This year is going to be insane, and it's only the first day.

I'm in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn, a throat scratching mug of pitch black coffee in my hand, asking why the fuck I lost it so hard last night.

Seriously.

It's bad enough that I'm using her. Pumping her for questions, insights, opportunities to find out how best to end her monster bother.

Even worse that I still taste her today on my lips. That soft, sticky, inviting warmth left me hard as granite all night, and Christ does it make me want more.

Very risky. Very stupid. Very, very dangerous.

I start prepping the ham long before anybody else is awake. It's the best distraction I can find, especially when Red walks in, decked in a plum dress and dark leggings I've never seen.

She says a few words about breakfast. I tell her I'll take care of it before she beats a shy retreat.

My inner beast is in full hunt, fighting for permission to push her against the nearest wall, toss up her skirt, and bury my tongue against hers until she's begging to be filled. I want to find her clit and frig it numb. I want her pussy coming on my fingers.

It's hell hearing her less than twenty steps away, separated by two walls, watching TV alone. I ache to be her company.

I've never been more grateful to see Mia. My little sleepyhead drags herself down late, probably exhausted from last night's excitement, crashing well before midnight. I kiss her on the cheek and put a bowl of oatmeal in front of her, apple-cinnamon today.

“How'd you sleep, honeybee?” I ask, sliding into the seat across from her.

“Okay. Funny dream, daddy...” She looks at me sheepishly, dipping her spoon into the food. I stop and stare, smiling. Just four years old, and she's already mastered suspense. “Dreamed Sadie got to live here all the time. Dreamed you and her were mommy and daddy.”

Fuck. I'm almost choked up, but a slug of coffee saves me at the last second.

“That's...pretty wild, baby girl. Let's blame the snacks. Too much salami, I think – those cured meats will put all kinds of odd ideas in your brain.”

My eyes drift up. I almost sputter a second time when I see Red leaning in the doorway, next to the stove, a rumpled smile between two apple blossom cheeks. How the hell much has she heard?

“No, not meats, daddy. You and her made cake and we were happy. One big happy family.”

“No Whiskey?” I'm desperate to change the subject before the minx in the corner gets any ideas to give my little girl a run for her crazy.

“Oh, he was there. But he ate the magic cake too and it made us all giants. Made him big like a tiger!” Mia laughs, covering her mouth, giggling like it's too absurd for her.

I look past her, eyeballing Red, trying not to let my raging hard-on reignite. “Think I'll start listening to the vet as part of my New Year's resolution. I'll tell you what the dream means: that damn cat needs a diet.”

Right on time, the ginger beast appears, rubbing Red's ankles. She never takes her eyes off me as she reaches down, stroking his head. He lets out a sharp squeak that sets honeybee off laughing all over again.

* * *

Winter has no mercy. It's windy as fucking sin later, blowing several tarps off the old beaters and a tractor parked next to my storage shed. They're abandoned projects I repo'ed after their owners failed to pick them up or show me the money, but I don't want them rusting before I can flip them for spare cash next year.

So, I'm outside tying rope and using loose bricks to weigh their cover down, freezing my balls off. Except they're hot as coals the instant I see Red walk out, stepping past her car, coming straight for me.

“I checked the ham. It's looking good, but I hope you won't be out here too much longer, daddy.”

I give her a look like hot death. Don't even.

Then, a second later, I'm laughing like a fucking idiot.

“That's why you're out here, Red? To tell jokes and rub some nonsense dream Mia had in my face?” I lean forward, ignoring the wind hitting me in the face. Think I need it to cool down every second my eyes spend glued to Sadie, deciphering her hourglass shape under that jacket.

“Actually, I wanted to have a conversation before you started choking up.” I fix my eyes impatiently, waiting for the rest. Go on. “You're not...worried? Not afraid this new arrangement is confusing her?”

“You've been at this gig long enough to realize kids say the craziest shit.” I stoop down, laying another brick on the tarp, testing it with a quick jerk to make sure it's secure.

“Well, if you're not worried...” Neither am I, she should say, but it lingers on the tip of her tongue, never coming out.

I stand, grasping her shoulders, pulling her closer. Time to put this crap to bed before it complicates everything more. “Not worried in the slightest, Red. Mia's always had an active imagination. Don't think she's about to up and start calling you mommy, but if she does and it bothers you, I'll have a talk.”

