Chapter 37
Brooke
Knox’s eyes dart between us, panic finally breaking through whatever confidence he has left.
I tilt my head slightly. “Hey, Knox,” I say calmly. “I’ll give you a ten second head start.”
For a second he just stares at me, like his brain can’t decide if I’m serious.
Then survival takes over.
He bolts, feet pounding down the hallway, shoulders slamming into the wall as he tries to find traction on the tile. The sound of his breathing echoes, ragged and desperate as he runs.
I watch him go.
Then I glance at Seth.
I said ten seconds, I meant two.
My hand slides to my gun.
I draw the gun smoothly and raise it, lining up the sight with the center of Knox’s back as he sprints down the corridor.
“Round one.”
The first shot tears into the middle of his back.
The impact snaps him forward hard. His scream rips out of him as his knees slam into the floor. The towel around his waist twists loose as his body lurches, barely hanging on as he hits the tile. Blood spreads fast across the skin of his back, running down his sides.
His palms scrape uselessly against the floor, leaving smeared red streaks as his body folds in on itself.
He drags himself with one arm, choking and crying, making broken animal sounds while his legs refuse to cooperate. Blood pools beneath his chest and spreads across the hallway in slow, thick waves.
I don’t rush him.
I follow slowly.
He keeps pulling himself forward, nails skidding on tile, shoulder jerking with each weak drag. He doesn’t look back. He already knows I’m there.
I smile anyway.
“Round two.”
The second shot hits lower this time.
His scream collapses into a wet gurgle as his body slams flat. His legs kick once, then twitch. His head lifts off the floor in a confused jerk, like his nervous system is still trying to figure out why nothing works anymore.
I step over his useless legs and come up behind him.
He is still breathing, but barely. Each inhale rattles through blood.
I raise the gun and aim at the back of his head.
“Final round… Game over.”
The shot blows through his skull.
Blood and bone explode forward across the wall. His head snaps violently to the side before his body goes completely still. Brain matter splatters across the tile. The hallway fills with the smell of gunpowder, copper, and burned flesh.
I lower the gun.
I stare down at what is left of Knox, the man who darted me, dragged me, hunted me, and thought I had broken.
He was wrong.
Seth comes up beside me.
He pulls the machete from the gear bag.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He plants a boot on Knox’s shoulder and grabs a fistful of hair.
“For later.”
He lines the blade at the base of Knox’s neck and swings.
The first strike cuts through muscle and catches bone.
Knox’s head shifts but stays attached.
Seth adjusts his grip and brings the blade down again.
The second strike finishes it.
The head comes free.
Blood spills across the floor in heavy streams.
Seth lifts it by the hair and drops it into a sealed evidence bag he has prepped. He twists it shut and cinches it tight with a zip tie.
Then he wipes the machete on Knox’s towel and turns back to me.
I meet his eyes.
He looks at me like he is seeing me for the first time. Blood on my face, gun still warm in my grip, the shadow of my last shot still lingering in the smoke.
Pride burns in his expression, mixed with admiration and hunger. He steps toward me and grabs my wrist.
“Come on.”
Then we are moving.
We scan the hallway, my weapon still raised, hearts still hammering. Seth keeps one hand on my back as we run. Past the bodies. Down the marble corridor slick with blood. Through the open foyer.
The front door slams behind us, the echo chasing us down the stone path as gunfire residue clings to the back of my throat. My heart pounds like it hasn’t caught up to the fact that Knox is dead.
The SUV’s headlights slice through the dark, casting long shadows across the trees as the engine growls low, the sound vibrating in my chest. Travis waves us in with wild eyes like the house behind us is seconds from detonating.
Beau sits in the passenger seat, sniper rifle in his lap, gaze locked on the treeline.
“Move!” he barks.
Seth’s hand locks around mine and yanks me inside. The door slams. The tires screech. The SUV fishtails just enough to spit gravel as we speed into the black.
I haven’t taken a full breath since the second Knox hit the floor.
My legs feel like rubber and lead at once. I'm still wired, still wound, still tasting the gunpowder on the back of my tongue.
