection was still pressing up against her. Feeling bolder now, Leah reached down and took it in one hand, squeezing it, sliding her thumb over the tip and gathering the droplets that had collected there. His head against her neck, Nathan

groaned, and she could feel the sheer force of his body. Every muscle was tense, and he seemed like he was fighting against himself in some way she couldn’t quite understand. Her hand in a fist, she moved it down his cock until she was at the root of it, feeling the trembling power there. “Am I doing this right?” she whispered. Without answering, still holding himself above her, Nathan put one hand of his over hers, completely enveloping her. Then he squeezed, moving her hand up and down his rock-hard length, slowly going faster and faster. It didn’t take Nathan long at all, only a

few strokes before he was growling into Leah’s neck, every muscle straining like he was just barely keeping himself under control. “Yes,” he grunted, his hips thrusting downward. “God, yes.” His whole body had a fine sheen of sweat on it, and Leah could smell the musk in the air even as she watched his hard, perfect body strain. Suddenly, he jerked and moaned and all at once he came in thick white spurts onto the bedspread, right next to where Leah still lay on her back. His hand on his cock squeezed hers even harder as his whole body strained once, then twice

more. Then he relaxed, going limp and collapsing on top of her, still breathing hard as he kissed her neck, then her cheek, and then finally made his way back to her lips. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you too,” she said, as they rolled onto their sides. “I didn’t mean to come that fast,” he said. “I can’t help myself with you.” “We’ll sleep in the other bed tonight,” she said, kissing him lazily.

TWENTY-SEVEN: NATHAN

he next morning, they woke up in a T tangle of sheets and naked limbs, the sun just barely getting in through a crack in the curtains. The clock said it was almost six in the morning, about the time

Nathan usually got up. He shifted in bed, feeling a few strange muscles protest, and he grinned, remembering the night before. Against him, Leah moved slightly, sighing in her sleep and snuggling down against him, her curly red hair tickling his chin as her soft, warm curves woke him up even more. He drifted in and out of sleep for another hour before finally getting up, pulling on his boxers, and getting out of bed. For the first time since he’d left Fjords, he turned his phone back on. He hadn’t cared to let anyone reach him while he’d been gone, and he’d even been slightly

nervous that it could track him somehow. That was probably paranoia, he knew, but Brock had pack members everywhere, even with the Fjords Sheriff. Sure enough, there were ten missed calls and two voicemails. All from Brock. Nathan sat in the armchair, still watching Leah — my wife, he remembered with a smile — sleep peacefully. In the first message, Brock managed to sound normal. “Nathan, I need you,” he said. “Leah Whitehorse has gone missing. Her father and husband are very worried. I want you to see if you can track her down.

Call me back.” Sitting in the hotel room, watching a very nude Leah sleep, he couldn’t help but smile. The next voicemail was from ten hours after the first one, and Nathan had a feeling it wouldn’t be nearly as calm. “Nathan, you need to get in touch with me right away,” said Brock’s voice. He sound absolutely furious, the kind of fury that only disobeyed alpha could have, like he was moments from ripping someone limb from limb. “If you’ve taken Leah Whitehorse, then—” “BRING MY DAUGHTER BACK OR I’LL STRANGLE YOU WITH MY

OWN BARE HANDS—” That was Jonah Whitehorse, roaring in the background. “Her father’s very, very angry,” Brock said. “I need to hear from you, and soon.” “IF THAT DEGENERATE LAYS A HAND ON HER—” Click. Leah stirred in her sleep, the sheet slipping down to reveal most of her perfect, pale back, and Nathan smiled to himself. Her father might actually have a heart attack when he found out what they’d done, but now, there was nothing

he could do. Even Jonah Whitehorse was powerless against the act of taking a mate. It was done. Leah was his. She rolled onto her back, naked from the waist up, and opened her eyes. “Hey,” she murmured, still half-asleep. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said, standing. Leah frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re a morning person,” she muttered, closing her eyes again.

Nathan crawled back onto the bed on all fours, getting on top of her. He was already hard, and being able to feel her warm curves through the bed sheet only made him harder. “Is it so bad if I am?” he asked. Leah just made a noise. “Think I could give you a proper wake up?” Nathan asked, grinning and leaning his face against her stomach. He didn’t wait for an answer, instead trailing kisses down her belly. Soon, Leah was very awake.

“Where do you want to go?” Nathan asked two hours later, as they lay on the bed, sweaty and spent. “What do you mean?” “From here,” Nathan said, pulling gently on one of her curls, fascinated. “You mean our honeymoon?” “We could move somewhere else,” Nathan said. “We never have to see those people again, if you want. We could start over anywhere.” She turned her head and examined his face for a moment. “Isn’t that what your brother did?” she asked, softly.

