Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CUTTER
It's a sunny afternoon as I drive the three of us to a dinner some friends are holding. It's a formal event so Dash and I are dressed in matching black suits, while our kitten wears a form-fitting sapphire blue gown.
The material hugs every scrumptious curve she owns. We almost had to cancel, because neither of us could keep our hands off her. After giving Kitten everything we had, she most likely has our semen demons running down her inner thighs.
Dash and Stefani are in the backseat as we drive through town, and head toward the outskirts where our friend lives. Just as we turn onto the darkened highway, the last stretch before we reach our destination, another larger vehicle slams into the passenger side of my car.
It ran the stop sign on a gravel road we were passing. It could have been anyone, only it wasn't.
My head bounces off the door window, and I hear a scream from the backseat. Stefani. Once the car settles and I shake my head to clear it, I unhook my seatbelt and turn to make sure that my most precious cargo is okay.
Dash is out, blood running from his head from the vehicle ramming into the side. Stefani is holding her head, crying, while trying to grab at Dash.
"Kitten, just wait… I'll help," I say, but just as I say it, her door opens and hands grab for her, pulling her out of the car.
A roar erupts from me, and I shoot out of my car. I lunge for the dark figure carrying my kitten over his shoulder, but a sharp pain on the back of my head stops me as someone strikes me from behind.
I drop to my knees, and as darkness threatens to take over, I watch as my kitten is carried off into the night. The last thing I see is the ground coming at me.
"Cutter… please wake up!" The frantic voice is familiar. "I've called for help, but I need you to wake up, baby!"
My eyes flutter open. A sharp, splitting pain slices through my skull, but I manage to focus on the man hovering over me. Dash.
I try to sit up, but he stops me. "Don’t move yet. The ambulance will be here soon."
I lie still, trying to piece together what the hell happened. Fragments of the night's events start to take shape. Panic surges, and I try to push myself up again
"We need to go after them!" I snap, fighting against his hold. "They have Stefani."
"And we will," he says, keeping me down with firm hands. "But you need to get checked out first. You took a nasty hit to your head. I've put out a call—someone's tracking the mayor's movements."
A shaky breath leaves me. Relief loosens something tight in my chest. "Good … good," I rasp, closing my eyes for a moment.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder. When I open my eyes again, I take in Dash. There's dried blood streaked along the side of his head, but otherwise, he looks okay. Thank God.
Red and blue lights wash over us as paramedics rush in. Hands are on me immediately—checking, prodding, asking rapid-fire questions. My head throbs with every word.
After arguing back and forth with the paramedics about whether I need to go to the hospital, they finally give up and leave. The police linger, wanting statements. Pointless. Most of them answer to the mayor anyway.
Forty-five exhausting minutes later, we're finally cleared to go. Dash had called our friend Bennet to pick us up, and the moment we're in his truck, we head straight home—clean up, regroup, and wait for Dash's contact to tell us where our kitten is.
We don't have to wait long.
I've just come down from showering and find Dash and Bennet in the living room. Dash has the phone pressed to his ear, jaw tight, listening intently to whoever's speaking on the other end. The moment the call ends, he shoots to his feet.
"What is it?" I ask, already moving toward him.
"That was my contact," he replies. "They didn't take Stefani to that inseminator. They took her to Mayfield's."
The words hit me like a jolt. I'm already heading for the front door before he finishes. I snatch Dash's car keys from the hook on the wall and yank the door open, adrenaline drowning out the last of my headache. I can feel my baby boy's presence right behind me.
"I think I should drive," Bennet interjects, plucking the keys right out of my hand. "You both were just in a car accident. Neither of you should be behind the wheel."
He's right, and we all know it. I don't argue. I just keep moving.
I slip into the front passenger seat while Dash climbs into the back, tension rolling off him in waves. Bennet starts the engine, and just like that, we're on our way.
We sit in the dark outside Mayfield's brightly lit house, the glow from his windows spilling across the lawn like a taunt.
Every instinct in me screams to storm inside and drag our kitten out myself, but we need to be smart.
We need a plan. The only thing I know with absolute certainty is that she will not spend a single night in that house.
"I know a few people," Bennet says quietly from the driver's seat. "People who can take out anyone … and they're clean. No trace. No blowback."
"What about the mayor?" My jaw tightens. The thought of him selling our girl off to another bastard makes my blood run hot.
"Just say the word," Bennet replies, voice dropping even lower.
"It'll cost you, but they can handle it. Make it look like an accident."
I glance back at Dash. His expression is unreadable, carved from stone, but he gives me a single nod. He's in.
"Do it," I say, fists resting on my thighs as my eyes lock on Mayfield's front door.
Time drags. We wait until nearly midnight.
Whatever chaos erupts inside the house, we don't hear it. It's not until Bennet's phone rings.
He answers and puts it on speaker.
A deep, authoritative voice fills the car, and I sit up straighter without meaning to.
"It's done."
Only then do I breathe.