Fuck. Someone had opened a door or window around the house. Since he hadn’t received any warning about the perimeter of his property being breached, that meant one thing.
Laila was trying to leave him.
That fucking hurt.
Trees vaulted out of bed and disengaged the alarm before hopping into sweatpants and steel-toed boots. Without bothering to lace up, he grabbed the Benelli by his bed—just in case—and a pair of cuffs from his nightstand, then pocketed the nearby flashlight.
Trees prowled across the house until he reached Laila’s bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to find the door closed.
After her sister and his bosses had departed yesterday morning, he and Laila had spent hours arguing. She insisted on being the decoy for Kimber’s rescue. He swore he’d let that happen over his dead body. Apparently, he was the bad guy for not letting her put herself in harm’s way, because she’d barely spoken to him since and insisted on sleeping in her room—alone. With the door locked.
She thought that would keep him from her? Ha.
Trees had her door open in a handful of seconds. Sure enough, her bed was empty. Her window was shut, but the air was chillier in here. She had obviously opened the window, set off the alarm, hopped out, and darted away.
Son of a bitch.
He doubled back through the house to the front door, plucked his jacket off the nearby hook, and shoved it on over his bare torso as he hauled ass onto the porch. Thank god he had a pair of thermal night-vision binoculars in his coat pocket.
Trees lifted them to his face and found Laila in seconds.
She was alone.
Sure, he was grateful someone hadn’t tried to take her from him, but he was beyond pissed she was so willing to risk her life. Stubborn, stubborn woman. Stupidly brave, too. If she put herself in Geraldo Montilla’s path, she might not get out alive. Surely she knew that. Why didn’t she value her goddamn safety?
Because she valued her family more.
Trees refused to let her go on this suicide mission. There had to be another way.
Cursing, he bounded off the porch and ran after her. He’d catch up to her quickly for four reasons: First, she had nothing on her feet but flimsy flip-flops. Second, it was thirty-seven degrees, and she was covered only by her itty-bitty tank top and those damn short shorts. Third, since he was six foot eight, he had hella long legs, and her soft curves proved that, unlike him, she didn’t run a few miles a day. Fourth—and most important—she might want to leave him badly enough to brave the elements at three o’clock in the morning, but he was far more determined to keep her under his roof.
Hell, he’d do almost anything to keep her in his bed. In his heart. In his life.
Time to drag Laila back, put his foot down, tell her exactly how things were going to be—as soon as he came up with another fucking plan.
She wouldn’t budge otherwise.
It didn’t take him long to catch her. He saw the flash of her sleek, naked legs in the moonlight, along with the puffs of her breaths in the cold.
Laila had no idea he even chased her until he was practically on top of her.
She whipped her gaze over her shoulder just as he hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her from the ground. He yanked her kicking, writhing form into his arms and against his body. Her flip-flops went flying.
“Let me go!”
“Nope.” Despite her struggles, he managed to retrieve her shoes and shove them in his pocket.
The vixen did her best to wriggle free, even biting him. But, as his mother would have said, bless her heart. Every attempt Laila made to get free was both ineffectual and pointless.
“You cannot keep me against my will.”
“Watch me,” he said as he headed back toward his house. “I’ve already done it once.”
“My sister and my nephew need me.”
“To put yourself in danger? No, they don’t.”
“They are in danger.”
“And you putting yourself in a drug lord’s crosshairs isn’t going to help. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I do not belong to you.”
“I’m happy to fix that right now. Wanna get married?”
Laila gaped at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You have gone insane.” She turned away and went stubbornly mute.
Actually, he’d been serious, but as proposals went…it hadn’t exactly been romantic. Or practical. He got it. But the silent treatment? Fine. Two could play that game, and she’d figure out quick that he could get his point across without uttering another word.
Trees contained her wriggling form, bypassed the front door, then headed around to the back before flipping on his chipper shredder. It made a god-awful rumbling in the dead of the night. Thankfully, he didn’t have any neighbors who might wake.
“No!” she screamed in terror, scratching and clawing, scrambling to get away from him as if her life depended on it.