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  “You were practically smiling in that bathroom when you realized he was stalking you, instead of your ex.”

  “My ex is stalking me and if I seemed unfazed by Ju-Ju in that bathroom, I wasn’t. I’m not.”

  “And yet you want to be bait.”

  “No. I told you no. I just don’t want to let fear be the reason someone gets hurt.”

  “And because The Beast scares you more than Ju-Ju.”

  “Actually,” I say, “the idea that a serial killer is targeting me is no longer overshadowed by my relief that he wasn’t taking photos for The Beast.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “He doesn’t connect to my ex,” I say.

  “He just kills women who look like you.”

  “I told you. I know how dangerous he is.”

  “How long has your ex been The Beast to you?” he asks, shifting the topic.

  “Since my accident,” I say. “That’s when I gave him the name. But he’d already started showing himself as that monster. I think my accident just sped it up.”

  “When I told you no one was going to die, I reserve the right to exclude The Beast and that monster, Ju-Ju, from that statement.”

  Alarm bells go off in my head and I grab his shirt, stepping into him. “You cannot go after him.”

  “Running isn’t the answer.”

  “You’re going to end up dead. You will not go after him and I’m not telling you who he is, until you make me believe you mean it.”

  “I don’t die easily. I’d give you references, but they’re all dead.”

  “There you go with your arrogant, macho hero complex again. Damn it, Asher. I want to tell you who he is. I want my secret to be our secret, but you cannot go after him.”

  “I won’t promise that.”

  “But you still expect me to tell you.”

  “Sweetheart, we obviously have a miscommunication. I want your trust. I want to do this right but I’m resourceful. I’m going after him, whether you tell me who he is or not.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Asher

  The announcement for our stop sounds and Sierra releases the bar and turns away from me, standing in front of the door to wait for it to open. I step behind her and I’m about to settle my hands on her arms when she turns and points at me, holding on to one of the steel bars framing the door. “You do not touch me. I can’t think when you touch me. You make me crazy.”

  “How firm are you on that no touching rule?” I ask, grabbing both of the bars, and bringing our bodies close, if not touching.

  “I wouldn’t suggest you touch me and find out.”

  The doors open and she rotates, charging forward into the empty train station, and I am quick to step to her side, keeping pace up the stairs. “For the record, the feeling is mutual, sweetheart,” I say. “You make me just as crazy. I’ve broken every rule in my book for you.”

  She stops walking, and whirls on me. “You’ve broken rules? Really? I’ve broken every rule of survival in my book for you and those rules exist for a reason. I want to stay alive and I want everyone else to stay alive.” She points at me and firms her lips. “That means you, hero boy.” She turns and starts moving up the stairs again.

  “Hero boy?” I ask in disbelief, keeping pace with her. “Sweetheart, I haven’t been a boy since I gave up my virginity to Ashley Cameron when I was fourteen and she was seventeen.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart,” she says.

  “Are we back to that again?”

  “Yes, and I’d bet money that Ashley Cameron gave it up to you, and not the other way around.”

  “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

  “It’s a simple observation,” she says.

  At that point, I decide to do what the Walker men rarely do with their women: shut up before I dig a deeper hole. We clear the stairs and walk across the expanse of the terminal. She doesn’t look at me, which is probably good. I’m pretty sure looking at me would just piss her off all over again right now.

  We reach the final set of stairs that lead to the street and I pull my phone from my pocket, readying auto-dial for the moment I have bars. Once that happens, I violate Sierra’s damn rule by catching her arm. “Don’t exit to the sidewalk until I get the all-clear.”

  She turns to face me and gives me a lethal stare, but follows it with a nod of understanding, which is when I punch the auto-dial and release her arm before I get punched. Which would be okay if I could make her kiss me and make it all better. But that time isn’t here yet.

  “Update,” I say when Jacob answers.

  “All clear,” he says. “And uneventful. Ju-Ju went home. No guests.”