Nathan just nodded. “He’s happy,” Nathan said. “You weren’t,” Leah said. “We could move to Montana and join them,” Nathan said. Leah thought about it for a moment, lost in thought, her head nestled against Nathan’s shoulder. “I have to tell my family,” she said. “I can’t just disappear. I owe it to my brothers and sisters. I owe it to Emily.” She looked up at Nathan. “I want them to see that I’m happy,” she said. “I want them to know that they can

make their own decisions too.” He twirled her hair around his finger, thinking. “Don’t tie it in knots,” she murmured. “It’s impossible to untangle.” “Sorry,” he said, taking his finger out of the spiral. “You don’t want to go back?” He stroked her hair with a flat palm, thinking. “It’s where your clan is,” Leah said. “It’s where you belong.” He wanted to protest that he’d done too many bad things. That he’d alienated too

many people in Fjords, but deep down, he knew she was right. He felt a pull to the place and to his people that he couldn’t quite explain, but it was in his bones. He wanted to show Leah how wonderful it could be there, how beautiful. He wanted their kids to see the glaciers and the stars underneath the Pinnacles. Maybe we can start to fix it, he thought. It has to start somewhere, after all. It may as well start with us. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

While Leah was in the shower, he finally called Brock back. After all, it would

probably be worse to simply show up with Leah in tow rather than give the alpha a few hours to fume. Brock answered the phone with a snarl. “Where are you?” “Outside Anchorage,” Nathan said. “At the Midnight Sun casino.” “And why are you there?” “I got married,” Nathan said, as casually as he could. On the other end of the line, stunned silence. Then, a door slammed open, and Nathan could hear Jonah Whitehorse’s voice.

“Is that him?” he shouted. “Tell him—” “Shut up!” Brock shouted back. “Get out.” Silence again. “I said get out, Jonah.” Nathan knew that tone in Brock’s voice, and despite himself, he swallowed. It was a clear don’t fuck with me tone. A door shut, and Brock spoke into the phone again. “You got married to Leah Whitehorse?” he asked. His voice shook just a little, and Nathan could hear that he was struggling to keep himself in check.

“Yep,” he said. He opened the curtains of the hotel room and looked out at all the cars shining in the sun, down in the parking lot. “We’re coming back to town. Leah wants to see her family before they leave.” Brock half-laughed, a totally humorless sound. “I’m not sure they want to see her,” he said. “Do you speak for her family, or just for her father?” “Her father is the one that matters.” “She doesn’t care about him. She wants to see her siblings and her mother.”

“Ian’s also pretty pissed, you know.” Nathan snorted. “She told him off already. He followed us to the casino somehow, and she got right in his face. You should have seen it, Brock.” Silence again, but this time, Nathan could almost hear Brock’s anger mellowing over the phone. He wasn’t Ian’s biggest fan, either, but he’d been willing to make this match in order to ally the two clans together, and, more importantly, make more matches. Now, Nathan could tell, the wheels in the other man’s brain were clicking. The clans were still allied. A Whitehorse

woman was still married to a North Star man. “He beat up Carson, you know,” Nathan went on. “To make me look bad to Leah.” “Come home,” Brock said, still angry but not furious like he had been. “Come home and we’ll talk.” Nathan heard the water in the shower shut off and hung up the phone.

TWENTY-EIGHT: LEAH

he closer they got to Fjords, the T quieter Leah got. At the casino, far away from her family and especially from her father, she’d felt considerably braver. But now, all she could imagine was his

pure alpha rage. She’d only seen him disobeyed a handful of times before, and it had never been her — despite everything, up until now, she’d been the good daughter. Now, he was likely to hit the roof and go through it. There was nothing he could do, though. Nathan was her mate now, officially, and there was nothing that her father could do to change that. Bears mated for life, after all. Though, there was a small problem: technically, they hadn’t mated. It was a two-part ritual: first the wedding, then the mating. And while what they’d done

in bed had been incredible, it hadn’t, technically, been mating. Technically, she was still a virgin, and she was afraid that her father might be able to tell. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You’re still married. You’re still his, and you’ve still been way more intimate with him than with anyone else. Part of her felt guilty, though, that she hadn’t completely given herself to him yet. True, he hadn’t asked, and he seemed completely happy with what they were doing. Still, Leah wanted to give him her virginity. She was just nervous about the

logistics. As he drove, Nathan looked over at her. He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m right here,” he said. She squeezed back. “I know,” she said.

