The terrain of childhood shapes the soul, and the soul never forgets.
It doesn’t forget the fields of Julep Ranch under the watercolor sky.
The earthy scent of grass beneath Barnabe’s heavy hooves.
The chirp of insects in the parched summer breeze.
Or Conor Cassidy, the sexiest girl in Oklahoma, soft and snug against my back.
I clutch the edges of my landscape and wrap it around me, taking nourishing breaths.
Barnabe, my chestnut stallion, twitches powerful muscles between my legs as he lopes along the dusty trail.
Behind me, Conor presses her tight little body against mine and slips a warm hand beneath the front of my shirt.
Now I’m twitching, too, restless and hungry. That’s what she does to me. One touch and I feel like an ungelded horse, a beast with fire in his veins, bucking and panting at the whiff of a mare in heat.
I don’t have to glance back to see her expression. With her chin tilted skyward, red hair ablaze, and guitar strapped to her back, I know she’s curving those plump lips into a serene smile as she soaks up the fading warmth of twilight.
She loves this land as much as I do.
She loves me.
And this is our night.
I’ve memorized the contours of her body as thoroughly as the terrain of our ten-thousand-acre ranch. In a few hours, I’ll know her even better. Deeper.
I’ll know her in the most intimate way possible.
Awareness crackles beneath my skin like it always does when she’s near. But tonight, the static feels sharper, more frenzied, and lower. Christ, the knot of electricity between my legs makes my jeans achingly tight. My cock is raging, swollen, throbbing like an angry heartbeat.
To think, I jerked off twice before I headed out. Lot of good that did me. If I bust a nut before I get inside her, I’ll never forgive myself.
The cantering stampede of two horses approaches from behind. Jarret trots past, veering his black gelding along the trail while blowing a kiss at Conor.
My twin brother might look like me, but we’re not identical. His hair’s darker, his eyes a paler shade of brown. Some say his smile is bigger and more charming, and maybe that’s true. The local girls trip right out of their panties whenever he winks at them.
“I thought Emma would be with you tonight,” I say at his back.
He kicks up a shoulder, a noncommittal shrug, as Conor’s brother, Lorne, brings up the rear.
“Jarret’s thinking about liking Emma.” Lorne slows his horse beside mine, grinning.
“I already liked her. A lot.” Jarret holds up a hand in a peace sign. “With these two fingers.”
“What a heartbreaker.” Conor smothers her chuckle against the back of my shirt.
“You look beautiful, sis.” Lorne tips the Stetson on his head, his expression doting.
“Thank you, darlin’,” she drawls. “You’re stag tonight, too, huh?”
“Yep.” Lorne gives me a knowing look, adjusts the guitar case on his back, and rides ahead to join Jarret.
Lorne just graduated high school, and for the first time in our lives, he seems…older. I mean, he is older. A year older than Jarret and me. Two years older than Conor. But it feels like he matured overnight, maybe gained a few IQ points, grew some chest hair or something.
Nothing’s changed between us, though. He might be protective as hell of his sister, but he’s also my best friend and number one supporter of my relationship with her.
Our clan of four shares an extraordinary closeness, an inseparable bond that stems from childhood. We grew up on the ranch together. Our fathers own the cattle operation together. Our mothers died fourteen years ago…together. We’ve spent our entire lives playing, working, fighting, and laughing together.
Someday, the four of us will own Julep Ranch just like our parents before us.
Up ahead, Jarret’s voice drifts downwind as he tells Lorne about the girl he banged last night. His graphic descriptions make me hyper-aware that Conor and I are the only virgins.
I’m not jealous. It’s just… I used to think she and I would be the first to go all the way. We were the first to kiss, the first to make out without clothes on. But I hit the brakes on sex. She was always too young.
Insects whir through the grass, humming eager sounds as the sinking sun paints the sky with dark, hungry promises.
It’s Conor’s sixteenth birthday.
The day I’ve waited for my whole life.
Lorne and Jarret know my plans tonight, and they’re here to run interference. All it takes is one ranch hand to stumble upon us and report to Dalton Cassidy that I’m in the south pasture, deflowering his only daughter.
But Conor’s dad isn’t the biggest threat. It’s mine. John Holsten loves her like a daughter, but he’s never condoned our relationship. In fact, he forbids it.
Jarret’s allowed to spend time with whomever he wants, so I don’t understand Dad’s restriction on Conor and me. She’s my past, my present, and my future. I’m everything when I’m with her and nothing without her.