Seth sits in the corner of the back seat, legs spread wide, chest rising hard with every breath. Blood-slicked shirt clings to every inch of him, soaked through and sticking to the sharp lines of his body. His eyes are dark, feral, locked on me. He looks like they haven’t blinked in minutes.
His hands are flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Like the only thing stopping him from grabbing me is the thin shred of control he has left. Veins bulge beneath his skin, his pulse visible in the cord of his neck, like something caged inside him is pounding to get out.
He doesn’t look at me like I’m fragile. He looks at me like I’m fire.
And I can feel that stare all over my body. My limbs ache, but I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or from the heat coiling low in my stomach from the way he is looking at me.
No words. Just hunger. Just pride. Just raw, blistering heat. The kind that gets under your skin and makes you ache until you do something about it.
I crawl onto his lap without thinking, like I have done a thousand times before.
His arms snap around me the second I move. One locks around my waist like a vice, the other curls up the back of my neck, hand threading into my hair and holding me there. His grip isn’t rough. It’s possessive. Like if anyone tries to take me from him, they will lose the arm they reach with.
My knees bracket his thighs. My body settles over his, and the blood between us smears instantly.
I kiss him.
Just tongue and breath and need. Just teeth and urgency and the ache of surviving. I kiss him because I don’t know what else to do with the way my body buzzes. I kiss him because I need to feel something that isn’t fear or rage. I kiss him because he has watched me kill and not once flinched.
Because he understands.
He kisses me back like he has been waiting for permission to break. His mouth is hot, lips bruising mine, tongue sliding past them as his fingers dig into my hip. His breath is ragged. I can feel how close he is to losing control completely.
The SUV roars over gravel, lurching through a sharp turn as we speed through the trees. Beau is yelling something from the front seat. Travis curses under his breath, something about being an accomplice to murder, about blood on the seats, about needing therapy.
None of it matters.
Seth’s mouth is on mine, and I am still high on the kill.
He kisses me harder and messier. His teeth catch my bottom lip and pull, and I moan into his mouth, nails digging into the nape of his neck. His tongue slides against mine in rhythm with the grind of my hips over his lap.
That's when I feel it.
The thick, hot press of him straining against his pants. He is already hard. His cock pulses through the thin barrier of the fabric, the heat of it unmistakable. I grind down again, slower this time, dragging friction right along the length of him.
He groans into my mouth then again when he tears away and lowers his lips to my throat. His tongue drags over my pulse slowly, followed by teeth, just enough to make me gasp. His grip on my ass tightens like the urge to fuck me is crawling under his skin, ripping him apart from the inside.
“Please,” Travis groans from the front seat, twisting halfway around with one arm still hooked on the wheel. “Please don’t fuck in this car. I’m already on the run with you both. I’m already traumatized. Let’s not stack it.”
Seth doesn’t look up. Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t give a single fuck.
He growls against my skin, mouth still on my neck. “You’re about to be a dead man if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
My head drops back with a laugh that is part shock, part high, part fuck-it.
My blood still races. My thighs are slick with sweat and heat and leftover adrenaline. My face is smeared with dried blood. My lips are swollen from the kiss and from the aftermath of the kill. And I don’t care about any of it.
“Okay, okay. We’ll wait.”
“Jesus,” Travis mutters, throwing his hand up. “Brooke, you still have blood on your clothes. Chunks. You have literal chunks. This is unsanitary. Seth, I’m begging you. Wait until she showers, or until I’m out of the car.”
Beau doesn’t even turn his head. He smirks, voice calm and amused from the passenger seat. “Let ’em have their victory lap, Trav.”
Seth’s hand slides up the back of my spine, pushing beneath the hem of my top. His palm flattens over my skin, fingers splayed, tracing the curve of my spine. He doesn’t stop until his fingertips reach the bottom edge of my bra.
I shiver. Every nerve ending goes tight and hot and ready.
His breath hits my ear.
“I’m not waiting long.”
And I believe him.
Because I can feel it, the way I'm still trembling in his lap, the way his cock throbs against my center like it is counting down the seconds.
He sees the blood, the rage, the violence and it doesn’t make him hesitate. It makes him harder.
I put a round in Knox tonight.
And the way Seth looks at me says he is ready for a few rounds of something else.