God. She swallowed hard. It was in the past. Over. He hadn’t succeeded, and she’d gotten away. Arms covered in blood from the window, but free.

If there was ever a next time, though—the upsurge of sickness made her swallow hard—if he caught her, her rape would be…ugly.

Unable to sit longer, she walked through the house, trying to lose the taste of fear. Ricks wasn’t here; neither was Parnell. She was in San Francisco, buried in a city, with a new name. Perfectly safe as long as she was careful. And she’d be careful.

And darn well watch her back more carefully.

How could she have let Zander sneak up on her? How long had he been listening? Even worse, he’d seen her throw away her disposable phone.

Damn man. Her life would be much easier if she could just brush him off.

However, he was so…so amazing. Like at Thanksgiving dinner with Dixon’s jerky wanna-be Dom. She smiled. Tad had insisted a “real” submissive wouldn’t safeword out, and Zander’d told him, “I’m trying to see it from your point of view, but can’t get my head that fucking far up my ass.” The silence afterward had been glorious.

And Zander wanted to help her. His offer made her all quivery inside—and terrified her. He couldn’t fix her problems. If he tried, he could end up arrested or hurt.

If she only knew what was on those flash drives. If there were anything there to incriminate Parnell or Ricks, she’d take the risk of sending off the information. Everywhere. All the law enforcement agencies in Texas. The newspapers.

If only she could break the encryption.

Maybe she should contact a different law enforcement agency. Surely not all of them were corrupt.

And how did that work out for you last time, honeybunches? She rubbed the scars on her arms, remembering how the glass had ripped the skin away. Hadn’t worked so well, had it?

Smuggling weapons and drugs meant the bad guys had money to buy off just about anyone. What was the life of one Texas woman when compared to hundreds of thousands of dollars?

Zander wouldn’t sell her out.

She sat back at the computer. No, he wouldn’t. He might be gruff and rude and pushy, but his muttered comments during action movies showed his inflexible opinions about what was right. He really was like a hero in a western—the lone sheriff ready to stand up to an entire gang of villains.

She took a sip of her coffee. Having seen him take on a gang, she knew he could do it too.

God, she loved him.

Her gasp drew coffee into the wrong pipe, and she burst out coughing.

No. Absolutely not. Bad, stupid, insane. Texas girls on the run do NOT fall for snoopy, controlling Doms. Especially sadist Doms. “I need my head examined. And to be fitted for a straitjacket. And to be put on some psychotropic medications.”

Reality check, please.

Talking sternly to crazy people rarely worked—and it didn’t this time with her. She wasn’t listening to herself speaking reasonably. Nooo, all her insides were doing a squishy happy dance. Love him, love him, love him.

She was pretty darned sure he didn’t feel the same.

On Thanksgiving, he’d left soon after their talk on the patio. He said he’d been called away. Yet if he worked for Simon, how could he be called away? And Xavier had told Zander, “Be careful.”

Be careful of what? Where had Zander gone? Well, whatever he was up to apparently wasn’t safe.

Her life wasn’t safe either. So falling in love with him was doubly stupid.

Dump him. Dump him now.

No.

Chapter Thirteen

The mission had taken over a week, but the hostage was safely home with his family, and that felt damned good. The kid had shown more guts than many grown men.

Not a bad job either. One merc with a busted forearm, couple with knife wounds. Everyone—except the kidnappers—had returned. And deVries was now done with jobs for hire. Felt fucking good.

Anticipation rising, he walked onto the porch of Lindsey’s duplex, carrying his toy bag and overnight bag. Only around midnight on a Friday. Maybe she’d still be awake.

He knocked on the door.

Her footsteps approached quickly, so she hadn’t been upstairs in bed. The tiny light from the peephole darkened as she checked who was on her porch. Good habit.

But when the door opened, her cheeks were pale, her breathing shallow. “Zander,” she half whispered.

Hell. “So late. I scared you?” Fuck, he should have called first.

“I—well, yes.” As color seeped back into her face, she moved aside to let him in. When he stepped into the well-lit room, her eyes rounded. “Oh my God, are you all right?” Her hands closed over his forearms.

