36. Clara
CLARA
Istartle, torn from sleep, my eyes snapping open.
Breathless, my heart races in a way that isn’t normal.
I search the darkness, unsure for a moment where I am, terrified to think that the last few weeks had all been a dream.
But when I feel the warm body next to me shift and hear the sleepy sigh, I turn my head, relieved to see Cole lying there, dead asleep.
Moonlight cuts across his face, illuminating the curve of his cheekbone, highlighting the dimple in his chin.
Safe, I remind myself. You’re safe here.
Then I hear it.
A sharp crack outside.
A twig snapping, maybe?
My whole body goes rigid.
The sound echoes through me, pulling old terror from places where I thought I’d buried it deep. My throat tightens. Every instinct screams at me to wake Cole, to make sure the doors are locked, to hide. But another sound follows. A low scrape beneath the bedroom window.
I slide carefully out of bed, the floorboards creaking beneath my bare feet. I glance back at Cole, but he doesn’t stir.
The curtains drift slightly in the breeze from the ceiling fan and I reach for them with trembling fingers, pulling one edge aside and peering outside.
At first I see only darkness. The muted light of the moon laced through the trees that line the back of the property. But then I see something. Someone. A shadow standing near the fence line beneath the dying oak tree.
Him.
Cain.
My breath stops.
He’s half-swallowed by the shadows, but I know the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head.
He found us. And he’s here. Watching the house. Watching me.
My pulse pounds louder and louder until it almost sounds like footsteps. I stumble backward from the window. Behind me, Cole shifts in his sleep and mumbles something I can’t make out.
“Clara…” Cain’s gravelly voice calls softly from outside, low and dangerous, almost lost to the wind as it howls through the trees.
My blood runs cold.
“Come outside. Now.”
I know I should wake Cole. But it’s like I’m trapped in some sort of fog.
I leave the room. The hallway stretches longer than it should as I walk through it.
Tom and Billie’s bedroom door hangs slightly open, and for one horrible second I think I see two small figures standing inside, staring out at me with hollow, black eyes.
I blink hard enough to see straight, but when I find the room empty, a violent rush of panic surges through me.
I run to the front door, a sob bubbling up the back of my throat when I see it’s ajar.
Wind rushes against me the second I step out onto the porch. The night smells like wet dirt and horses. Somewhere far off in the distance is a chorus of howls and barks. Coyotes?
Another twig snaps, ricocheting through the silence of the night and I turn to find Cain standing at the edge of the yard, his Harley Davidson parked at the end of the dirt drive, gleaming beneath the glow of the moon.
“You found me,” I say, though my voice sounds distant, and nothing like me.
He smiles. God, I hate that fucking smile.
“You really thought you could just disappear?”
“You don’t get to scare me anymore, Cain,” I whisper, my words shaky as I force my jelly legs down the porch steps even though every part of me screams not to. Gravel crunches beneath my feet, hard and sharp, cutting me deep, but I need to find Billie and Tommy. I need to save them from him.
Eyeing Cole’s truck, I mentally calculate how many steps it might take to get to it. He keeps a gun under the seat. He said so himself. If I could just—
“That cowboy makin’ you brave, Clara?”
Something in the air changes. Suddenly the yard feels wrong; too big, too empty. The fence posts stretch impossibly high into the dark sky. The old cottonwood twists overhead like a hand of bony fingers reaching for me.
Cain takes one slow step toward me and his face changes. Cold and emotionless. He moves closer and I smell cigarette smoke and rainwater, and that metallic scent of old blood. I backup instinctively, but I keep my chin lifted in a show of confidence I sure as shit don’t feel in my gut.
“You should’ve stayed,” he grits out.
“No.” I shake my head.
“You always make things harder than they need to be.”
His voice doubles strangely then, echoing from somewhere behind me.
With a gasp, I turn sharply.
Cole is standing on the porch, holding a rifle. Except it’s not Cole. His face is blurred and shifting, features sliding like mud. One second it’s Cole. The next it’s Cain. Then neither. A faceless, pixelated nobody.
“Clara!”
I spin back again.
Cain is suddenly inches from me. I gasp as his hands wrap around my neck, clamping hard like a vise. His grip is crushing, familiar and awful. Panic detonates deep inside of me.
“Let go of me!”
“You belong to me,” he hisses.
“I can’t breathe!”
“You’re mine.”
“No,” I choke out, shoving him hard. For one impossible second, he flickers—his body thinning like smoke before snapping solid again.
