Page 48 of Primal

Stupid.

Dangerous.

I tap my watch. Her heartbeat’s steady at 110.

Moving.

Payton Reed doesn’t stay put. Not when her grocery delivery’s missing one item and she drives to three stores just to find the right oat milk. Not when some dickhead cuts her in line. Sure as hell not after I fucked her brains out and left her dripping.

Backpack first. Then her.

If I go after Payton now, I’ll sure as fuck do something irreversible. Something that starts with throwing her over my shoulder and ends with her screaming into my palm as I make good on my promise.

Hell. Maybe that’s what she wants.

Thunder breaks through the clouds. Distant.

I roll my shoulders. Check my watch. 10:59 pm. Her battery’s down to 10%.

Fuck this place. Fuck these costumes. I should be with Payton right now, not hunting for some goddamn bag in the dark.

I cut through another tangle of bushes—and come up empty. Nothing here but trees. A broken bottle and a couple of plastic pumpkins.

I move deeper into the dark, in sync with the wind. Snap. Rustle. All the sounds bleed into the same hungry rush of blood in my veins.

Another rumble, louder this time. Closer.

Fuck it. I’ll still bend her over a log. Let her tight little cunt strangle my cock as the sky falls. This time, I won’t be gentle—not when she’s defying me with every step she takes.

11:07 pm. Still 10% battery.

Her damn backpack’s got to be close. Somewhere between the shattered water bottle (RIP) and the tree where I introduced the prick who dared to touch what’s mine to the concept of consequences.

A twig snaps. I spin, knife already in hand—

Just a possum waddling past with a half-eaten snack bar—hers?

“Where’d you steal that, you little shit?”

Lightning—and there it is. A black, lumpy shape tangled in the brush. Her backpack. Fucking finally.

I crouch, running my fingers over one of the torn straps. Mine now. Just like her panties balled up inside. I dig out the Holy Water flask and take a long sip. Cinnamon and sugar. The cheap shit from the gas station by our street.

Our street. Fuck.

I should’ve kidnapped her instead of following her here. Kept her in my basement. Kept her mine.

No witnesses. No rules.

Just Payton—naked, bruised, and begging for my cock.

I close my eyes.

She wasn’t supposed to happen.

I had a plan—keep hacking through the same crap, bury myself in algorithms until my brain shrivels up and dies. Maybe move out with Max and a dog he won’t shut up about.

But now?