I turn and brace my hands against the frame. Rest my forehead to the cool wood. My eyes close against the sound of her undressing. The smack of her wet clothes hits the floor. The shower curtain closes.
I force the tension from my body with a strained breath.
I might not be that kind of monster—but I’m every bit man. Enticed. Tempted. Aroused. She’s beautiful and sexy and soft in all the right places. And my cock is keenly aware that she’s only three feet away from me, soaping her body.
I reach down the front of my pants and adjust my aching cock, the bastard. Then I plant my hand firmly back against the frame. I’m not moving from this spot.
All it takes is one memory of Jules in the morgue, and fantasies of pushing Makenna against the shower wall evaporate. I purge the remaining images of Makenna’s swollen mouth and sultry breasts from my mind…because I have to.
A predator mimics the characteristics of its prey to lure them in.
I’ve been in that jungle too long. Surrounded by the cruelest predators.
If I act on my impulses, I’m in danger of becoming the men I hunt.
That thought sobers me.
The water shuts off, and I open my eyes, a measure more composed. I grab the towel from the rack. When I turn around, my heart stops.
Naked, she’s stripped of the gun harness and hard edge she shields herself with. She doesn’t look like a fiend’s partner, or a dirty cop. Or even a bad person. She’s stripped of all the dirt and filth. Bared completely. Vulnerable.
She’s all soft curves and stunning beauty. I take her in, every sexy, alluring inch, and a degree of that hard-fought control slips.
Christ. There’s an animal battering against my walls, thrashing to get out, to get at her. I grip the counter and damn near tear it from the wall.
If she wasn’t scared of me before, she should be now.
I hear her sharp breath, and a mask slips over her features. She’s fighting some war within herself, I know. Because I can see the battle raging in her shimmering eyes. Is she frightened, or thrilled she’s discovered a weakness within me?
“Don’t move.” I step forward and extend the towel, approaching her like a frail forest creature that might spook. The truth is, if she does anything remotely sexy—like breathe—I might pounce.
She wraps the towel around her body, tucking the corner in against her cleavage, the way women do. Such a feminine move, it steals my breath.
I’m out of practice with women. I am the horrid things she calls me. A life devoted to revenge doesn’t leave much in the way of relationships or even sex. I’m deprived and depraved. And this is my punishment.
I shift my gaze upward and focus on the vulnerability I see in her eyes. This could be a tactic. Offering me her body didn’t work; maybe she’s coming at it from a more defenseless angle. Trying to weaken the monster.
I keep my guard up as I open the medicine cabinet and take down peroxide and bandages. “Dress your hands.” I turn to leave the room, but pause with the door open. “Do your business. Don’t waste time trying to escape. You’ll just ruin your hands more.”
I grab a stack of old magazines from the counter and wedge them against the doorjamb as I force the door closed. Making sure it’s difficult for her to get out…or me to get back in. I sink to the floor, where I brace my back against the solid support of the wood. Then I count.
One house. One cellar. One woman.
One last devil to kill.
I take stock, putting myself back in control.
If I’m this weak now, how in the hell will I go through with it in the end?
No—that’s different. A completely different scenario.
And practice makes perfect.
I check my watch, forcing my thoughts back on my purpose. Then the screaming starts.
I spring up and turn the knob, but the door is jammed. “Shit.” I back up and kick it once, twice, before it cracks open. Makenna is balanced on the tub, beating against the
walls as she yells for help.