Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(67)

She stared out the windshield. “Do you love her?”

Love. That was a word that hadn’t existed in his vocabulary until recently, and yet something about it and Isleen being paired in the same sentence felt honest and true. Maybe he was a pussy, but the first thing he was going to do when he got home was tell Isleen he loved her. He’d never said those words to another person in all his life, and now he was as excited as a kid with a secret to share. “I do love her.” And fucking damn, he was half tempted to turn the truck around and race back to her. He needed to be near her. Life felt wrong without her.

Camille gasped and flinched as if his words had bitch-slapped her. “You just met her. You can’t love her. You don’t even know her. You have to be confused.” What’s wrong with you?

“You don’t need me. You don’t need any man. You’re a strong, powerful woman.”

He sped into town, not caring about speed laws, only caring about getting her out of his truck and getting back to Isleen.

What does she have that I don’t? Just tell me and I’ll change. I’ll be what you want me to be.

Holy Christ. Her level of desperate-to-not-be-alone surprised him. It wasn’t like he saw her every day or even every week.

“She’s wrong for you. She’s all simpering and fake nice. You’ll get bored with her.”

He turned into her trendy apartment complex and parked outside her door.

“I bet she can’t give you what I can.” She put her hand on his crotch and squeezed his dick, and damn if his balls didn’t shrivel away from her, hiding themselves somewhere behind his liver.

He grabbed her wrist, tore her grip from him, and shoved her away. “Don’t.”

The silence growing inside the truck and in Camille’s mind seemed lethal.

He’d said what needed to be said, and now he needed to get back to Isleen. Camille didn’t look back at him, just opened her door, and stepped out of his truck. He reversed out of the space and sped for home, his mind locked on Isleen. Always Isleen. She was his guiding star, his reason for living.





Chapter 18


He’d lived his entire life on the same property, been up and down the steep, curving driveway so many times he could probably navigate it with his eyes closed. But tonight everything seemed off in some indiscernible way.

In the periphery of his truck’s headlights, the trees speared the sides of the lane, their sharp vertical trunks like raised pikes supporting the shrouded sky. Branches arched over the drive, hulking monsters ready to crush and smash. He heard his own damned heart pick up a faster pace. Tonight, nature felt oppressive and unfriendly.

He jammed his foot on the gas, going faster than what was safe on the gravel.

The worm of warning in his gut grew to the size of an anaconda. He shouldn’t have left Isleen. Call him possessive, controlling, jealous—whatever—he’d own it. But that didn’t change the bone-deep certainty that he wasn’t going to feel normal until he was with her again.

His vehicle tore out of the woods, revealing the clearing the main house resided in. Kent’s oh-no-I’m-not-compensating-for-anything huge truck was parked in front of the arched entryway. Inside the house, lights were on, but the outside remained dark. Exterior lighting in summer attracted every insect in a ten-mile radius.

Why wasn’t Kent waiting at Xander’s cabin? The asshole was supposed to be guarding Isleen, and she hadn’t wanted to come to the main house. Had something happened?

He stomped on the brakes, and the ABS stuttered and jerked. The tires lost traction on the gravel and went into a long skid. He rammed the truck into park and was out the door before the vehicle stopped moving. Fuck his transmission. The only thing that mattered was Isleen.

He full-on sprinted for the house, his boots crunching through the crushed rocks, overwhelming all other sounds. He rounded Kent’s truck and saw her.

She stood on the top porch step, Hopkins right beside her, his hand resting on his service weapon as if Xander were a potential threat. Another BCI guy stepped out of the shadows. At least they took their job of protecting her seriously.

“Why aren’t you at home? What’s wrong?”

She came down the porch steps, heading for him, and he met her halfway, wrapping her in his arms. All the pressure, all the worry evaporated. He held her against him. Yeah, he might be a foot taller, twice as broad, and have close to hundred pounds on her, but when she put those arms of hers around his waist, he fucking felt safe and a little bit invincible.

She hadn’t answered his questions.

He pulled back to see her face. “Did something happen?” Starlight colored her features in shades of slate and silver. Her eyes were wide, unblinking—she looked worried—and he’d do anything to get that emotion off her face.

“Nothing happened.”

He heard the quivering undertone. He heard the change in her heart rate, and the way she stopped breathing, holding her breath to see if he bought the lie she was trying to sell.

Tension fisted between his shoulder blades. “I can hear the lie in your voice. Now I want to hear the truth. What happened?”

Her gaze darted between his forehead and his mouth, never meeting his eyes, but she didn’t step away from him. She kept her hands on his sides, her fingers twisting in his shirt.

He glanced up at Hopkins. The guy practically sprinted to the far end of the porch. Either he didn’t want to get involved or Xander’s Frankenstein face scared him.