By the time they reached the driveway to the house where her family was staying, Leah thought that her heart might beat clear out of her chest. She felt a mixture of brave and terrified; for the first time, she wasn’t under her father’s thumb anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something. He wouldn’t hurt

her — he’d never do that — but he could still fight Nathan or cut her off from her siblings who were still under his protection. Like her little sister, Emily. Nathan pulled the car up next to her family’s van and cut the engine. Leah just stared straight ahead, trying to gather her wits. He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it tight. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” “No,” she said. Nathan raised his eyebrows.

“I’m going to tell him,” she said, squeezing his hand back. The fury was growing inside her, threatening to take her over. She’d spent thirty-two years doing what her father wanted her to, and now, she was free, and it felt wonderful. She wanted to be the one to tell him that she’d defied him and see the look on his face when he realized he’d lost control. Deep inside, her bear growled with satisfaction. “Let’s go,” Leah said. Nathan didn’t argue, just got out of the car and followed his wife to her front door.

As Leah raised her hand to knock, the door flew open. “Leah!” her mother exclaimed, nearly knocking the girl down opening the screen door. She took her daughter in a bear hug, her gray hair tangling together with Leah’s bright orange hair. “Oh my god, I was so worried,” she said, squeezing her daughter so tight that Leah could hardly breathe. “Are you okay? You disappeared and we thought the worst...” With one final squeeze, she backed up and took her daughter’s face in her hands. “I’m fine, mom,” Leah said, smiling.

“And I got married.” Tears rose into Margaret Whitehorse’s eyes. “Are you happy?” she whispered. “I am,” she said. As her mom hugged her again, Leah could see a tall form darken the hallway behind her. “Leah,” her father said. “Father,” Leah said. She still stood in the doorway, Nathan quiet behind her. “Come in,” he said. Margaret released their daughter and

stepped aside and let Leah and Nathan come in. Leah’s father stood still, and Leah could almost feel the anger radiating off of him. There’s nothing he can do, she reminded herself. Nathan slid his hand into hers and squeezed it gently. “You disobeyed me,” her father said. His voice chilled her to the core, but Leah clenched her jaw and stood up straighter. “I didn’t want to marry Ian,” she said. “I wanted to marry Nathan. So I did.” “I don’t see rings.”

“We haven’t gotten them yet,” she said, her face going hot. “What kind of man marries a woman without a ring?” “Ian didn’t give me a ring,” she said, feeling her rage flicker brightly. “He had approval,” Jonah said. He stepped forward, and Leah could see his eyes flash with anger. “I know what’s best for you, Leah. And that isn’t some violent playboy. Did Ian show you what he did to your cousin?” Nathan started to say something but Leah cut him off, her words sharp. “Nathan didn’t do that,” she said. “You

know he didn’t.” “He’s lying,” her father said, simply. “You have no reason to trust someone who’d bedded so many women he can’t even count them.” Then he sniffed the air for a second, a slow realization coming onto his face, and addressed Nathan. “Have you mated her yet?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “Yes,” Leah said firmly. She turned bright red, but her eyes were still flashing. “Jonah,” Margaret said. “Quiet,” he told her.

“I will not,” she said, marching past Leah and Nathan and right up to her husband. “Can’t you see how happy they are? You got what you wanted. She married into the North Star clan. Aren’t you satisfied?” Leah’s father put his hands up, palms out, as if to ward off his wife’s demands, and Leah saw that the knuckles of his right hand were cut open. Realization dawned on her. “You beat up Carson,” she said. “The hell are you talking about?” he asked, distracted for a moment. For the first time in years, Leah could tell that she’d caught her father off-guard.

“You beat up Carson so Ian could pin it on Nathan,” she said. There was a creak at the top of the staircase to her right, and she looked up to see all three of her sisters and two brothers peering down, all watching the argument. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, but he put his hands down, hiding the knuckles of his right behind his left. “How could you say those things about Nathan when you did that to your own flesh and blood?” Leah said. Now she was starting to shout. “Carson’s your nephew.” “Did you, Jonah?” asked her mom, her

voice nearly a whisper. For the first time that she’d ever seen, Leah’s father looked almost lost, between his eldest daughter and his wife. He was silent for a moment, and Leah could sense his bear threatening to break free, the muscles in his face working desperately. Then he turned to Leah, taking a step toward her, towering over her. Behind her, Nathan stepped forward as well, more than willing to fight her father, but Leah held him back with one hand. “You’ll come around someday,” Jonah said, smirking. “When he decides that

he’s going to go back to having a different woman every week, and when he goes back to doing his alpha’s dirty work. People don’t change, Leah.” “Maybe you don’t, father,” she said. Deep down, she was terrified, but she’d also never felt braver. “The rest of us still have a chance.” Her father gave her a long, withering glare, looked once at Nathan, and then stormed out of the narrow hallway. For a moment, there was dead silence. Then all of Leah’s siblings charged down the stairs, her sisters in the lead, and practically jumped on top of her, drowning her in hugs.