“No. Nothing like that. It's just...” She drifts off, searching for words. I can't tell if her cheeks are so flushed because we're risking frostbite every second spent out here, or if it's what's weighing on her mind. “What happened to 'mommy,' Marshal? It's none of my business, I know. You said never mention her, but this isn't the first time we've gone there. She asked me the same question not so long ago.”

Shock growls through my heart. Even the cold can't stop the lava surging in my blood. “Told you before, we don't talk about her around here, Sadie. She's nobody.”

“Is she really...dead?” The last word comes out of her mouth like a squeak.

I don't know what the fuck comes over me next.

I'm just growling, seizing her wrist, pulling her away from the machines. We quickly take the narrow path behind the fence, leading to my shop.

Inside, I switch on the light and kick the door shut. She throws her hood down, and I see her breathing heavy, uncertain what's coming next. I wish to hell I knew.

Revisiting fucking Jenna is the last way I want to start this year.

“Next time we kiss, warn me it makes you nosy instead of horny.” My eyes stab her. The frustration welling up inside me doesn't stop the wicked flick of delight I get seeing Red turn redder. “It was a different time in my life, since you're dying to know. A fucked up time.”

“Marshal...it's not like that. If it's something you're hiding, something you need to keep locked away, just say so.”

“No. You asked.” I pause, ripping off my gloves, the better to take her hands. I pluck them out of her pockets, tightening my grip, making sure I've got her whole attention before I cough up the ugly truth.

“Marshal, hey...”

I hold her jade eyes prisoner. “I was home from the war all kinds of messed up. Lost, hurting, very pissed off. Took almost a year to put these hands to real work again. That's because I spent the rest of the time looking after my ma, before she lost her fight with cancer.”

“Oh. Jesus.” Her soft, evasive look says more than any words. Too bad I won't let her weasel away from the curiosity that brought us here.

“When I wasn't spending my time keeping her company, checking her vitals, making her more comfortable than any strangers could before the end, I hit the bars. Marinated myself in booze early and often. Fucked more bar bitches than one man should in a lifetime.”

Actually, just three. But that's still plenty for this life.

There's a jealous, hurt twitch in her face. Damn if it isn't a little satisfying. You wanted the truth, Red. Remember? Here it fucking is.

“Jenna was a big goddamn mistake. Knew she was a wild child from the first time I beat her at pool, and she paid our bet in head.”

Sadie wrinkles her nose. “Ew. I don't need the fine print. Just –“

No. I yank her closer, until our faces are only inches apart. There's a sick, fierce desire to put my lips on hers again, and this time add teeth. “Long story short, we hooked up twice. She blew town. Took off after some biker fucks who offered more adventure and better drugs than anything she could get in this town. That was fine. I never meant to make us a thing.” I pause, trying to cool my blood before reaching the part that's always a roiling boil. “Ma died. I started tinkering with shit, putting some of my Army Ranger skills to civilian use. I was good, and the county learned fast. Hit me up for jobs all the time. Stopped visiting the bars as often, but I heard the gossip. Jenna came back here pregnant, sure it was somebody who'd knocked her up the year before.”

“Terrible,” Red whispers.

She doesn't have a clue, but she will. My tepid smile burns. “I won't bore you with the rest of the details. She was sure it was mine. I listened. Said we'd have a paternity test to sort it out when all was said and done. I didn't need to wait for the results because the day that little angel was born, I knew. A man always does, holding his own flesh and blood for the first time.”

Sadie's face lights up. I'm sure it's an adorable image in her head, picturing my cruel mug shocked into silent hope, staring at a newborn baby.

It isn't wrong. That tiny miracle in my hands gave me a new respect for life.

“The kid taught me a thing or two, yeah. Jenna, not so much. She took off two or three weeks after she got out of the hospital. Never came by once to see our little girl. I decided after the first week with no calls I wouldn't fucking let her.” It's easy to forget what happened next. There's no point in holding grudges. “Flash to the end. She took off half-drunk on a winter night, not so different from this one. You know how the roads are around the bluffs. Too much ice, a bad reflex or two...calamity. I'll never know what ended her for sure. They yanked what was left of her car out of the freezing river a couple days later.”

“Oh my God. I'm...” She pauses, holding in her sorry. Smart move. “So, you two never tried to make it work? I mean, if she'd lived...”

“Never.” It comes out raw. Then my heart starts hammering so fucking hard I think I'm about to pass out.

My hands take hers. She thinks it's some confession, some special chemistry, but I know what it really is: getting a grip before I hit the floor, mind tangled up in my worst mistake.

The one I still won't ever tell her. Not anyone.

