Chapter Two
Duke
I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not a picture of perfect mental health.
Life has taken its toll on me physically and mentally.
I could say it was the war, which a lot of my buddies came back fucked up about, or I could blame it on the contract kills, which weren’t a mentally sound decision.
But if I were to lean back on some big, comfy therapy couch, I’d say the tipping point was losing my parents.
People made it worse. They tried telling me they’d lived a long, happy life. That it was a blessing they died together. That I should move on. It’s what they would’ve wanted.
Who the fuck says those things?
I tried to let it go. I really did. I’m in my fifties. I wasn’t relying on my parents anymore, but grief doesn’t sit quietly. It claws and festers. It whispers things in the dark when you’re trying to sleep. And eventually, all that madness starts sounding like purpose.
So, I put in the time.
I found the car involved in the hit and run. The kind police ignore.
I found the man registered to the car. The type that’s unassuming.
And now I’ve found her. Maci.
She’s the journalist that threatens to blow everything I’ve worked for to smithereens. That said, professionalism is going to be difficult considering the current circumstances.
This girl is all curves, soft skin, and a smart mouth. She’s gorgeous, and she doesn’t know how to back off. That’s what makes her dangerous. That’s what makes her… irresistible.
She leaves me with this gross, unwelcome feeling. This ache like I need to know everything about her. Her taste, her touch, the way she feels squirming beneath me.
Take this moment, for example. I’ve forced her onto my bike, yet she holds onto my waist as though she’s chosen the ride.
Like she’s curious to see where this goes, which only makes this ache inside of me louder.
There’s something about her that reminds me of myself.
Maybe it’s the tenacity, the way an idea seems to sink under her skin and take hold without regard for anything outside of that singular focus.
As we head up the mountain, the wind bites, the road coils, and the space between us thins to something volatile. Something I’ve never felt before.
I turn left, and we head up the old dirt road, tires crunching as we wind through the iron gate I had set a few months back. It’s not flashy, but it demands respect and keeps folks from trespassing for the most part, which is something I’ve found to be more and more important as time goes on.
The wind kicks up dust behind us as we pass the front pasture. The grass is dry and gold this time of year, swaying under the weight of the sun. When I bought the place, I thought one day I’d fill it, but the chances of that get slimmer and slimmer as time goes on.
I slow as we crest the last hill, the ranch house coming into view. It’s small, built with timber and stone. The barn looms behind it, its red steel catching the light.
I feel her shift behind me, like she’s taking it all in.
“This it?”
“This is it,” I say, easing the throttle and coasting to a stop near the porch. “Home.”
I kill the engine. The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and the distant call of a hawk overhead.
She swings her leg off the bike, eyes scanning the land like she’s not sure if she’s impressed or suspicious.
I watch her for a beat. “Still thinking you can run?”
She lifts her chin, a defiant little spark in her light green eyes. “Maybe.”
“I told you the rules, bunny. You break ‘em, you get tied.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. She just watches with that fire that makes me want to take her over my knee right now.
“Your choice, girl. You running, or am I showing you inside?”
I pray she asks to go inside. I’m not sure my cock could take tying her up in the round pen.
She stares toward me, her tongue in her cheek and then on her lips. “How long are you keeping me here, cowboy?”
I take a step closer, slow and deliberate, like I’ve got all the time in the world. “Long as it takes.”
She raises a brow. “For what?”
“To decide if you’re a threat,” I pause, letting my eyes drag over her soft curves, slow and unapologetic, “or a distraction.”
“And if I’m both?”
I chuckle, low and rough. “Then we’ve got a problem.”
She doesn’t back down, doesn’t blink. She simply stands there in the middle of my land like she owns the damn place, and maybe that’s what gets under my skin the most. The way she fits here. The way she looks like she was always meant to show up and ruin my peace.
I nod toward the pen. “What’s it gonna be? I’m not one for idle threats.”
She crosses her arms, but there’s a glow of something in her eyes that looks like a challenge. “Tie me up. Something tells me you’d like that as much as I would.”
Fuck.
I stare at her for a beat, letting the silence consume, letting her feel the terrible decision she’s made.
Then I move. Not fast. Not rough. Controlled.
She needs to know who’s in charge. She needs to know her snooping has consequences. She needs to learn how to behave.
Her hand in mine, I walk us both to the barn, unhook the rope I use for training colts, and turn back, holding the line between us. “Last chance to get a warm shower and a home-cooked meal.”
The offer is less about her and more about me. I’m not sure I can stay controlled much longer. And tying her up, watching her submit, well… that’s only going to make this aching so much fucking worse.
She lifts her wrists, palms up, her grin wide like a defiant little brat. “Not a chance.”
I take her wrists gently, turning them over in my hands like they’re something fragile. She doesn’t pull away, those sharp eyes piercing through my vow.
Fucking hell, I’m not gonna last.
The rope slides over her skin, soft but firm. The kind I use when I’m breaking a young horse as not to hurt, but to guide. I loop it once, twice, slow and secure, letting the rhythm settle between us. My fingers brush her pulse, and it’s racing.
I could tie it tight, but I don’t. I tie it just enough to remind her who’s in charge. Enough to make her feel the weight of the moment, the shift in power. She could pull away if she really wanted to.
That’s the point.
Her breath hitches, just barely, and I feel it like a fire in my chest.
“You’ve done this before,” she says, voice low.
I glance at her, one brow raised. I could admit to only ever tying horses, but I won’t. There’s been plenty of kills I’ve tied over the years.
She smirks, but there’s a flash of something softer behind it. Something I can’t identify completely, but want to label as trust, despite the fact that it makes no fucking sense.
I finish the knot, neat and clean, then run my thumb once over the rope where it meets her skin. A silent check. A silent claim.
“You good?” I ask. It’s the only time I’ve ever asked a captor if they were good.
She nods, her voice light and playful as she says, “You tell me.”
I step back just enough to take her in. The way she stands there, proud and unyielding in a cute little sundress with her wrists bound, is almost like she’s daring me to do something about it.
I lead her to the center post of the ring, the rope trailing between us like a live wire. She follows without hesitation, but I can feel the tension in her, anticipation even, as the wind kicks up more dust.
I tie her off, slow and steady, then step back to admire the picture she makes… all tied and ready for whatever I choose. My little bunny, caught in a snare.
“You’re staring, cowboy. You desperate to do dirty things to me?” Her voice is mockingly playful.
I lean in, just close enough for her to feel my breath on her neck. “Yeah, I am. But first, you’re gonna stand there and think about why you’re here.”
My cock pulses at the zipper of my jeans as I turn and walk away. I don’t go far, just to the edge of the ring, where I lean against the fence and watch her. I want her to feel the space between us, let her wonder what I’ll do next.
She shifts again, the rope creaking softly, and I see it, the twinkle of uncertainty. The thrill of it.
She’s not scared. She’s hooked… and so am I.