Yet she’s not permitted in my room. I’m not allowed to hold her hand or, God forbid, kiss her. Lorne and Jarret have mastered the art of covering for us while we sneak around the eight-thousand-square-foot home our families share. Most nights, we ride out to the south pasture after our fathers have retired for the evening.
Like tonight.
Lorne and Jarret disappear behind the ridge, and Barnabe ambles slowly after, rocking Conor against me in a cocoon of heat and friction.
I trail fingertips across her thigh, delighting in the clench of her legs around my hips and the rise of goosebumps along her skin. Creamy, silken Irish skin that burns so easily in the sun.
I know every freckle on her body, and I’ve ventured to count them over the years. But the dark one at the edge of her right nipple always distracts me from the task.
Goddamn, I love her tits. The dusky pink nipples. The way they harden against my tongue. I love all her pretty parts—the vibrant green of her eyes, the pout of her lips, the shape of her toned legs, and these shorts…
I run my hand over the frayed denim, intimately familiar with this particular pair of cutoffs. The worn hole near the zipper has been stretched over time by my prodding finger, and if she bends just right, I can see the crease between her perfect ass and thighs.
“You’re quiet.” I slide a hand under the back of her knee, tickling the soft skin there.
Mosquitoes buzz in the hush, biting my bare arms.
She swats at one on my neck and leans up to brush her lips against the sting. “I’m nervous.”
“If I was a good guy, I’d tell you we can wait.”
Not happening.
I’ve waited years, fantasizing, wanting. I wanted her when her kisses made me stutter. I wanted her when my dick started hardening in my hand. I wanted her when her boobs grew, and dark hair appeared under my arms. I really wanted her when I discovered porn and watched all the licking, sucking, pounding, filthy ways I could want her.
Over the past couple of years, I spent my nights kissing and humping the space in my bed that should’ve been filled with Conor Cassidy. But I couldn’t have her the way I wanted.
Until now.
Some might think sixteen is still too young for what I have in mind.
Fuck them.
I’ll be seventeen next month. We’re the same age for only two weeks, and tonight feels like a long-awaited rite of passage. A momentous coming-together. The beginning of our future.
I don’t know where this sentimental shit comes from. I was raised by a hard-ass man’s man, who has neither the time nor the inclination for romantic ideals.
I’m cut from the same cloth, fashioned from the rugged land on which he raised me. But all my soft parts belong to Conor.
“No more waiting, Jake.” She shifts her hand on my abs, dipping bold fingers beneath my belt buckle.
“Damn right.” My breath runs away from me, chopping my voice.
I might be wildly worked-up and hard as a rock, but this desperation, this need, is bigger than just getting off inside my girl.
She’s the nexus of my world. A world that goes beyond sex and wedding bells and riding off into the sunset. I’ll ride east, if that’s where she’s going. I’ll drive a sedan, if that’s what she wants. I’ll wear fucking loafers, if it makes her smile.
Hell, I’m so in love with her I don’t even need feet. I’ll just float on the high I get whenever she’s near.
“It’s going to be great.” My cock thinks so. I’ve never been this painfully aroused. Pretty sure I can hit a home run with the wood in my pants.
“Oh, it’ll be great for you.” She shoves her hand deeper into my jeans and grips the ramrod length of me. “But this thing is gonna hurt.”
“Conor…” With a choked groan, I pry her fingers off my dick. “I’ll go slow.”
“I know.” She rests her cheek on my spine and sighs. “I love you, Jake Holsten. Even if you don’t go slow. Even if it’s not that great.”
“Damn, baby.” I press a fist against my chest, laughing. “Not the vote of confidence I was looking for.”
“You don’t need that with me.” She lifts the Stetson from my head, strokes a hand through my hair, and returns the hat. “It’s just us.”
“And it’s meant to be.” I grasp her thigh and squeeze. “That’s all we need.”
When we reach the ridge, I tether Barnabe to a tree alongside the other horses. The trail continues down a steep slope and ends in a ravine surrounded by cliffs. That’s where I’ll take her when there’s no light in the sky but the stars. We have about an hour till complete darkness.
While Lorne starts a fire, I recline against a log at the edge of the clearing with a direct line of sight on my girl. She stands near the fire pit and tunes her acoustic guitar, watching me watch her with a smile glittering in her eyes.
