Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(56)

But as I just told her, that all has to stop.

“There’s someone else,” I tell her softly, and I watch her face fall. “And I really want it to work, so my focus and attention is going to be there. One-hundred percent. In fact, it should be there right now, and that’s why I’m leaving as soon as Laney gets here.”

Her eyes mist up and she closes them against the sting and my stare, but she gives me a small nod of acknowledgment.

I hope it’s also of acceptance, but only time will tell.

Now all I have to do is wait for Laney to show up, so I can get back to Cat and we can continue our conversation. It’s time for her to start realizing the potential of what she has within, as well as what we have between us.





Chapter 20


Cat



I pull my Mercedes curbside in front of Jake and Lorelei’s house, just on the other side of their small driveway. Rand will park his Suburban on the adjacent side, with us leaving plenty of room for their cars when they get home. The house is dark except for the porch light and the driveway is currently empty.

I manage to juggle the takeout containers—which are still quite hot since I had them just package our food up to go rather than eat mine there—along with my purse and keys as I get out of my car and hit the lock button. The driveway is lit up by two sconce lights on either side of the double car garage, but the side of the house is fairly dark as I walk toward the stairway that will lead up to the apartment. I know there’s a motion sensor that will turn on a security light there as soon as I reach the end of the driveway and veer off on the small path to the side, so I have no hesitation as I walk toward the house.

Just as I step onto the cement pavers that lead to the wooden staircase, two things hit me at once.

The light isn’t working because it doesn’t come on, and something is rushing at me in the dark.

I don’t have time to scream. Hell, I don’t even have time to comprehend I should be fearful.

Instead, something barrels into me, catching at my shoulder and driving me up underneath the staircase and into the side of the house where I slam hard into the wall. My purse and the food goes flying, as do the keys in my hand.

Before I can even take in a breath, which is difficult since it was just knocked out of me, a large, sweaty hand clamps over my mouth, while a beefy arm wraps around my chest. I immediately smell stale beer, cigarettes, and what might possibly be hot dogs, along with the unmistakable scent of motor oil.

I try to take in air but the hand over my mouth is partially obstructing my nose, making it difficult. I’m seized with panic that I might suffocate and can’t control my body as it starts to flail.

“You better calm the f*ck down, bitch,” the man snarls in my ear and his mouth is so close, I can feel the brush of a beard against my skin and the spittle that hits my cheek. To reiterate his point, the arm falls away from my chest, only to come back moments later with a switchblade held expertly in his hands. While I can’t see much, he has me turned toward the street, so the glow from the garage sconces causes the blade to glimmer. I can’t help the small moan of terror that slips free.

Before I can even try to think of something to save myself, he’s spinning me fast, shoving me backward into the wall. My head slams into it with a jarring thud that rattles me, but not enough I don’t feel the press of the blade against the base of my throat. It’s so dark that I can’t make out a damn thing other than the outline of his form.

“Orders were clear,” he mumbles, and it almost sounds slurred. “But no reason I can’t have a little fun.”

Orders? Fun?

Before I can figure it all out, his free hand comes to my blouse, paws at the opening at the top of my chest and manages to get a few fingers lodged in so he can rip it open. Buttons go flying as the white camisole I wear underneath is revealed to the cool night air. It is then I realize what the hell he means by fun.

My body starts to react again, and my hands go to his wrist that holds the knife to my throat as I scream, “No.”

Kicking a leg out, I catch him in the shin, and he curses at me before pressing the blade harder against me. I feel the skin open up, and it stings terribly.

“I will cut your motherf*cking throat wide open if you don’t quiet the f*ck up and hold still,” he yells at me, completely oblivious that he’s making as much noise as I am right now. The alcohol fumes coming off him and the way his words come out less than clear leads me to believe he’s definitely drunk or close to it.

Drunk or not, he’s incredibly strong and he’s cut into the bottom of my neck, so my body goes absolutely still.

“That’s better,” he praises, then his hand starts pawing at the bottom of my camisole again, trying to inch his way up underneath of it. I take in a deep breath through my nose, trying to think of a way to fight back without getting my throat slit open.

Maybe a knee to his nuts? Surely that will hurt him bad enough he won’t be able to control the knife.

Another scream to distract him?

His rough fingers touch my stomach, and panic starts to seize me again. I can’t help it. My hands try to push him away from me, thinking a sliced throat would be better than experiencing the “fun” he wants to have.

My body locks tight and I try to figure out exactly where his crotch might be in the gloom, intent to launch my kick, when light suddenly floods the driveway and the side of the house, illuminating my attacker.