Red's just looking. Her face is softer now. Stunned, maybe, trying to digest the hell I just served her.

I'm waiting.

Shit, on second thought, I don't know what I expect. A gasp, a look of shock, more sympathy streaming from her mouth I want nothing to do with.

But Red does the worst she could possibly do: she leans in, hands tight around my neck, bringing her lips into mine.

Sweet fuck.

We're two for two. I'm convinced my dick is about to explode.

But that first kiss was passion, celebration.

This one's honest fury. Manic desire spiked with truth.

Too honest. Too fucking truthful.

I'm growling as I push her away. I haven't had to fight emotion like this since my run-in with her asshole brother three years ago, trying not to end his life on the simmering pavement, in front of a couple hundred people before the cops stepped in.

“Don't,” I say, holding her at arm's length. Doesn't stop my fingers from coiling around her wrist, pressing tight. Her pulse is livid. “We shouldn't.”

“I know, Marshal. I'm not stupid. I'm also perfectly well aware it isn't every day you drain a little of the snake bite that's killing you.” Those big green eyes are undaunted. They're also insane. They want to get closer. Still.

Just fucking great.

This is where I am. Not only do I have to worry about a flammable attraction to my live-in nanny, my mortal enemy's sister, and spilling my spaghetti. Now, I've got myself a goddamn armchair psychologist who wants in my head as bad as I want up her skirt.

Kill me.

“Don't get any grand ideas, Red. I see it in your eyes: you want to be the beauty to my beast, the woman who figures me out, ties me down, and fucking tames me. It's a walking cliché, and you can forget it right now. You see them coming from ten miles out when you've got a four year old into fairy tales.”

It's hard not to erase that shy, frail smile written on her face. But the only way I'd do that is with another kiss, and we're at our limit for shit-that-should-never-happen today.

“Last warning,” I growl, reaching for the door. “We need to get back in there. I've got a ham to pull out of the oven and a green bean casserole to make. No more games. I want to enjoy dinner without another side of fuck-me eyes or dark ass secrets.”

Red doesn't say another word. She follows me in and helps set the table.

It's a small miracle we sit down like a normal family. Mia helps break up the awkward tension – totally all on Sadie – telling us her big plans for the shiny New Year.

My little girl can't wait to be class princess in kindergarten. Never mind they don't do royalty. Maybe I've gotten her too damn deep in fairy tales.

I humor her anyway, letting her know she'll always have a permanent place as princess, Keeper of the Overfed Tiger in this house. The lighter stuff also helps me ignore every attempt at eyes Red makes across the table.

I don't know what the fuck she's trying to do.

Can't tell anymore whether it's all in my head. I just know I have to avoid those eyes, especially over pie and coffee later, or else I'll wind up putting Mia to bed early and opening the door to God only knows.

Time for another resolution: no more mistakes this year.

Not with Red. Not with Mia. Not with Jackson Kelley.

Definitely not with Red. Again.

The fact that I'm more worried about screwing up with her than the others drives home an ugly truth I don't want to put into words. It involves the two of us, an empty bed, and a very hard night of fucking.

The road to desolation might be paved with the best sex of my life. That can't be how Marshal Howard ends.

I've fought too hard and come too far to let my dick lead me to ruin.

* * *

I'm happier than ever to get back to work the next day. Getting my parts together and hauling them three towns over to the small company who hired me takes the whole morning.

When I get home, several thousand bucks richer, there's no car in the driveway. I shouldn't feel so relieved. Red took Mia into town just like she said, a grocery run and an errand for her family, supposedly.

I sit down at the table for lunch, thinking nothing of it, until I see the tall black Escalade through the window pulling into the driveway. The fucking truck that belongs to the bastard I'm supposed to murder.

“Shit!” I toss my half-eaten sandwich against the plate so hard it rattles.

I haven't planned for this scenario, what the hell to do if asshole himself shows up on my doorstep. The guns are locked up in my shop, and even so, I'm not sure even I'm so insane I'll shoot a man in broad daylight on my doorstep.

There's also no time. I move.

My fists are on fire as I crash through the screen, heading straight for the truck, ready to rip the driver's door open. The vehicle stops in Red's parking space, dumping gasoline on the cauldron roaring inside me.

Then I see the kid's seat and my daughter's smiling face in the glass. Urge to destroy, gone.

Well, mostly. I still don't understand why the fuck Red is here with this vehicle. My eyes flick to the license plate, confirming my worst suspicions. There's no mistake. It's Jackson's.