Long auburn hair falls to her waist in natural waves—the perfect length to tangle around my fist. She’s a petite little thing, but those shorts make her legs look miles long. The rugged square toe boots are an added tease. Not to mention the way the flannel shirt hangs open and unbuttoned below her tits, revealing her satiny, toned midsection. The view makes me so damn hot I feel delirious.
I think she’s trying to kill me.
Jarret pulls out his harmonica, and a few minutes later, he and Conor slip into a southern rock jam session. It’s a bluesy warm-up melody with a little Skynyrd influence, maybe some Outlaws, but mostly just good ol’ homegrown rockin’.
As the humming notes of guitar and harmonica swirl around me, I can feel exactly where the song comes from—our family roots, the soil of our beloved ranch, and the heart of our unbreakable friendship.
Lorne stokes the fire into hypnotic, crackling flames and sprawls out beside me with his guitar. Conor started playing guitar when she was the annoying kid-sister who wanted to do everything her brother did. She still idolizes him, but her musical talent surpassed him years ago.
“If you get her pregnant…” Lorne strums the strings, voice quiet and dark eyes fixed on Conor. “I’ll kick your nuts so hard your grandkids will sing soprano.”
“She’s on the pill.” I lean forward and capture his gaze. “I would never fuck with her plans.”
After high school, she wants to study veterinary medicine an hour away at Oklahoma State University. She dreams of becoming the resident vet on our cattle ranch, and she’s smart enough, tenacious enough, to make it happen.
He nods, his expression pensive. “My dad is promoting me to foreman.”
“’bout damn time.” I give him a hearty thump on the back.
Lorne knows the stocker cattle operation better than any of us, and the employees respect the hell out of him. He’ll run the entire ranch someday, and no one will stand in his way.
“Yeah, well, you’re the one with the brains.” He eyes me from within the shadow of his hat. “We’re all counting on you to improve the profit margins.”
Only reason I have perfect grades in school is because I study hard. I’m a numbers guy. Accounting and finance. I’ll be ready to take over the books full-time when I graduate.
Jarret, on the other hand…
My brother leans his back against Conor’s as they play their instruments, laughing and swaying their hips. He says he’s going to be an international man of seduction when he grows up. Truth is, he’ll never give up the core part of cattle ranching. He was born to be a cowboy, riding and herding and working with his hands. I suppose there’s a lick of that in all of us.
Conor changes the harmony and finds my eyes through the haze of campfire smoke. With a flirty smile, she strums the notes that make my blood thrum and my legs move. I don’t play an instrument, but I can carry a tune, and I love to sing this song to her.
I rise to my feet and prowl toward her, mouthing the lyrics of Run by Matt Nathanson and Sugarland. She steps away from Jarret, and I slide up behind her, letting a twangy drawl thread through my voice while singing softly at her ear.
She hums happily, plucking the strings and grinding her ass against me. I drop my hands to her hips and drag my nose along her neck.
Good God, she smells pretty, like wildflowers and sweet cream frosting. I ache to sink my teeth into her. So I do, right in the soft part beneath her ear.
With a moan, she warbles the female part of the vocals. Such an angelic voice. And oh-so seductive.
I sing my lines next. Then we belt the chorus in unison, grinning and rolling our hips together.
She sets her guitar aside while Lorne continues the harmony on his. With Jarret’s harmonica in the background, Conor and I slide into a slow, easy grind. I love the way the curve of her backside fits so perfectly against my groin. But I want her eyes, her lips. I want that ass in my hands.
Spinning her around, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, I kiss her with lyrics, and she kisses me with smiles. Then the kissing takes over, the song forgotten.
The synergy of our combined breaths heats my blood, and the round globes of her backside fill my hands. But I can’t bring our bodies close enough. I want to crawl inside her and never leave.
Nightfall softens the ridge with shadows, chasing firelight across her features. She stares up at me, sighing with contentment. Relaxed and ready. It’s time.
With a grip on her hand, I lead her toward the horses. She reaches for her guitar, and I tug her past it.
“You won’t need that.” I lift her to straddle Barnabe, facing backward. Then I swing up onto the low-pommel roping saddle and hook her legs around my hips. “Won’t be needing these, either.” I slip off her boots and socks, toss them, and urge Barnabe toward the sloping trail.
Lorne and Jarret continue to play, eyes down and deceptively alert. There’s only one way in and out of the ravine, and they’ll stay here as long as necessary to make sure no one sneaks up on us.
Barnabe follows the steep trail through the trees, winding around the juts of rocky bluffs. He knows the way to my favorite spot, which frees my hands for more important things.