“You’re back!” “You got married!” “To him! Who knew?” “Tell me everything!” This is why I came back, she thought, practically lifted off the floor by the enthusiasm of her sisters. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Everyone calm down.” She walked into the sitting room, surrounded by her family, and looked over her shoulder as she did. Still in the hallway, she saw her mother approach Nathan, still standing where

Leah had left him, looking a little surprised and bowled over by her sisters’ enthusiasm. Her mother said something to him, and Nathan responded. Then they hugged. It’s going to be a work in progress, Leah thought, only to have her thoughts interrupted by Abigail’s whisper. “Did you do it yet?” she asked with a wink. Leah turned pink. Her sisters all giggled.

Leah and Nathan didn’t see her father again that day, despite staying at the house for dinner. Afterward, Nathan insisted on doing the dishes and chased all the women out of the kitchen. “I’ve lived by myself for almost twenty years,” he told a fretting Margaret. “I can clean a kitchen.” The women congregated in the dining room, not really sure what to do or how to relax. “Ian left,” Emily volunteered. Rebecca and Abigail nodded. “What do you mean?” Leah asked,

twisting her napkin in her hands. “His store is closed up,” Emily said. “And I heard Father talking to Brock about it. Whatever you told him really worked.” Leah smiled, still looking down into her lap. “He was kind of creepy,” said Rebecca. “And too old for you,” added Abigail. “Nathan’s much cuter,” said Rebecca. “And he’s got a great body.” Abigail punched her sister playfully in the arm. “He has very nice eyes,” her mother

said, diplomatically. “And he does the dishes.” Leah could hear her father stomping around on the floor above, but she didn’t care anymore. It was obvious that she’d won. “Leah,” her mother started, then stopped. She frowned, as if looking for the right words. She sighed. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.” “Mom, it’s—” “Let me finish,” her mother said, some of the formality coming back into her voice. “I didn’t want to miss my daughter’s wedding, but let us throw you a reception, at least. To welcome Nathan

to the family and you to the North Star clan.” Leah smiled. “Of course, mom,” she said. “Father won’t have any of that,” observed Abigail. Rebecca just shrugged. “Forget Father,” said Emily. “Let’s have a party.” Leah looked around at her family, listening to the dishes clink together in the next room. We’re gonna be okay, she thought.

The next day, Leah drove Nathan to work and then took the car into town. Her mother let her clean out her room the night before, but all she had were dresses made from floral, ugly patterned cloth. They all had long sleeves and came down to mid-calf. She didn’t own pants or shorts or even skirts that showed her knee, and she definitely didn’t own any high heeled shoes. She definitely, definitely didn’t own anything sexy, or anything that could be considered lingerie-adjacent. The best she had were the white bras and white

panties she wore with her frumpy dresses, and they just weren’t attractive at all. Nathan hadn’t said anything. He was more than happy to just rip her dresses off and then make her come again and again, but she really wanted to show him something sexy. Besides, they’d been married for three days and they still hadn’t, technically, mated. The first night, Leah had been plenty nervous about it. She just couldn’t imagine that big hard thing somehow going inside her, and she was certain it would hurt and never, ever work. But

then she’d been thoroughly introduced, to Nathan’s fingers and tongue. It had been a convincing argument that the act of mating — putting the penis in the vagina, she thought, blushing — could be pretty fun. She left the mall with an armful of pretty-but-practical clothes. Short skirts, pants, a pair of high heels. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going to wear all of it, but she’d find something, she figured.

TWENTY-NINE: NATHAN

“

o you want a cocktail?” Nathan D called. He was in the kitchen, making himself a drink. Leah was in the bedroom, putting away the clothes she’d bought that day.

He hadn’t said anything, but he was secretly hoping that there was something in those bags besides more frumpy dresses and long skirts. Some skirts that showed her knees. Maybe even shorts. I could get used to Leah wearing shorts, he thought. “What kind of cocktail?” she asked from the doorway to the kitchen. Nathan looked down at his ingredients. There weren’t a lot — the kitchen wasn’t stocked very well at the moment — but he had lemons, sugar, and whiskey. “I’m making whiskey sours,” he said. “You like those?”