“We're back! No worries about lunch, we stopped off in town for a bit. Brought you a little something, too.” Red holds a sandwich out from my favorite deli, dangling in a paper bag.

It doesn't make up for the questions beating in my temples. I reluctantly grab the food and ignore her confused look, watching as she makes her way to the other side to retrieve Mia.

“Daddy?” My little girl looks up from her nanny's arms. She senses the worry, the rage, the relentless questions written on my face.

“It's okay, honeybee. Sadie, get her inside. We'll talk later.”

I only catch the briefest glimpse of her shocked green eyes before turning my back.

Then I head straight for my shop, trying to decide if having this vehicle here is a lucky break or a fucking curse.

* * *

I look around the corner a few hours later. I see Mia on the floor playing with her tablet. A delicious aroma wafts through the house – so appetizing it makes my stomach growl through the anger.

Red sits in front of the stove, eyes on her phone, waiting for the timer to announce the most heavenly chicken dumpling soup I've smelled since grandma's. She's a damn good cook, I'll give her that, but fuck if it absolves the menace parked outside.

“Oh, there you are. Finally,” she says, looking up, pressing her phone tight against her thigh. “What's wrong?”

“You didn't tell me you were driving his truck.” I fold my arms, trying not to scowl.

Maybe there's a rational explanation. One that won't make me blast through the roof.

“Just a family favor, Marshal. I'll only have it a day or two. They needed me to pick it up, and I figured it wouldn't be a problem. Jackson knows. He's also perfectly aware why I'm here and who I'm working for.”

My fingers pinch my arm. I suppress a growl. “I'm not asking you to fall down and beg for permission. But shit, it would've been nice if you'd decided to drop a head's up before bringing a killer's fucking wheels here.”

“Killer?” Her echo is pointed and sharp. As it should be.

I've said too much. Fuck this.

I'm about to walk away when she rushes over, throws her hands on my shoulders, refusing to let go. I turn, giving her the ice in my eyes. “I don't understand, Marshal. Killer, what? What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. He's an asshole, is all I meant.” I can't let her on to what I'm planning. “Look, I want that thing gone ASAP. Next time you drag his shit on my property, ask first.”

I tear myself away, stomping back outside, ignoring her eyes trailing after me. This whole thing is a mistake.

It's just a question of how fucking big, how irreparable it really is.

Worst part is, I hate being an asshole to her. My stomach knots at something that used to come naturally.

Wicked, wicked irony.

I don't know who I'm becoming. Red has me so tangled up in her innocence, her beauty, her living cliché, I'm risking the only thing that'll ever give my dead friends peace.

That has to stop now.

* * *

“Shit.” I glance up at the clock hanging in my shop. It's an old Felix the Cat hand-me-down from my grandpa, big mechanical eyeballs moving with every tick. It's past eight thirty, long after I should have come inside, sat down for dinner, and then brought my little girl upstairs.

I throw the parts down I've been working on, wiping my hands. Pretending to, anyway. I can't keep my eyes off the black truck, almost invisible in the night, a demon chance taunting me.

If I could find an excuse to sneak out there, fuck with a few choice parts, and then return it myself...

No, asshole, I warn myself for the thousandth time.

It's too insane. Too evil. Too risky.

Unless I know for sure her prick of a brother will be driving, without endangering anybody else on the road, I can't take him out like this.

Right?

The clock ticks louder than usual. It brings my gaze to the same picture that always draws my eyes, the one with my boys outside Kandahar.

It flashes through my head again like lightning. War, mistakes, and murder return in the blink of an eye.

The prick himself, Jackson, younger and cockier. Selling our commanding officer a load of horseshit about how easy it would be, how sure he thought the target was in the mountain compound, virtually unguarded.

It didn't jive with everything we'd heard from the villages at the foot of the mountain. But fuck, the drone's photos seemed to back up the prick's story. He was gunning for a big promotion. So certain he volunteered to lead us into the thick of it himself.

He had local sources, see. More than just grainy pics. Guys who hadn't been vetted by proper intelligence, and who liked to tell tall tales to anybody in a U.S. uniform in exchange for a few precious dollars, which can stretch for weeks in Afghanistan.

They also loved to murder the shit out of rivals who'd crossed them in blood feuds and ancient politics. They loved it even more when we did their dirty work for them.

I knew the scheme. I saw how uneasy Adam looked. Remembered that look Zane gave me with his eyes, pleading, say something, sir.

And I did. I voiced my objection. The commander said he'd consider it, and, of course, it was overruled by morning.