Swaddled in privacy, I remove her shirt and tuck it under the saddle skirt. Her chest heaves, bulging her breasts over the cups of the bra. She frames my face with her hands.
Her gaze pins me, and I can’t take mine off her. Communicating without words, locked in shared anticipation, we’re a single thundering heart of elation and jitters.
“This is happening.” I can hardly breathe.
Long thick lashes flicker over striking moonlit eyes. “Yeah.”
Our mouths collide in a kiss of urgent necessity. I’m starved for her, for her familiar taste, the feel of her fat lips, and the comforting essence of her breath. She smells like home—my heart, my girl, my favorite scent in the whole world.
She’s so painfully beautiful and kindhearted every guy in school wants to be with her. Yet she saved herself for me. She’s here, right now, with every intention of giving me one of the most significant things she can give. Because she’s mine.
It’s humbling.
And goddamn exciting.
My pulse howls through my veins, and my hands tremble as I fumble with the clasp of her bra. And continue to fumble. Dammit, is the hook stuck?
“Jake, I love you.” She nips at my lips, breathing heavily. “No matter how useless you are at removing a bra.”
I’m flooded with nerves, shaking and laughing at myself. “Cut me some slack here.”
“Never.” She reaches behind her and frees the clasp with a snap of her fingers.
When the bra falls between us, my hands catch the soft weight of her breasts. The tautness of her nipples meets my thumbs, and my mouth waters.
“I’m so hungry for you.” I band my arms around her and pull her tighter on my lap, feasting on her lips.
“God, the way you kiss…” She rubs her tongue against mine, panting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been practicing on someone else.”
“You know better.” I grin against her mouth. “But I love your jealousy almost as much as your compliments. Keep going.”
“You know how hot you are.” She teases a finger along my freshly shaved jaw. “Hotter than the Oklahoma sun. Sexy in all the right places.”
“Yeah?” I grip her hips and rock against her, letting her clit feel how hard she makes me.
She hums into my mouth. “I hate the way Sara Gilly looks at you in the cafeteria.” Her nails bite into my shoulders. “And when you walk down the hall, they all stare at your ass.”
“Who?”
“Courtney, Rosie, Shannon, Tina—”
“Not true.” I know she’s right, but none of those girls compare to the one on my lap.
“They all want a piece of you, and Lord knows there’s plenty to go around.” She pushes a hand between us and strokes the rigid shape of me through the jeans. “I can’t believe you’re going to put this inside me.”
I search her face, but I already know I won’t find vulnerability there.
My girl is sunshine, rawhide, and pure fight. Whether she’s herding cattle, playing guitar, or losing her virginity, she’s going to put on those square toes and wrangle the challenge with radiance and toughness.
Barnabe arrives at the ravine, and I dismount. Conor moves to follow, but I pat her thigh, signaling her to stay. She’s barefoot, and I have some things to set up.
A shallow creek gurgles between the steep cliffs, loud enough to drown out the crunch of gravel beneath my boots. It’s peaceful here, private and dark thanks to the canopy of trees.
I remove a blanket bundle from the saddle and unroll it on a bald spot between the rock wall and a large tree.
“What are you up to?” She leans across Barnabe’s back and props her chin on a curled hand.
Unabashedly, gloriously, distractingly naked from the waist up, she watches me with a foxy smile. Definitely trying to kill me.
“You’ll see.” I light a small lantern from the bundle.
I waited until nightfall to discourage ranch hands from wandering this way, but there’s no way I’m having sex with her in the dark. I need to see every inch of her nudity and the beautiful look on her face when I push inside her.
With the blanket spread in the ring of light, I return to her and lift her from the saddle. She clutches me tight in a cage of arms and legs, and her lips find mine with startling urgency.
I sink into the kiss and weave a hand through her hair as I carry her toward the blanket. Given the tangled frenzy of our tongues, it feels like I’m carrying ten years of pent-up desire.
She tastes and looks sinfully erotic, but there’s an alluring innocence about her. If she only knew all the depraved ways I’ve imagined defiling her body. I don’t want to go slow. I want to tear her open with ruthless thrusts. I want to hold her down and fuck her mouth. I want to tie her up and fuck her ass. I want to take her places I can’t even let myself think about because it scares the hell out of me.
I won’t hurt her, though. Not during our first time. But someday…
Someday, she’ll tremble beneath me, so turned on and out of her mind she’ll beg me to punish her.
We have our entire lives to work up to that, and I have endless patience.