“I don’t know,” said Leah, coming into the kitchen and looking around at it. “I’ve never had one before.” “It’s whiskey, lemon, and sugar,” he said. “They’re pretty good.” “I’ve only ever sneaked Scotch from my dad’s office,” she said, sitting in a chair at the table. Nathan grinned. “You’re a hellion.” “You have no idea,” she said, laughing. A few minutes later, he handed her a cocktail and they went to go sit in the living room, on Nathan’s leather couch. It was the one nice piece of furniture he owned — despite making custom pieces

for everyone else in Fjords, he had never gotten around to doing it for himself. There had never really been a point. After all, he didn’t care what he sat on or ate his meals from. Or at least, he hadn’t yet. Leah took a sip of her drink and then turned pink almost immediately. She cleared her throat a couple of times and her eyes watered. “It’s strong,” she said. Nathan held out his hand. “Sorry. I can go water it down.” She shook her head. “No, I like it,” she

said, and took another sip, looking around the living room. There was silence for a moment. “Okay, spill,” said Nathan. “What’s the first thing you’re going to change in the house?” Leah laughed. “Is it that obvious?” she asked. Nathan just nodded, amused. He took another sip of his drink. “Curtains,” Leah said immediately. “I guess these Venetian blinds block the light OK, but they’re kind of depressing, you know?”

“Not the boxes?” Nathan asked. Leah glanced at the few boxes that stood against the back wall of the living room and made a face. “I’ve been trying not to look at those,” she said. “Did you move in recently?” “Sort of recently,” Nathan said. She just looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Okay, four years ago,” Nathan said. “You should unpack,” Leah said lightly. She took another sip and scooted closer to Nathan on the couch. “It’s been lacking a woman’s touch,” Nathan said. “At least it’s clean, right?

I’ve seen some bachelor hell-holes.” “That’s true,” Leah said. She was halfway through her drink, and Nathan could tell in her voice that she was starting to feel the whiskey. After all, if she’d ever drank before, it wasn’t very much. “This place could be a lot worse.” Nathan nodded. “It doesn’t get you off the hook, though,” she went on, smiling a devilish smile. “Just because someone else is worse.” “Oh, come on,” Nathan said. “I was just waiting for you to come along and decorate however you like.”

Leah laughed. “Liar,” she said. Nathan just shrugged, smiling. “You can’t prove I wasn’t.” “The state of your bathroom sink is a pretty good indication, though,” she said. “Those toothpaste stains are some of my best friends,” he said. Leah took another drink, her whiskey cocktail now close to done, her bare feet propped on the leather ottoman. “I went clothes shopping today,” she said. She looked over at him, a sparkle her eye. Nathan felt his bear wake up and growl in response.

It was that kind of sparkle. Leah drained her glass. “What did you get?” he asked, trying not to seem overexcited, even though his brain immediately suggested all sort of delicious, sexy things that he’d love to see Leah in. Instead of answering, Leah put her glass down and then, in one quick movement, straddled him on the couch. With the drink occupying one hand, Nathan put his other hand on her thigh and slid it up, slowly, just grazing his fingers under her panties as his bear roared. It took all his self-control not to throw her back on the couch, tear off her

white panties and mate her, right there, but he had to let her go at her own pace. This is zero to sixty for her, he reminded himself yet again. We’ll get there. Give it time. Leah’s eyes lit up and she bent down and kissed him, hard, her mouth hot against his. He slid his hand up to cup her full, luscious ass, letting his fingers sink in. He was rock hard already, of course. It had been a near-permanent state for the last forty-eight hours, just about. Leah broke the kiss off and sat back on her heels, her hands on his chest. “Want to see what I got?” she asked.

She was turning slightly pink, either from the alcohol or her suggestion. Nathan couldn’t tell which. “Absolutely,” he said, beginning to go breathless with desire. That means something sexy, right? He asked himself. She’s not going to come out here in a job interview outfit, is she? Leah playfully bopped his nose with one finger, then stood, walked to the bedroom, and closed the door behind her. For a moment, Nathan imagined Leah in a job interview outfit. One of those tight skirts that came down to the knee,

perfectly showing off her small waist and generous hips and ass, letting him watch it move as she walked. Or a white, button-down shirt. He thought of undoing the buttons, one by one, then sinking his face into her cleavage, hiking her skirt up around her waist as she straddled him, and then... Shit. His cock was tenting up his jeans, and even though he tried to adjust and hide it, even a little, it was far too obvious to do such a thing. Nathan sighed and drained his drink, setting the glass on a side table and then leaning his head back against the sofa, trying to wrestle his bear into