  Because he doesn’t need to hunt anymore, I think. He’s already picked Sierra, and I don’t like that answer. “Let me know if that changes, no matter what time it is,” I say.

  “Copy that,” Jacob says, and we disconnect.

  I motion Sierra forward and stick my phone back inside my pocket. We clear the tunnel, and start the short walk to my building. Sierra doesn’t ask for an update, but our status is fairly obvious. We’re safe. She’s safe, the way I intend to keep her. That’s the entire goal here. Well, not the entire fucking goal. I want her with me when I’ve never wanted any other woman with me beyond a fuck. And yeah, sure, I want Sierra naked. Sooner rather than later, but ultimately, with me, in my home, in my bed, and I don’t question why. I’ve watched three Walker men go from highly single, to obsessed with a woman, and I now accept their explanation, which is: There is no explanation for how one woman, one chance meeting, changes everything.

  I follow her rule. I don’t touch her, but the idea of Ju-Ju sitting at home and fantasizing about killing her has me walking really damn close to her. We cross the street and enter my building with her silent treatment rock solid and going nowhere. I don’t like it. I’m going to end it. Once we’re at the elevator I punch the button and the doors open instantly.

  We step into the car and I key in the code. Sierra flattens on the left wall. I don’t go to her, or pull her to me and kiss the fuck out of her. I want to. I really fucking want to, but my gut says that would be a mistake with Sierra in her current state of mind. Instead, I claim the opposite wall, my hands on the steel rail behind me, a way to occupy them before they end up all over her.

  We stare at each other, and where there had been anger minutes before, now there’s combustible anger, the kind of anger driven by how much we want to fuck again. In my book, that’s progress. “Come here, Sierra,” I order, thinking about how much I really want my fingers in those long strands of brown hair.

  “No,” she says.

  “Please,” I say.

  “No. You come here.”

  I smile and with zero reservation, push off the wall, closing the space between us to stand in front of her. “Here I am. Now, what are you going to do with me?”

  “How is it that I told you what to do, and I still feel like I did what you wanted me to do?”

  “Because getting closer to you again, no matter how it happens, is always what I want and not something I’ll ever turn down.” The elevator dings and I push off the wall, backing up and motioning her forward. The doors open, and she gives me an intense look and then exits the car. I follow, and I really don’t mind the way she’s charging forward and leaving me. I do enjoy her ass in those jeans, but I’ll like it better naked. I catch up with her and step to her side, and when we reach my apartment, she does the unexpected. She doesn’t wait on me. She keys in the code and I love it. She’s pissed but she’s not running from me. It shows a commitment level I doubt she understands, but I do, and if she was anyone else, I’d be objecting, not celebrating.

  But I am celebrating, damn near ready for party hats and balloons. Or the alternative version with whiskey and sex. She enters the apartment and I join her, shutting the door and locking it. She flattens on the door beside me. “I’m not going any further than right here until we talk.”

  “O
kay,” I say, stepping to her, my legs framing her legs, my hands at her hips. “Let’s talk.”

  Her hands go to my wrists. “I told you. I can’t talk when you’re touching me.”

  “That isn’t exactly what you said, but close enough. And I’m going to fucking lose my mind if I don’t touch you.”

  “You don’t get to be in control. That’s the entire point.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m not one to just lay back and let you ride me, but if that’s what makes you happy…”

  “Asher!” She grabs my shirt, which actually turns me on, but I don’t think now is the time to tell her that. “You know I’m not talking about sex. You are trying to take over my life.”

  “I’m saving your life,” I say.

  “And I’m saving yours. What part of ‘I won’t let you die’ do you not understand?”

  “I told you—”

  “Don’t say you won’t die,” she says, her voice vibrating with emotion. “Do not say it again. You’re human. Just like I was when my car crashed.”

  There is panic in her voice, real fear, and I pull her close, my hand at the back of her head. “Easy, sweetheart. We can do this together.”