I lower her to the blanket and, without taking my gaze off hers, I remove my hat, shirt, and belt. Her hands fly to my zipper, stroking against my cock in her hurry to strip me.
“Hold up, girl.” I pin her wrists above her head and lean over her. “Keep that up and this’ll be over in sixty seconds. I want it to last.”
“I want you.” Her plump lips pout the husky words.
With a groan, I settle my hips in the V of her thighs and cover her with my weight.
“You want this.” I drive the length of my hard-on along the crotch of her shorts. “Feel it. Imagine it ripping you open.”
I don’t expect her to be scared or overwhelmed. Maybe a little bit hesitant? But she’s not even that. She’s breathless and impatient, trying to work her hands free from my hold to get to me.
“Let me touch you.” She arches her back, rubbing her beautiful tits against my chest. “Come on, Jake. Don’t make me wait.”
She’s going to wait, because that’s what I want. To be in control, push her limits, and bend her to my will—it’s what I crave. But tonight, I’ll disguise my darker desires as sweet, playful teasing.
I slide off her shorts and panties, exposing her nude form in the lantern’s soft glow. Fair skin, perky tits, slender hips, and an auburn triangle that leads to the wet seam of my destination—her flawless body deserves a lifetime of attention.
The scent of her pussy intoxicates the air as I shower her with devotion. My fingers worship. My eyes invade. My mouth devours. By the time I’ve licked her from mouth to slit and back again, she’s writhing, drenched between her legs, and panting with full-body tremors.
With my hands busy, I haven’t been able to stop her from grabbing and pulling at me. She wants to rush this, and I want to command every orchestrated second of it. I know the moment I crawl over her she’ll shove those greedy fingers into my pants and steal my control.
But I have a solution for that, inspired by some taboo videos I sought out online. There’s something undeniably arousing about bondage. It touches me deeply, stirring secret, indecent thoughts like nothing else.
Apparently, some women like to be restrained, and I get serious wood thinking about doing it. I know rope. I know knots. And I know Conor.
Reaching for the last item from the bundle, I lift a coil of rope and unravel it with shaking hands. The thought of her trussed up and defenseless makes me want to blow my load.
“What’re you gonna do with that?” She wings up an auburn eyebrow. “Wrangle me like a cow?”
“Nah.” I jerk my chin at the solid tree trunk near her head. “See that tree? I’m going to tie your hands to it and fuck you till we both pass out.”
I look her in the eyes as she examines my face up and down, side to side. Her gaze is restless, searching. She knows me, loves me, and it’s all there, open and unfiltered, in her flushed cheeks. She glows with arousal. And total, utter trust.
“Give me your hands.” Just issuing the command makes my dick throb.
She holds up her arms, her eye contact as captivating as her obedience.
I lace her wrists together with swift movements. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She purses her lips. “I’d love you a whole lot more if you were naked.”
“I’ll give it to you when I’m ready.” I want her so badly I’m damn near punching a hole through my zipper. But I need her to beg for my cock before I pull it out.
Unwinding the rope to the tree, I loop it around the trunk, tighten it, knot it, and give the binding a hard yank. On her back with her arms stretched overhead, her wrists are fettered together against the trunk. She’s not going anywhere.
I edge back, rise to my full height, and stop breathing. Seeing her like this… My God, it’s morally wrong. Unholy as hell. And absurdly, wonderfully right.
Arms bound and thighs spread, she’s all curves and forbidden crevices, flesh and trembling breaths, soft mounds and tight holes.
Blood surges to my cock, and I stroke myself through the jeans. My muscles tense, fighting against the impulse to fall on her like an inexperienced boy.
While I might be inexperienced, I’m not without discipline. I’ve had years to think about this, plan it, and make it good for her. But I wasn’t prepared for this…this feral, liberating reaction to the sight of her naked and tied up. It’s a compelling, possessive sense of power, flexing and stretching inside me like a pair of wings.
“You’re beautiful.” Inadequate words for the image before me.
“Please, Jake.” She plants her feet on the blanket and twists her wrists against the rope. “Stop teasing me. I need you with me. In me. Please, hurry.”
Her begging balances me. My legs move on their own. My knees land between her thighs, and I yank down my zipper, rubbing and stroking my boner while trying to pull it out. Soothing the painful throb, halting the oncoming release, I don’t know what I’m doing beyond the mindless need to fill her.