submission. Then, the bedroom door opened, slowly, as if Leah was hesitant. Nathan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. She walked into the room, and his mouth dropped open. Leah was wearing something silky and slinky and short, a white garment that had two thin straps over her shoulders and ended only a couple of inches down her thigh. Her nipples stood out under the thin material, and she was twisting her hands in front her, biting her lip nervously.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Holy fucking shit, you look incredible.” Even his bear was silent for once, too busy practically drooling. “You like it?” she asked, pushing an orange curl out of her face. “Yes,” he said, nodding feverishly. Now Nathan was standing, his hands on her shoulders. If he’d thought he was using all his self-control before, he hadn’t known anything yet. He ached to take her, make her his mate, bite her shoulder and listen to her scream his name. “Well,” she said, that glint back in her

eye. “Are you just going to stand there or do something about it?”

THIRTY: LEAH

eah curled her toes against the L hardwood floor of Nathan’s — no, their — house, wondering what she was so nervous about. Obviously Nathan was going to be

excited about the lingerie she’d bought, even if it had been the most conservative choice at Victoria’s Secret. Her stomach twisted as Nathan’s jaw dropped open for a split second, before he bounded to his feet, his hands hovering near her, almost like he was afraid to touch her. The whiskey in her stomach gave her courage, though, and she managed to say something saucy to Nathan. Then she put her hands on his chest and pushed him back down on the couch before he had time to even think, straddling him in a moment, the silk of her chemise gliding up over her thighs as

Nathan moved his hands to her ass, leaning forward and squeezing as his lips sought hers. When he realized that she wasn’t wearing panties, he made a slight noise and then pulled her against him, hard, grinding himself against her. The whiskey had been exactly what she needed, that tiny bit of extra liquid courage to shut off her brain and awaken her own bear, roaring and absolutely ready to go. Nathan pushed his tongue into her mouth and Leah pushed back, her hands pulling at his shirt, running all over his perfect, broad, muscular chest. When he pulled

away from him she bit his lower lip and pulled gently, just a little, then tugged his shirt off over his head, running her fingers down his torso, to his rock-hard abs. He pinched her nipples through the silk of her chemise, harder than he usually did, then ran his palms over her breasts, the fabric sighing against her and Leah moaned softly, leaning back a little. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Nathan growled. He tugged at the straps of her chemise, pulling them a little roughly over her shoulders, revealing one breast at a time. He ran his tongue over each nipple,

sending a thrill of arousal through Leah. Her hips felt like they were moving on their own, rising and falling against Nathan’s jeans, and she could feel her juices flowing, her channel slick with excitement. She knew that Nathan could smell how ready she was, just as she could smell the sharp, musky smell of his arousal. As he bit her nipple, gently, moving his tongue over it again and again he put one hand between her legs, barely even touching her, running one finger along her lips, feeling how swollen and slick she was. “More,” she sighed.

Nathan chuckled, moving his fingers up to her clit and circling it slowly, almost touching that nub of pleasure but not quite, driving Leah wild. Then, slowly, he pushed one finger inside her. “Mmm,” Leah said, moving her hips back and forth in circles. Nathan crooked his finger inside her at the same time that he pressed his thumb against her clit and she grabbed his shoulders hard, digging her fingernails into his hard muscles. “More,” she demanded. Nathan bit a nipple and slowly slid a second finger into her waiting channel.

Leah bucked in pleasure, her body aching, desperate for release. She wanted him to fill her, to claim her as his. She wanted him to take her as she wrapped her legs around his back and screamed his name. “More,” she said, the words coming out like a moan as she moved her hips forward, rubbing herself against the huge bulge in Nathan’s jeans. Leah felt like she barely had control over her own body — all she could feel was desperate want, pure desire for Nathan. He bit her neck, not quite gently, and inserted a third finger. Inside, Leah felt a slight pinch, and made

a noise in the back of her throat, even as she wriggled, trying to pull Nathan’s fingers further inside herself. “Am I hurting you?” he whispered. “No,” she said, pushing herself forward. “It feels good.” His thumb kept on rubbing a circle on her clit, and Leah thought that she might go out of her mind soon. The urge to take him inside her was almost overwhelming. “Take me,” she whispered into his ear. His fingers and thumb slowed, and he looked up at her, his handsome face somewhere between lust and caution.

