Sloane’s heavy breaths flood my senses with ginger and vanilla. She blows a lock of hair from her eyes and glares at me before she squirms beneath my weight. “Get the fuck off. He’s mine.”
“No can do, Peaches.”
“Call me that again and I swear to God I’ll chop your balls off.”
“Whatever you say, Blackbird.” I grin and give her a swift kiss on her cheek, the feel of her soft and yielding flesh branded into memory the moment my lips touch her skin. “See ya.”
I push away and run, the delicious sound of her frustrated protest the most beautiful melody behind me.
My heart thunders and my legs burn as I sprint up the steep hill. I’m nearly at the low, wrought iron fence surrounding the house when the sound of an engine cuts through the night.
Francis is running.
I detour and follow the line of the fence toward the driveway where light tumbles down the asphalt from the vehicle in the garage. I reach the edge of the pavement and scoop up a rock from the border just as the garage door slides open and the car barrels out of the building.
So I do what any sane person would do.
I jump on the fucking hood.
Sloane yells my name. Tires screech. I lock eyes with the driver as his panic collides with my determination.
With my body flat against the hood, I grip the edge of it with one hand and smash my rock into the windshield with the other. I don’t stop, not as we pick up speed, not even when the car swerves as the driver attempts to dislodge me. I deliver hit after hit. Glass crumbles with my repeated blows. It bites into my knuckles. It slides into my skin when I punch through to the other side and drop the rock to reach for the steering wheel.
A panicked cry rises above the chaos.
“Rowan, tree!”
I pull my arm free of the windshield and let go of the hood to slide off the vehicle and land hard on my side. My grunt of pain is swallowed by a symphony of metal as the front bumper folds around an oak.
I’m on my feet in an instant. Heavy breaths tear from my chest. Rage descends like a red curtain as I watch the slow, labored movement of the disoriented driver within the smoking hunk of metal.
“Jesus Fucking Christ, Rowan, are you—”
Sloane’s concern is cut short as I wheel on her to snatch her throat in my sticky hand. I crowd her space, push her backward with every step as alarm and defiance churn in her eyes. She grips my arm with both hands but doesn’t try to fight me as I force her away from the car. Only when she’s off the driveway and shielded by the deep shadows of a tree do I stop. But I don’t let her go.
A percussion drums behind me, a metronomic thump drowned by the veil of my heartbeat ringing in my ears as I stare down into Sloane’s glassy eyes. The delicate column of her throat shifts beneath my bloody palm.
“Rowan,” she whispers.
“Mine.”
Her eyes shine in the moonlight. “Okay.” She nods in my grip. “He’s yours.”
I draw her in closer and glare into the inky abyss of her fear and fortitude, not stopping until her warm exhalations fan across my face. The slices lining my forearm burn as her chest grazes the ruined flesh with every breath. “Sloane…”
A groan of warped metal and a string of curses end the pounding behind me.
“Stay here,” I say, and with one finger at a time, I release her from my grasp.
I take one final look at her, my blood little more than a glistening black smear on her skin, before I pivot on my heel and stride away.
My pace quickens when I spot my prize as he limps from the vehicle. One foot scrapes behind him, a broken arm clutched to his chest. He turns as my footsteps draw closer, his eyes wide as they land on my wicked grin.
“I’m going to love every fucking second of this,” I say.
Francis is already begging for mercy when I grasp the back of his shirt. I clutch his hideous pink tie in my fist to strangle him with it but it pulls free of his neck.
I glare at the fabric balled in my fist. Then at Francis. Then back again. “A fucking clip-on? What are you, twelve?”
“P-please man, let me g-go,” he begs beneath me. Tears glass his eyes as I toss the tie onto the driveway and grip him with both hands.
My rage burns my throat but I swallow it down. “Tell me what you were doing in the wall.”
His eyes flick to our surroundings, maybe hunting for Sloane, maybe searching for a savior. “I wasn’t g-gonna hurt her,” he says when his attention lands on me. “I was j-just watching.”
His fear is like a drug that invades every cell in my body, every desire coursing through my veins. A slow grin creeps across my lips as he struggles when I shift my grip and catch his throat. “Two things. First, I don’t fucking believe you. I think you were going to watch her and then your plan was to kill her. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Francis.”