  “We won’t work if you—”

  “We already work,” I say, my mouth slanting down over hers, my tongue licking into her mouth, a deep slide of tongue followed by another. She resists at first, her hand pressed to my chest, her arm stiff, but then comes her soft moan that is hot as hell, followed by the softening of her arms. I deepen the kiss, drinking in the taste of her, sweet and fierce all at once, molding her closer, but she pushes against me, tearing her mouth away.

  I don’t give her time for the objection sure to follow. I scoop her up and she yelps. “What are you doing?” she demands, but at this point I’m already at the steps and climbing.

  “Taking you to my bedroom, where I’ve wanted you all night.”

  “I said I wasn’t leaving the doorway until we talked.”

  “We did talk,” I remind her, “and we’ll talk some more.”

  “Let me go, Asher.”

  “Never.”

  “Put me down.”

  “Almost,” I say, clearing the top step and walking into my bedroom, where I elbow on the light. “I brought you up here for a reason.”

  “To get naked,” she says

  “Well yeah, sweetheart,” I say, setting her down with me between the bed and her. “That’s a given, but we could have done that downstairs and that’s the point.” I catch her hand where it’s landed on my chest before she can escape. “Let’s talk about those broken rules. I’ll tell you mine. You tell me yours. Deal?”

  “Yes. Okay. Deal. I’ll go first. Don’t get close to anyone. Don’t even make eye contact. Don’t let anyone in my personal space. Don’t ever say his name. Your turn.”

  “Don’t get close to anyone. Don’t bring women here. Not to my home. Not to my bedroom. Ever. I tell women up front. I fuck. I don’t fall in love. And we’ve already agreed that you’re going to tell me his name.” I slide my hand under her hair and drag her mouth close to mine. “I want you here, Sierra. You belong with me now. And I don’t know what this is between us, but I want to find out.”

  She closes her fingers around my shirt. “You have to stay alive to find out.”

  I cup her face. “That’s the point I’m making. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I’ve never been so present in my life.” My mouth closes down on hers once more, and the minute my tongue touches hers, she is right here with me this time. She kisses me, she melts into me, her soft curves all snug against me, making me harder, and hotter. I tangle fingers in her hair, wanting her submission in a way I have never wanted another woman’s. And where I’d resisted demanding too much of her earlier, now, I want it all.

  I tear my mouth from hers, and back her against the bedpost, one hand at her hip, the other on the post above her head. “He doesn’t own you.”

  “He does or I’d be free.”

  “No. You’re with me now. You know it. I know it. I’m all in, sweetheart. Sierra.”

  “Asher,” she whispers, slipping her hand under my shirt, soft skin that is cool and yet hot. Everything about her makes me hot. “I don’t mind if you call me sweetheart. I actually like it, unless I’m mad at you.”

  “Easy solution. Don’t be mad at me.”

  “Don’t make me mad.”

  I laugh. “Right. Well. Let’s resolve to not stay mad for long.”

  She laughs. “Probably the best choice.”

  Our laughter fades, the air around us charged. “All in, Sierra. That’s the only way we do us. Say it.”

  “I can’t. He does own me, Asher.”

  “No. If he owned you, you wouldn’t be here.” I kiss her, a quick, deep, passionate kiss, my hands pressing under her shirt, and caressing it up her body until I pull it over her head. “If he owned you, I wouldn’t be doing this.” I toss her shirt away, and unhook her bra, sliding it off her shoulders. “Or this.” I reach up and tease her nipples. She arches her back and I cup one of her breasts, while my other hand slides between her shoulder blades and molds her to me. “Who owns you, Sierra?”

  “Stop asking me that.”

  “Not until you let go of him.”

  “I’m not holding onto him.”

  “As long as you say he owns you, he does.”

  “And you think you do?” she challenges, anger sparking amber in the depths of her beautiful blue eyes.

