Naughty Stranger (Dangerous Love 1)

He drew in a long, deep breath, then said all that needed to be said. “Be happy, Chelsea. I am.”

Relief crossed her face, bringing a warm smile, but in that exact moment, Rhett and Asher charged out of the station running toward Rhett’s car.

“Peyton’s. Now!” Asher roared, opening the car’s door.

Dread sank deep into Boone’s chest. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t wait around to say goodbye to the woman who had his heart in the past. He only looked to the future and turned his bike on, his motorcycle moving about as fast as a bullet.

It took him five minutes to arrive at Peyton’s house, which typically was a fifteen-minute drive, and he sensed Rhett and Asher in Rhett’s truck right on his heels. When he pulled into the driveway, he slowed the bike and jumped off, sending the bike sliding along the driveway, and charged toward the house, reaching for his weapon.

The front door was closed and locked. He lifted his weapon, taking aim at the deadbolt, and stood off to the side so he didn’t get hit by the ricochet, then fired. The lock broke apart and with a kick, he made it inside.

Gun aimed, he surveyed the living room, finding it empty. He breathed slowly to steady the race of his heart and keep his hand from trembling, and he moved carefully into the kitchen, then his heart broke apart. Peyton lay unresponsive on her stomach, her hand near a cell phone, blood covering nearly every surface, including her. So much fucking blood. One step closer revealed Kinsley, lying in a pool of blood under her head. Desperation had him nearly lurching forward to protect them both, but he stayed ready, cautious, looking for threats.

A creak behind Boone spun him around, his gun aimed at Asher. “Clear upstairs,” Boone ordered.

Asher nodded and moved quickly and efficiently up the stairs while Rhett entered through the front door. “Outside is clear.”

“Check Kinsley,” Boone said, dropping to his knees, unable to accept what his eyes were showing him. Both Peyton and his sister were unmoving.

Boone could barely breathe when he reached for Peyton, gently turning her over. Her eyes were shut, the side of her creamy flesh stained in dark red. She looked so fragile, so hurt, and his hand trembled when he pressed his fingers against her pulse, finding her steady heartbeat.

With a sigh of relief, he glanced up at Rhett, who was next to Kinsley, his hand gripping her wrist. “She’s either knocked out or drugged,” Rhett said. “But she’s okay.”

“Thank fucking God,” Boone breathed.

“And Peyton?”

“She’s hurt, but alive.” But whoever did this shouldn’t be. Someone hurt her. Put his hands on her. Tried to kill her, and Kinsley…Boone felt on the edge, ready to unleash anger in ways he never had before.

Trying to keep it together, he surveyed the kitchen, desperate to understand what happened here. There was a blood spatter that led to the open back door, telling him that someone had been stabbed. “Any knife wounds on Kinsley?” he asked Rhett.

Rhett gently examined Boone’s baby sister. “No.” He grabbed a tea towel off the stove, then pressed it to Kinsley’s head. “She has a laceration on the side of her head; doubtful it’s from a knife.”

A sudden terrified gasp jerked Boone’s gaze back to Peyton. Her eyes were huge, terrified, far away. She clawed at Boone, trying to free herself, slipping on the blood beneath her. “Peyton,” Boone said, firmly and calmly, holding on to her arms. “You’re safe.”

She blinked once, then her chin quivered. “Boone.”

“Yes, fuck. I’m here.” He pulled her into his arms, wanting her to stay right there where he knew no one would touch her. She trembled in his arms, clung to him, and he clung right back, not ever wanting to let go. “Jesus. Peyton, I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

She dropped her head onto his chest and cried.

“You need to let me look at her,” Emmanuel, one of Stoney Creek’s paramedics, said.

When Boone leaned away, he realized that in the passing minutes he’d held her, the kitchen had filled with four paramedics, all there to do their jobs. “You’re okay,” he told Peyton, spotting the raging fear in her eyes.

He fucking hated that fear.

Boone forced himself to release her, even though he knew she didn’t want him to. When Emmanuel took his place, Boone crossed the floor to Kinsley. He squatted as the paramedics began working on her and placed his hand on her forehead. Christ, he thought he’d lost them both. The adrenaline pumping in his body made his hand tremble against her cool skin. “Is she all right?” he asked.

“Not sure why she’s not waking up,” Evelyn, another paramedic, said. “We gotta get her to the hospital.”

Boone rose then, grabbed the tea towel from the floor, and wiped the blood off his hands, his heart hammering in his chest, sweat coating his flesh. He stood back, watching the paramedics work, feeling slightly disconnected from the scene. He’d been at scenes far bloodier than this, but those victims were not people he cared for. Kinsley’s blood, Peyton’s blood…it was o

n his hands.

“They’re going to be okay.”

Boone found Rhett sidling up to him. Boone nodded, unable to find words to explain the shit going on inside him. He turned to see Peyton being put on the stretcher. Her eyes were closed now. Whether that was from the drugs the paramedics gave her or exhaustion, Boone didn’t know, but it didn’t matter anyway. She looked peaceful…safe…and fuck, that’s all he wanted for her. His chest tightened at the pain they had endured. The fear they must have suffered. His fists clenched as he watched the paramedics wrap up Kinsley’s head wound.