“Are you sure?” he said. Leah stood, Nathan’s hand coming out of her and her skirt falling back over her thighs. She was nearly dizzy with lust as she pulled her arms free from her lingerie, letting the top pool around her waist. She grinned saucily at Nathan, then put her hands on his knees and leaned over him. He looked stunned. “Take your pants off,” she said, slowly, her all-consuming lust making her bold. Nathan didn’t need to be told twice, tearing his pants and boxers off like they were on fire, and then pulling Leah back on top of him, squeezing her breasts in

his hands, hard, making her cry out. This is it, Leah thought. She could feel her juices just barely begin to slide down her inner thigh as she grabbed Nathan’s rock-hard, thick cock, pointing straight up in the air. He moaned as he pulled her toward him on the couch, and she pumped his cock twice, then moved the tip of it to her swollen, slick hole. For a moment, Leah paused, a bolt of nerves running through her. What if it hurts? A part of her whispered. It’ll only hurt once, she thought. And

god, it’s going to feel good. Then, before she knew what was happening, Nathan had lifted her off of him. It was like she weighed nothing, as he stood with her in his arms, carrying her almost like a child as he marched to the bedroom. Leah squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, her feet briefly in the air before he entered the bedroom and tossed her on the bed, still unmade from that morning. She hardly had time to wrap her arms around his neck again before he was on top of her, growling and primal, and she wrapped her legs around his back, trying to pull him inside her.

She wanted him there. She needed him there, the urge ardent and primal, like nothing she’d ever felt before, and then the tip of his cock was there at her entrance. Very, very slowly, he nudged inside Leah, millimeter by millimeter. She could feel his arms shake with the strain of being so delicate and slow — she knew he wanted to take her hard, all at once. To mate her and make her his, there and forever, and she ground her teeth together and dug her fingers into his back as he stretched her wider and wider, just to the point of pain. Then, suddenly, she felt a sharp pinch and she gasped in pain.

“Am I hurting you?” Nathan asked. “Don’t stop,” Leah said, her voice husky with lust. He stroked her hair with one hand, halfway inside her, not moving at all. Leah panted and waited a few moments for the pain to subside, biting her lip and running her hands down Nathan’s perfect, hard back. Then, at last, she moved her hips up and tightened her legs around his back, trying again to draw him in deeper. She wanted him all the way, as deep as he could go, and even though he resisted her for a second he couldn’t resist her for long, sliding himself inside her until he was

fully hilted, the two of them completely united. For a moment, he rested his head on Leah’s shoulder and she lay still, savoring the feeling of being so completely, blissfully filled. “You feel amazing,” he whispered. “I love you.” “I love you too,” she said, and pulled his mouth to hers. As they kissed he pulled out slowly, his body shaking with the effort of holding himself back, and then sunk himself in her again, making Leah sigh and moan. “Faster,” she whispered.

Sex felt better than she’d imagined — it had only hurt for a moment, and the mind-blowing pleasure was utterly worth it. She felt like she’d had an itch for a long time and it was only just now getting scratched, the ache deep inside her beginning to subside as Nathan began to thrust into her harder and harder, each time hitting the pleasure spots deep inside her body that she’d never felt before. “Baby, I can’t last long,” he admitted. “Don’t hold back,” she moaned. She could tell that she wasn’t far from coming herself, and Nathan kept thrusting faster and harder. “God, just like that, baby.”

Nathan growled, the sound feral and untamed, from deep in his chest, and it was all that Leah needed to fall over that edge into pure bliss, her hands tightening on Nathan’s back, her nails digging in. “Nathan!” she shouted, her eyes closed as the pleasure coursed through her, rocking her entire body. “God, yes, Nathan, yes!” It was all she could do to hang on as the orgasm traveled through her body, tightening her thighs around Nathan’s torso and curling her toes, making her throw her head back as she moaned wordlessly, not caring even a little about the neighbors.

“Oh, baby,” she moaned quietly as the jolts subsided. “Mmm.” Nathan stopped thrusting for a moment to kiss her deeply, his cock fully inside her. “You enjoy that?” he murmured. “Yes,” she said, the fuzzy feeling of bliss settling over her. “Come on, it’s your turn.” She wriggled her hips again and Nathan thrust, hard, acting on pure instinct, then thrust again, twice, grunting and groaning. Suddenly she could feel him cumming inside her, his cock spurting deep and hard as he buried his face in her

shoulder, moaning. Leah wrapped her legs around him as hard as she could, doing her best to take him deeper and deeper until at last, he lay still on top of her, both of them breathing hard. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally pushing himself up on his elbows. Leah laughed. “Of course I’m okay,” she said. “I’m better than okay. That was wonderful.” Nathan grinned. “That’s a good review?” he asked, teasingly. Leah kissed him on the lips. “It’s a tentative review,” she teased, her eyes sparking again. “I’ll need more

information to really decide.” Nathan pulled out and flopped on the bed next to her, taking her tightly in his arms. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said.