  “You own you,” I say, turning her to face the bedpost, forcing her to catch herself on the wood, before I lean into her, my lips at her ear. “But if I have to own you to get you to let go of him, I will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Asher

  “No man will ever own me again, Asher,” she whispers.

  Those words, delivered with an emphasis on my name, hit me with a hard punch of reality. She is too insistent that he owns her. She hasn’t let go. Maybe she doesn’t want to let go. Fuck. I’ve become too attached to this woman, too fucking fast. It’s like the Walker brothers and their obsession with their women have become a contagion and there is no damn vaccine. I release her and grab the bedpost above her head. “You won’t ever be owned by anyone but him,” I say. “Got it.”

  She faces me. “No,” she says, her hands flattening on my chest. “That is not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I left him for a reason.”

  “To belong to him from a distance? Because you’re choosing to belong to him. To fear him, or maybe it’s not fear. I don’t know what the fuck it is.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Make me,” I say.

  “No.”

  “Then let go of me, Sierra.” I push off the bedpost and when I would move away, she grabs my belt loops.

  “I’m not letting you go,” she says. “I don’t want him.”

  “But you want me?”

  “You know I want you. You know I want to know what this is between us just like you.”

  “Then who owns you, Sierra? Because you’re about a fuck and good morning away from owning me, and I’m not going there if you belong to him.”

  “I don’t belong to him.”

  “Who do you belong to?”

  “Me. I belong to me.”

  “Are you sure?” I press.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Say it,” I order.

  “I belong to me.”

  “That’s not what I want to hear.”

  “He doesn’t own me.”

  I cup her head. “Say it like you mean it.”

  “He doesn’t own me, Asher. And I’m saying your name to make sure you know that I know who I’m with.”

  Where she belongs. That thought comes to me, and I don’t try to understand it or fight it. It’s the Walker way. Women are fuck buddies until one woman explodes into your life and overnight, changes that. There is no doubt that I caught that bug and I have none of t
he regret Sierra has feared. I take her in my arms and I kiss her—a deep, drink-her-in-and-fucking-own-her, kiss. Her hands press my shirt upward and I pull back and drag it over my head. Her hands are immediately on my arms, her eyes on the scar where it blends into my tattoo. She leans in and kisses it, her lips warm on my skin, while I’m hot with a variety of fantasies about where else that mouth can go. For now, I press my mouth to her mouth, and the instant my tongue touches her tongue, there is a surge between us: hunger, need, lust, my hands everywhere I can touch. Her hands everywhere she can touch. Her boots come off and then mine. She reaches for my pants and I reach for hers. It should be fucking perfect, but perfect is ruined by her voice in my head saying: “he owns me,” which leads to me thinking about her mouth on him, right when it’s on me, and I don’t like it.

  I tear my mouth from hers, my hand sliding under her hair to cup her neck. “There are two ways to own someone, Sierra,” I say. “The wrong way. His way. Or the way I’m going to own you right now, tonight.”

  “And your way is the right way?”

  “I’ll let you judge.” My cheek slides to hers, lips to her ear. “My way means that you moan. You sigh.” My fingers lightly touch her nipple and she arches into me. “You tremble,” I add, cupping her breast. “You want more now, and yet you don’t want it enough to make it end. And I already don’t want it to end, Sierra.”

  She leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder, emotion that isn’t pleasure radiating off of her and crashing into me. I cup her face and tilt her chin up, my thumb stroking her cheek. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Can you kiss me again already?”

  “Where, Sierra?”

  “Where?”

  “Where do you want me to kiss you? Tell me.”

  “Everywhere.” She pushes to her toes, and her lips find mine, looking for an escape, trying to drive her demons away.

  I want to demand her answer, make her tell me where she wants my mouth, but I feel her desperation, her need to escape whatever is in her head. And so, I press my lips to hers, I kiss her mouth, drinking her in, and I don’t taste him this time. I taste her. I taste us. I taste need and hunger and passion. “I want you naked,” I say, my hands sliding inside her jeans and panties. “In every possible way, Sierra.”