The information she already has in this story—the background, the people she was able to get as sources to confirm and validate stories and rumors and innuendos, the details of all the crimes—it’s beyond impressive.
Raven has put together a truly intimidating hit piece against the Lorells, and if any of these people will agree to talk to the FBI, too, they’ll be in a position to potentially take them down. They’ll have the evidence they need to close the case they’ve been building for decades.
But it isn’t without huge risk.
While she doesn’t give her sources names, what she is doing by writing this story is simultaneously putting them in mortal danger and protecting them, in a way.
Once it’s all made public, it does give them a veil of security. The FBI will offer them witness protection, and if anything should happen to them, everyone will know who did it. There would be no question about motive, which would only make the case against the Lorells stronger.
It also means that the target I knew would be on Raven is far bigger than I could have imagined. Because I had no idea how much she had uncovered. How detailed and specific her story would be. How directly and intensely she would call out one of the most dangerous crime families in the United States with all the horrible things they’ve done.
I have no doubt in my mind now that another hit squad will come to McBride Mountain. They will come looking for her, which is why I have to keep her up here as long as possible, no matter how frustrating it might be for me, no matter how complicated it might get.
And by God, has it gotten complicated.
So.
Fucking.
Complicated.
No matter how far away I hiked from the cabin today, no matter how long I spent trying to distract my mind with other things that needed to be done while I’m up here, it kept drifting back to her, to our conversation last night, and especially what happened after.
And now, cooped up in this tiny cabin with her, with her goddamn scent permeating the space, and with her looking sleep-rumpled and sexy as fucking hell in my shirt, I know I was right to stay away.
It was nearly impossible to leave her after I brought her back last night. She was exhausted as I removed her soaked shirt and got her into mine, then tucked her into bed.
I sat here for far too long watching her sleep, wondering what all of it meant—what we said to each other and what we did. None of those questions went away when I forced myself to leave her before dawn, long before I thought she would stir.
Because what I said to her was true.
If I had stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off her.
She tilts her head to the side slightly, watching me, but I don’t know if she’s trying to figure out how to respond to my confession about how much I want her or if she’s waiting for me to say something else.
Eventually, she grips the edge of the wool blanket that’s draped over her legs and pulls it back, revealing the fact that she has nothing on besides my shirt.
The tails barely cover her pussy, and as she slides off the bed and stands, they dangle at her mid-thigh, giving me a view of her soft, peachy flesh that I had my fingers digging into last night as I plowed into her.
They itch to touch her now, to feel that smooth skin beneath my rough hands…
But I sit stock still.
Too afraid to move.
Too afraid I’ll scare her or myself by doing something I shouldn’t.
She approaches on bare feet, slowly, cautiously, across wooden floorboards over a century old that no woman has ever walked on before.
I can’t blame her for being guarded because I have been volatile. I’ve been aggressive toward her. I’ve been any number of things that should scare her off and keep her away forever, but she doesn’t really look afraid as she advances, more contemplative, if anything.
Raven stops between my spread legs, moving close enough that her thighs brush against the inside of mine, making my cock ache and start to grow, pressing against the confines of the denim.
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I keep my hands on the top of my legs, refusing to give in to the way I want to reach for her, want to touch her, want to pull her down onto my lap and feel that weight of her body on my own.
All I want is to devour her and do what I did last night again and again. But that would be a terrible idea. Because it was probably a huge fucking mistake. Something that I had hoped she had realized once she woke this morning, once I gave her the day to work and consider it.