THIRTY-ONE: NATHAN

hree days later, Nathan sat on the T couch, waiting for Leah to come out of the bedroom again, though this time they were late to their own wedding reception.

She could come out in lingerie again, Nathan thought. I sure wouldn’t complain. He was beginning to understand what men talked about when they said their wives took too long to get ready. At last, the door to the bedroom opened, and Leah came out. She was wearing a summer dress, one that nipped in at the waist and then flared back out, ending at her knees. It showed her figure off fabulously. “We could just stay in,” Nathan said, savoring her curves with his eyes. She bent over to kiss him.

“Later,” she said.

The party was at the same place that Leah’s betrothal had been, the Fjords Room. As Nathan drove there in his tiny car, he marveled that it had only been a week ago that he’d watched her get engaged to another man. Now she was his, of course, and he moved his hand to her leg, squeezing it as they pulled into the parking lot. “I can’t believe I was here a week ago, watching you get betrothed.” “I can’t believe I was ever betrothed to anyone else.”

She kissed him on the cheek, once, quickly, and then they got out of the car and walked into the room. Beside him, Leah gasped. Every table had a huge bouquet on it, each in a slightly different large vase. The bouquets were rustic, mostly ivy and pine branches with the pine cones on, a couple big white flowers in the middle. Small white Christmas lights were strung up overhead and the lights were down, making it almost feel like the reception was taking place in the forest, under the stars. Out the big glass windows, Nathan could see the bay and the glaciers beyond that,

the only home he’d ever known. Leah made a funny noise, and when he looked down, she was crying, her three sisters rushing over and practically tackling her before he could do anything. “How did you guys do this?” she said, wiping away tears. “Don’t cry!” said one sister, either Rebecca or Abigail. “Come on, Leah, it’s your wedding!” said the other. Emily said nothing, but the three of them wrapped her in a hug. Nathan put his hands in his pockets, feeling slightly extraneous.

“But how did you guys afford all this?” she said, still flabbergasted. “Oh my gosh, look at all that food!” Nathan turned his head to see the food table and raised his eyebrows. Even by shifter standards, there was a lot — appetizers piled high, grilled veggies, salad, fried chicken, and at least three huge hunks of meat. That wasn’t even counting the dessert table. The reception was a whirlwind. Nathan barely managed to eat, because people from his clan — people who he’d thought were too afraid of him to ever speak to him again — kept coming up and congratulating them. Even odder, they sounded sincere.

Finally, toward the end of the event as the sun went down over the water, Nathan grabbed a piece of cake and sneaked outside for a moment as Leah was talking to some distant cousins of hers. He walked to the edge of the rocky cliffs towering over the bay, took a bite of the cake, and couldn’t believe his luck in life. The sunset turned the sky orange and then pink, reflecting off the glaciers, making the world feel like it was on fire. Steps crunched toward him over the gravel parking lot, and then Leah was taking his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. “My dad and Brock gave us a joint

wedding gift,” she said. “Well, I think it was mostly Brock, and my mom made my dad sign the card. He’s been sulking in a corner all day.” “It’s still progress,” said Nathan. “Maybe he’ll come around. If not, fuck him.” Leah held up a small, flat box with a card attached, and Nathan watched as she opened the card. Noticed you were still missing these. Brock & Violet And underneath that, in different handwriting: 18k Yukon gold. Bit of home wherever

you are. Dad / Jonah “I think I know what it is,” Nathan said. He put the card in his pocket as Leah opened the small box, revealing two simple gold bands inside. “They’re beautiful,” Leah breathed. The gold reflected the sunlight, turning pink and orange. She reached for the smaller one, but Nathan pulled the box away. “Hold on,” he said. He put his empty plate on the ground, took out her ring, and turned to her. “Leah, will you be mine for the rest of my life?” he said.

She smiled, her hair glinting in the light of the sunset. “Yes,” she said. Nathan slid the ring onto her left hand, then raised it to his lips and kissed it. Leah took the box and took the other ring out, then looked up at him. She almost looked like she was glowing. “Nathan, will you be mine for the rest of my life?” she said. “Yes,” he said. Then he kissed his wife as the sun set over the ocean.

The End

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