“I assure you, I don’t.” I pivot toward the stable and start walking, expecting her to follow.
“No cowboy hat tonight?”
“Sun ain’t out.” I measure my strides, outpacing the footfalls behind me.
“Trevor Pierson,” she says out of the blue. “Grady Clark, Rogan Schroeder, Mike Zarda, Levi Tibbs.”
A fist clamps around my heart. Thank fuck my back is to her, because I can’t keep the anger from curling my lip. My legs keep moving without falter, but it takes great effort to not give her a reaction.
How does she know the names of the cocksuckers rotting at the bottom of the ravine?
A chill creeps over my scalp. What are the chances she shows up on the night of a fresh kill? What if she arrived just a few hours earlier while Jake was strangling Levi? What if she followed us from the shack where we trapped him?
If she knew we were murderers, she wouldn’t have come here alone. She damn well wouldn’t be hurrying after me in the dark.
What does she know exactly? That those men are missing? That they were criminal loan sharks, contract killers, and all-around worthless human beings?
I can’t ask. Not without acknowledging I know them. Levi Tibbs is the exception. But the rest of them? All I can do is pretend to ignore her, as if I have no idea what she’s jabbering on about.
“I met with your dad.”
That stops me. My pulse thrashes in my ears as I slowly turn to face her.
“Why?” I want to roar at her and tell her how dangerous he is. “Stay away from him.”
She crosses her dainty arms and sniffs. “Aren’t you going to ask me what he said?”
“No.” I storm away, rub a hand down my face, and spin back. “Where is he?”
“He lives with a young woman two hours from here. Holed up in northern Texas.”
Fuck, that’s not far.
A million questions run on a circuit in my head as I glare at her with unconcealed displeasure. She’s on the cusp of stirring up a hornet’s nest. I can’t let her go until I find out what she knows.
Since she doesn’t respond to verbal warnings, I’ll have to try a more tactile approach.
Stepping into her space, I bend my knees and put my scowl in her pretty face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as blink. She’s either stupid or remarkably brave.
I grab a thick tangle of curls on the back of her head and yank hard, forcing her neck at an uncomfortable angle.
“No!” She scratches at my arm, her eyes aglow with blue flames. “Let go!”
“Are you concealing a knife beneath this dress?” I bat away her swinging arms. “If you don’t answer, I’ll search for it myself.”
“No. No knife.” She lifts a knee, aiming for my groin. Too slow.
I twirl her around by her hair, redirecting every kick, slap, and punch she attempts.
She’s so lightweight it requires little effort to maneuver her where I want her. She might be taller than Conor by a couple of inches, but they’re built the same. Short, fit, smallish tits, cute. Fun sized.
I love all shapes and dimensions of the female body, but I prefer Maybe’s physique. While she’s the right size to scoop up and haul around however I please, she’s also sturdy enough to sustain a hard, savage fuck against a barn door.
What lies between her ears, however, makes her strictly off-limits.
“Let go of me, you fucking animal!” Her hands return to mine, uselessly trying to uncurl my fingers from her hair. “I mean it! Let go!”
I sweep a boot under her feet and release her in a single movement that dumps her ass-first in the dirt.
An oomph escapes her lips, followed by a breathy “Prick.”
She shoves the dress over her thighs before I catch an enticing glimpse. As she starts to scramble back up, I straddle her hips and force her onto her back with a hand around her throat. Then I squeeze, just enough to scare her without causing pain or constricting airflow.
A normal woman would fall into hysterics right about now. The instinct is there, quickening her breaths and shining in her overly-bright eyes. But something else eclipses her fight-or-flight response.
The instant I sense it, my skin shivers, as if a cloud of electricity moves in and crackles the air. Is this what Conor meant when she talked about sparks and fireworks?
No way. I don’t believe in that shit. But something strange settles over Maybe’s flushed face, and it affects me, too.
Tingling currents ignite in my chest and spread through my limbs. A tiny gasp slips from her lips, and her eyes glaze beneath the hood of lashes. Am I cutting her airway?
No, she’s breathing just fine, albeit shallow and fast. Her fingers rest against mine around her neck, but she doesn’t try to dislodge me. It’s as if I’m enthralling her, as if we’re ensnaring each other.