The yard tilts suddenly beneath my feet. The house behind me is gone. There’s only darkness now. Endless black fields of nothing. No porch light. No Texas. No Cole. No escape.
Cain grins menacingly. “You can run,” he utters, tightening his grip,” but I will always fucking find you—”
Something grabs my shoulders.
I scream and the world tears apart. Suddenly I’m back in bed, thrashing beneath tangled sheets as my lungs drag in desperate breaths. Strong hands hold my arms, firm, yet gentle.
“Clara. Clara, hey. Wake up, baby.”
Cole.
Real Cole.
The moonlight skitters across his face, blue eyes shining through the darkness like beacons guiding me home.
I’m shaking so fiercely my teeth chatter. “It was him,” I whisper. “He… he was here.”
Cole pulls me against his chest, strong arms wrapping around me, holding me so tight. His heartbeat is steady beneath my cheek, bringing me back to the now and grounding me, easing my thundering heart.
“Just a dream, darlin’,” he murmurs softly into my hair. “You’re safe. I got you.”
I release a trembling breath, blinking away the tears brimming in my eyes. I don’t want to cry right now. Not again.
“You’re okay,” Cole whispers again into my hair before pulling back enough to look me in my eyes, his gaze imploring. “Tell me what you need.”
I search his face, still trying to remind myself that this is real, that he is real, and that I’m safe. Lifting a hand, I cup his face, feeling the stubble of his jaw graze my palm and allowing that to center me.
“Clara?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I need… you.”
He watches me for a few long beats, nodding once before ducking closer and tentatively grazing his lips with mine before pulling back to gauge me.
I reach up, linking my fingers into the lengths of his hair and urging him closer.
When his lips meet mine again, it’s as if a switch is flicked, the kiss turning urgent and hurried and desperate.
Cole nestles between my thighs, grinding his hardening length against my core, and it’s only then that I realize exactly how much I want this—him—my core aching with need.
Without breaking our kiss, I wriggle out of my panties and shove him onto his back.
Cole pushes his briefs down and I climb onto him, covering his body with mine.
Tonight, I’m not tentative. Tonight, I’m desperate.
His big hands palm my ass, encouraging me, and lift up, feeling his cock right there.
Unable to stop myself, I sink down on him in one slow yet steady move, feeling every inch, every metal ball, forced to slap a hand over my own mouth to stifle my moan.
“Chrissake,” Cole bites out, head thrown back against the pillows.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper on a shuddered exhale, planting my hands against his hard chest.
“Don’t you ever fuckin’ apologize to me, baby,” he utters, hands roaming up under my sleep T-shirt, fingers skating over my ribs before cupping my breasts. “Take whatever the fuck you need, Clara. Whatever you want, whenever you need it. Take it. I’m yours. Use me, darlin’.”
His words snap the tether, and I stare into his sleep-filled gaze, rolling my hips, fucking him and feeling every inch of his cock rubbing up against me in the most delicious way.
I’ve never been like this before. Never felt this overwhelming and somewhat terrifying need to find my release, my hips moving hard and fast, my thrusts a little urgent and sloppy. Cole’s hands on my ass guide me, help me, his own hips meeting me thrust for thrust.
“That’s it, baby,” he grits out. “Fuck me nice and hard.”
I clamp down on my bottom lip, containing my whimper, but his words and the way he says them through gritted teeth, combined with the hazy look of lust in his eyes, is sending me hurtling toward the edge.
“Look at you,” Cole hisses. “So fuckin’ beautiful ridin’ my cock.”
“Oh shit,” I breathe out, nails digging into his skin when I feel the tingles at the base of my spine start to fan out.
“Wrap your hand around my throat,” Cole says, his words surprising me enough to cause my movements to stagger.
“W-what?” My brows knit together.
He takes one of my hands from his chest and guides it to his throat, showing me exactly what he wants. “Choke me, baby.”
“I…” I shake my head, my mind flashing back to not so long ago, when Cain had his hands around my throat. “I-I don’t… want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” he says quickly. “I promise. You’re in control baby, and I trust you. I want this. And I want it from you.”
I do as he says, squeezing a little tighter and when he groans in response, the ball of need in the pit of my belly tightens. He likes it. I squeeze a little tighter.
“That’s it.” His voice is tight through the restriction. “Now spit in my mouth.”
My eyes flare, but before I can question him, he simply opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, jerking his head in a nod. And, I don’t know how or why, or whether I’m still dreaming or not, but this is all sorts of hot I never knew I needed.
“C’mon, darlin’,” Cole hisses. “Wrap your hand around my throat and spit in my fuckin’ mouth.”