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Then I smelled something—no, something burned through my nose and into my sinuses.
Lynch waved something under my nose. Smelling salts? “There you are, love. Welcome back. It’s beautiful. Want to see?” He wiped the wound with the sheet.
“N-n-no.” I panted, my voice barely there. “Please . . .”
A door somewhere in another part of the house slammed open.
A voice boomed, “CLEAR!” from somewhere.
I jerked. No time for words before the knife was at my throat again.
Lynch lifted from where he’d straddled my waist, his erection thankfully no longer pressing into my stomach. He kept the knife at my throat.
My eyes widened.
He sat on the bed beside me and settled me between his legs, pushing my tied hands to one side. My body twisted and strained, but that pain was nothing compared to the burning on my chest. His hard cock pressed into the side of my back. He pulled me up his body. His zipper scraped along my ribcage until he stopped pulling. His mouth was right at my ear, as his chest rumbled with pleasure. Hot, moist breath rasped against my ear.
Lynch whispered, “Quiet and easy, love. This part should be fun.”
42
Wilde
Angel stood in the front room of Celt’s house along with the rest of my men. He dropped his gun to his side looking thoroughly confused. I read his expression to mean no one was up front. From Cook’s description, I was confused too. Where the hell had everyone gone?
A murmur and a bang had us both turning our heads on a swivel. Bou? My body tensed at the sound. We followed it to the kitchen. It was empty. Another bang sounded, this one much closer.
Angel nodded at me as we both leveled our guns at the door. Angel twisted the door handle, thrusting it open with one swift motion.
Inside the kitchen, two sets of eyes stared back at me. One terrified, the other angry as fuck.
“What the shit?” Angel grunted.
I stared at Doc and Kimmers, each tied to a chair, for a hot second before a scream sounded out from somewhere else in the house.
“I know them,” I said to Angel. “Untie them and get them out of the house to safety.”
I turned in the direction of the scream.
The need to find my woman refocused me.
Beyond the washer and dryer, there were four doors off the hall. Two were shut, but the closest one was open. I moved inside and stood against the wall by the washer. Cook and Jackyl followed. Looking around the corner, I pointed with my gun to the closed doors. Jackyl nodded to one of my men and raised his gun. They lined up near the closed doors as I crept into the hall and pressed my back to the wall next to the open door, Jackyl at my side. I held up my other gun, signaling for an all quiet.
In the dead air, I heard something—just barely. Breathing. Harsh, but tempered breathing, as if from exertion.
I pivoted into the room, aiming both guns.
And fucking froze.
Bou—my Bou—naked, bound, blood running from a wound on her once-perfect breast. With a knife at her throat and her hair a nasty tangle, her eyes stretched to their limits in horror.
The same fucker who’d taken the violet-eyed whore at the bonfire was there, peering over her shoulder from behind her. Some kind of mania sparked in the dead man’s eyes as he looked squarely at me.
I bit down so hard pain shot through my teeth and into my jaw. I didn’t fire. Didn’t so much as move a muscle. The sight on the gun twitched as my focus narrowed into it, Bou and the asshole blurring in the background.
What if I missed?
The sight blurred and Bou came back into clear view. Her head was so close to his. My gaze drifted over to her terrorized eyes, and I watched tears pool, roll down her face, and drop onto the wicked knife at her jugular.