We did our best, and our best became a clusterfuck.

Our best got good men killed.

Our best was a completely preventable shit show egged on by a glory hog who refused to take the fall. The very same asshole who limped home to our little town and did the same shit here, exploiting his purple heart at every opportunity.

There's a sour taste in my mouth. Reaching under the bench, I grab one of the last beers from my New Year's pack and crack it open. I need to take the edge off. I chug half the contents on the walk to the house.

Red stops me mid-sentence once I'm inside, seeing her there at the table.

One look turns my blood molten. She's ready for bed, wrapped in a tight skin-colored gown that leaves too damn little to the imagination. Hell, it's like it forces me to picture her naked.

What are you trying to do, woman? What the hell are you trying to do?

“You couldn't wait till you were down for the night?” I glare at her, hard and unblinking. “Dress code.”

“It's as fancy as what you're wearing, Mr. Bluejeans.” She rolls her eyes, watching me snatch off my faded jean jacket and throw it on the scuffed hanger by the door.

“Mia?” I ask. The familiar shot of adrenaline only a father knows spikes my blood.

“I put her down a little early. Upset tummy. She's sleeping peacefully upstairs, if you want to say goodnight. But, uh, maybe you need a napkin or something first?” She smiles, giving a terse nod at the beer droplets clinging to my chin.

I don't even reach for the napkin she tries to pass, wiping my face with my sleeve. “Whatever.”

Ignoring her half eye roll, I head upstairs to Mia's room. I stand next to my little girl's bed, stroking her hair, watching her sleep.

I hate missing story time. Haven't done that for the better part of a year.

Tonight, she's peaceful. Such a sweet contrast to the uneasy tossing and turning, the nightmares that used to wrack her brain. It's been about a year since she woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

Before her speech developed, I never knew why. Now, on the mornings she wakes up early, restless from the night before, she speaks hurt in her tiny little voice. “Afraid, daddy. 'Fraid you'll leave me.”

It's like a stake through the heart. Those are the times I grab her tight, hold on, and promise daddy's never going anywhere.

Then the guilt sinks its teeth in. Chews my heart to pieces.

I'm a fucking liar and I don't want to be.

I wish I could promise her I'll be good, I'll be enough, and no, nothing will ever drag me away from her as long as I'm breathing. I want like hell to say it and mean it, more than life itself.

But I can't.

Because what I'm swearing up and down to honeybee clashes with the vow I made to three dead men.

I know what it means. Know the risks.

If I screw up, if I get caught trying to put Jackson Kelley under, there are plenty of ways I'll be stripped away from her for life.

Hell is this paradox.

How the fuck do I keep both promises? How do I live with myself breaking one?

I don't know. I press my lips hard to honeybee's forehead, banishing the torture before I whisper the same words I do every night. “Sleep tight, baby girl. You're safe, you're loved, and you always will be.”

That part is true, at least. I'll die before it isn't.

I'm in no mood for Red waiting in the kitchen. She's standing by the stove, her arms crossed, eyeballing me from the knees up.

I tilt my head without saying a word. What the fuck now?!

“You called my brother 'killer,'” she says quietly. “What did he do over there? There's a reason you hate him.”

Guilty. But I'll be damned if I buckle so easy and spill.

“Mind your own business, Red. You'll never understand. It's better that way.” I turn my back, ready to beat it. Too bad she's too fast. Those little hands reach out, catch the nape of my neck, and squeeze.

I whip around. There's a thousand stars dancing in her evergreen eyes. “Try me. I don't want to take his side just because we're family, Marshal. If he's done something truly awful, then –“

“Then the last thing you want is a grandstanding chickenshit for a brother!” I'm snarling. Somehow, her wrist made it into my hand. She's shocked, and then it's my turn. “Look, I'm trying to save you. I also need some damn sleep, woman. Yeah, your brother made mistakes. Big ones. That's done now. You want to know, find out from the horse's mouth.”

Her jaw falls open and closes just as quick. Her sharp little tongue flicks across her lips, giving me another sensation I don't need. I can't get hard in the middle of this. “But...”

“But nothing, Red. Listen! Ask yourself what's the point of me dropping the ugly truth on your head? Do you really want to see every skeleton in his closet and wreck a perfectly happy family?”

She hesitates, jerks her eyes away, burning a hole through the wall with her stare. “I don't...I don't know anymore, Marshal. No one tells me anything.”

“That's what I thought,” I whisper, letting her hand drop.

And that's how it has to be.

