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And yet, the darkness is too strong. “Please, call me Dante.” I nod toward a pew at the front of the church. “Have a seat, and we can talk.” I should be telling her to run and never look back. If she’s scared of her husband, wait until she finds out how fucked up I am.
She flicks her waist-length brown hair over her shoulder before turning and taking a seat.
The image of her naked, bound with duct tape and a hood over her head, flashes into my mind. What I’d give to wrap those beautiful brown locks around my fists as I drive my cock into her. Break her apart like she deserves to be.
Calm down.
That annoying voice speaks again. I slip in next to her, sitting closer than I should, considering my dick is a fucking rock.
The brush of my leg against hers makes her tense. Her chest rises and falls violently as she draws in sharp gulps of oxygen. Fuck. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing to me. Her anxious reactions to me are just feeding the dark beast hiding in plain sight. I want to feed off her fear and drown in it.
Her breasts are large and firm, framed in a tight yet conservative burgundy blouse. If her nipples are hard, I can’t tell through her bra. It’s irritating. I want to tear the buttons off and find out, suck her nipples into my mouth, and worship her as if she were my fucking goddess.
My cock wants to punch a hole in my pants and priest robes. “Tell me about your past and why you’re running,” I press.
Her throat bobs, and she meets my gaze. “It’s a long and complicated story.” Her eyes fill with sadness. “I’d rather not go into it right now.”
I clench my fists by my sides, knowing I can’t force her into telling me who she’s running from. And yet, I need to know. An obsession has been sparked within me from one fucking meeting. I’ll find out who’s after her, and once I learn who it is, I’ll track the bastard down and make sure he never thinks of her again.
She’s mine. A nightmare I never saw coming. The quiet town of Fordhurst, Wyoming, has just become a battleground. And I know well enough that the darkness inside me never backs down from a fight. If Madison knew what was good for her, she’d keep running and never look back. Because I will chase her down.
2
MADISON
Fordhurst, Wyoming, is my fourth town in nine months and my third county. I fear he’ll always find me no matter how far I run.
The priest here is less judgmental than in the past towns, but he’s also the most sinfully attractive man I’ve ever seen. A priest shouldn’t look the way he does.
I’m nervous as I walk toward the church, knowing that this town is religious, and if I want to fit in, I need to act the part. Faith isn’t something I’ve ever had, even as a little kid, despite my parents stating we were a Christian home. Laughable, really, that my parents proclaim to be Christians, considering what they do for a living. However, I’m desperate to find a place to belong.
What better time to visit than a Sunday morning?
I know deep down there’s another ulterior motive. My conversation with the priest yesterday afternoon got me hot under the collar for all the wrong reasons.
He’s unbelievably beautiful with short dark hair on the sides and longer on the top. He’s got neatly groomed stubble and dark chocolate brown eyes I could lose myself in. Not to mention, he had ink I could detect just above his priest’s collar. And his height is a bonus, too, as he’s got to be six foot eight, which is the perfect height for me, being five foot eleven. He looks like a gorgeous bad boy pretending to be a man of God.
I swallow hard as I walk up the steps into the church, trying to push away thoughts of the man I dreamed of last night. A few people give me strange looks as I walk past them, even though I’m wearing my most church-suitable dress that ends below my knee and is a polo neck. I sense it’s not because of my attire but because no one knows me. This is the smallest town I’ve tried to settle in. I’m hoping it’ll be different this time.
“Welcome, my dear,” an elderly lady says, walking up to me. “Are you new here?”
I nod. “Yes, I just rented a house on the outskirts of town two days ago.”
She smiles. “What’s your name?”
“Madison, you?” I ask.
“Betty. Where are you from?”
An innocent question that makes the hair rise on the back of my neck. “Kansas,” I lie.
“Oh, that’s far away. What brings you to Wyoming?”
I’m running from my abusive, criminal husband, who’s chasing me around the country.
“I’m looking for a change,” I say, shrugging. “This place seems safe and idyllic.”
Her brow furrows. “Oh, it’s a lovely town, but it’s not exactly employment capital here. What qualifications do you have?”