Her breathing accelerates as I blanket her body with mine. Desperation overrides control. My pulse skyrockets, locking my jaw and pounding my eardrums. I crush my mouth to hers, and the last shreds of my restraint evaporate.
I sweep my tongue past her lips, seeking her depths, craving something I can’t name, aching for the hot wet of her mouth and the clenching grip of her cunt.
“You’re shaking,” she breathes into the kiss.
Mindless happiness vibrates my entire body. My dick’s in my hand, and I’m sliding the head along her slit. She’s bound and nude beneath me. I’m inhaling her sweet breath, seconds from experiencing the squeeze of her pussy. Of course, I’m fucking shaking. I’m hemorrhaging nerves and drunken desire.
With a fumbling hand, I line myself up and find her eyes.
At the edge of my periphery, her tongue touches her lip. Her chest heaves, jiggling her tits. Her thighs quiver around my hips. Oh, the things I want to command her to do…
Finger your cunt. Choke on my cock. Bend over. Ass up. Take it. Beg me.
The space between us narrows and closes. Our lips connect. My cock brushes against her dewy heat. My brain stops working. I’m in a zone. A skin on skin, mouth to mouth, carnal, reckless, crazed animal zone.
Until I hear something.
Movement beyond the trees.
I go still, listening.
Nothing.
Did I imagine it?
The air shifts near the trail, and I jerk my gaze to Barnabe. He doesn’t twitch.
“What is it?” She follows my gaze.
Water babbles through the rocky creek bed, splashing the ravine in noise.
“Thought I heard something.” I return my attention to her warm, wet center.
I only need to push, and I’ll finally be inside her.
A crunching sound drifts from the trail.
Footsteps? I grit my teeth, head tilted, and hold my breath.
Barnabe flicks his tail. His ears. His neck.
He senses something.
My heart rate kicks up.
“A coyote?” Her wide eyes scan the perimeter.
“Shh.” I sit back on my heels and fight the zipper over my erection as my hearing tunes in to the dark.
Silence.
I don’t trust it and drag my abandoned shirt over Conor’s body. It’ll just take me a second to check it out. As I reach for the rope on her wrists, a twig snaps behind me.
She gasps, and I swing around. My gaze collides with my brother’s through the trees.
I jump to my feet and try to block his view of her body. “What the hell are—?”
Jarret stumbles into the clearing, hands clasped on his head, eyes stark, and mouth stuffed with something soft. A bandana? The chilling look on his face screams, Run, run, run!
Confusion steals my breath. Shock paralyzes my limbs. Denial scrambles my brain.
“Jake!” Conor kicks my leg as panic shrieks through her voice. “Untie me!”
Quicker to react, she must’ve seen them before I did.
Two men in ski masks. Swift, threatening strides. Shotguns ticking between everything that moves. Lorne emerges from the trail between them, hands behind his back and a gag in his mouth.
“What the fuck?” My voice cracks, and my stomach bottoms out. “Lower your guns!”
I have no weapons. Nothing to fight with but my hands.
Conor doesn’t even have that.
“Don’t move.” One of the masked men rushes forward, his rifle trained on my chest.
I don’t recognize the voice and don’t waste time inspecting the eyes in the mask. I launch toward Conor, falling to my knees and diving for the knot on her wrists.
Goddammit, it’ll take forever to untie her. Fuck fuck fuck!
“Told you not to move.” Footsteps advance, kicking gravel and hardening my stomach.
The second man ushers Jarret and Lorne closer, jabbing their backs with the barrel of the gun. They shout behind the gags and trip over rocks. There must’ve been a scuffle on the ridge, because neither are wearing their hats.
“Hurry.” Conor scoots toward the tree, attempting to put slack on the rope.
The wheezing sounds of her breaths reinforce my number one priority. I’m nothing if not her protector.
“Don’t come any closer.” I tear at the knot, unable to loosen it. I made it too damn tight, and my sweaty hands keep slipping. “Just tell me what you want.”
A boot rams into my side, shooting pain through my ribs and knocking me onto my back.
“Help! Somebody, help!” She screams at the top of her lungs and fights the rope, causing the shirt to fall and expose her nudity.
Motherfuckers are going to pay for that. Rage crashes through me as I roll back and grab her hips, desperate to cover her.
The masked man towers over me. “Sorry about the headache.”
I glance up. “What—?”
He slams the stock of the shotgun into my skull.
Pain captures me in its fist and rattles my teeth.
I lose my hold on Conor.
Blackness crashes in and sinks me into the ground.
I lose my hold on everything.