Her silence is my cue to exit. I drag my ass upstairs with electric venom nipping at my veins.

Sad thing is, treating her like shit is the lesser evil. This predicament is my fault, too. I slipped up when I called him 'killer.' Put a new worry in her pretty little head that's only making this harder.

Too goddamn bad. My lips are sealed.

No good will ever come from laying Jackson's dirt at his sister's door.

Not for me, not for my mission, not for her.

I'm heading for my room, resisting the urge to slam the door shut like I want to, so hard it rattles the entire house. I can't wake Mia.

She's too precious. I'm already risking too much hurt she doesn't deserve, pursuing this vendetta. Her little face brings me to a stop in the hall. The pictures from when she was just a newborn hang there, framed in the moonlight streaming through the window.

So tiny, but bigger than the world itself. Knew it the first time I picked her up, and the feeling's never gone away.

So soft and so dependent. She needs me, and even though I act like I don't, it's mutual.

I need her. Mia keeps me sane, focused, prevents me from lashing out like a bigger fool than I've already been.

I'm so lost in my own skull I don't hear the footsteps behind me. I'm ready to throw the intruder through the nearest wall the second those hands grab my waist, but I relax once I realize whose they are.

They're too small, too warm, too regretful to be dangerous.

“I'm sorry for down there,” Sadie whispers, tickling the nape of my neck.

In no time at all, I'm aching again. My dick throbs, fuller and angrier than ever, a lightning rod for the turmoil storming my soul.

Please, Christ, make it go away.

When I turn, face her, and fix my eyes on that pale face surrounded in cinnamon, please just let this be done.

Of course, it never is. A growl deepens in my throat, and I push her against the wall, taking both her little hands in mine.

“What do you want, darling? It's bedtime.”

If only it were that simple. The beast part of me pulsing between my legs doesn't know what sleep even means. It begs me to do the unthinkable, turns her into a distracting piece of sex before my eyes.

“I'm apologizing, asshole. Can't you just take it?” There's a real angst in her eyes tonight, hot and frustrated.

I shouldn't stare. Shouldn't let it deepen the madness ripping through my system, the new sick urges I can't ignore.

It wants me to fuck this out, whatever this is. And I want to bad, use her body to pull it out of me, fill her soft young cunt until I'm twitching, spent, purified.

“What apology?” I have to ask again, wondering if I've lost the capacity for making sense of words. “I'm the one who's been a cock tonight. You deserve better, Red. Go to sleep. I'll reign it in and do better tomorrow. Give you my word.”

Every last alarm in my wilting sanity blasts full volume. It's my last chance to walk away, but her little hands squeeze mine, lacing her soft, skinny fingers through my calloused paws.

“Stop. You blame yourself constantly, Marshal. It isn't healthy.” She pauses. “Obviously, there are reasons you act this way. Reasons why you're holding so much anger.” She pushes closer, coming through the wall I've formed with my arms. Goddamn, her touch diffuses me. “No one should be this alone. I'm not asking for secrets. I just want to know you.”

This. Girl.

This woman. She's up close and personal with every demon crawling in my skin, and she's still clueless what she's getting herself into.

My hands fall to her wrists again, tighter than before. Our gaze is locked. “Sadie, fuck...why won't you go? Why won't you listen?”

“Because I'm sick of watching you hurt,” she whispers. Balmy wetness fills her eyes. They're wide, dilated, prickling every nerve in my body. “And maybe, just maybe, I think there's more than a raging asshole under the surface. A man who shouldn't have to be alone.”

I throw my head back, pinching my jaw. The plea oozing through my teeth comes out forced. “Step away, Red. Last chance. Go, now, before we both do something we'll fucking regret.”

Of course, she doesn't listen. Her soft hands move up my arms and then wrap around my back. They glide upward, criss-crossing under my shirt, trying to peel it off my body.

“I'm done with regrets,” she whispers, less than an inch from my face.

It's the last sentence I hear before something soft and wet and wonderful lands on my lips. Her taste is in my mouth again, full and lush, but I don't savor it.

I become a wild animal breaking its chain. I reach for her body, crush her against the wall, and take everything my dick has wanted for weeks while she's paraded around my house. My tongue plows into hers, rough and possessive, and the moan I get back says more.

Fuck.

Regrets? There will be plenty, but there's too much inertia to stop.

After I've owned the spitfire tongue that's left my head a ruin, I'm grabbing the rest. I'm owning it.

I'm going to fuck the everlasting hell out of Sadie Kelley until one of us walks away broken.