Crap, where were his brains this evening? He stank of sweat, blood, gunpowder, and oil. His face was scratched from branches, his jeans torn from hitting the ground and rolling. The kid’s blood had stained his shirt. He should have swung home and showered.

He hadn’t been able to wait. “Good enough once I shower. You mind?”

“Of course not.” And, even as filthy as he was, she hugged him, pressing her clean little body against his. Jesus, she could break a man. “Zander, where have you been?”

An evasion rose to his lips. No. Truth now. “I took a job with a mercenary unit. Rescuing a kidnapping victim. A boy.”

“Oh God.” And, with her soft heart, she asked the right question. The only right question. “Did you get him back? Is he okay?”

“Affirmative. He’ll probably have nightmares, but he’s home. His big sister was making him a cheeseburger before we left.”

Her smile could light up a room. It damned well lit up his heart. “Thank God.” Her brows drew together. “How about you? Have you had anything to eat?”

“Later.” The need was on him. On the plane as he’d catnapped, his dreams had been full of violence. Of pain…inflicting pain. Only…could she take it?

“Lindsey, I…need…” His fist bunched in the front of her shirt—and sweetness filled him when he realized she was wearing one of his old flannel shirts.

“Oh. Of course.” She started to unbutton the shirt. “I want you too.”

“Lindsey.” He had to make her understand. “I’m looking for more than sex.”

Her gaze fell to the toy bag on the floor beside him. “Right.” She swallowed audibly. “Sure.”

“I can go to the club, babe.” Normally, that’s what he’d do, but he and Lindsey had agreed to be exclusive.

“No.” She lifted her chin. “You’ll use me, not someone else.”

So fucking stubborn. Dammit, as a submissive, she might try too hard to give him what he needed. Nonetheless they were a couple now; he wouldn’t seek surcease elsewhere. He handed her the bag. “Strip completely. Put on the ankle and wrist cuffs. Kneel beside your bed and wait for me.”

DeVries scrubbed off the physical stench of battle, wishing it were as easy to wash away the emotional residue. He considered jerking off, but his need wasn’t for sex. He needed to mete out pain. He needed a willing masochist.

Instead, he had himself a willing submissive. Fuck. He’d have to be damned careful.

There were still ropes looped on the tall wooden posts of Lindsey’s bed from his other visits. Kneeling as ordered, she was a beautiful sight with her pale golden skin, pink-brown nipples, hair a dark cascade over her shoulders.

Mine.

Tightening his control, he dragged the bed away from the wall and angled the headboard into the center of the room. “Up. Face the headboard.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Even standing, she was short enough her chest could rest against the heavy wood of the frame. Perfect. He clipped her wrist cuffs to the ropes on the carved posts. Felt the scars running up her forearms. He still needed to know what had caused them—but this wasn’t the time.

After pulling her feet apart, he tied her ankle cuffs to the legs of the bed frame. Opening her. The musky fragrance of her arousal invited him to run his fingers over her pussy. Push inside to feel her squirm.

Not yet. He was hard already, but he needed more than a fuck tonight. “I’m going to hurt you, Lindsey.” His voice almost guttural. “Red is your safeword. Yellow if you need it.”

“Yes, Sir.” She was breathy with an erotic mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

After dropping the toy bag beside her, he set out the impact toys he’d use. Warm up first.

After wakening her skin with a light flogging, gentle slaps, and massage, he upped the ante with a heavier flogger.

Her back and ass turned pink, and at length, a pleasing red. The occasional gasp from her was like liquid gold sliding into his gut. More.

Needing to remind her of who was the top, he leaned against her from behind and rubbed his cock between her buttocks. Her shiver made him grin. Made him enjoy not having dressed for the scene.

Pulling her back from the wood of the headboard, he cupped her breasts. Kneaded them cruelly. Pinched the nipples until her breathing hitched and he could hear a protest deep in her throat.

With his other hand, he curved his palm over her mound, pressed down on her clit, and shoved a finger—two fingers—into her cunt. Slickly wet. She was enjoying everything he’d done so far.

He’d barely gotten started.


OH MY EFFING God. Lindsey bowed her head as blows rained down on her back. He was using a flogger with a multitude of thick, heavy falls. Each impact drove deep into her bones and set her skin on fire.

He’d put clamps on her nipples, tightening them until she couldn’t keep from pulling away.