Chater One

Everyone needed a hobby, and Royal Boudreaux’s hobby? It just happened to be the little matter of murder. Or, rather, the matter of stopping murderers.

Someone had to hunt the bastards, after all. When the cops failed, when the blood kept flowing, and the families were grieving, someone had to step in and do the dirty work. He was good at getting his hands dirty. And bloody. In fact, he excelled at the task.

So he crept through the dark Savannah night, his body tense and alert because he knew that danger waited up ahead. But he wasn’t afraid. Royal didn’t fear much in this world. He made it a point to be the one that others feared. And his prey tonight? By the time Royal was done with him, he’d be teaching the SOB a whole new meaning to the term terror.

You’ll be begging me to stop.

His steps were silent. His body moved easily to blend with the stretching shadows all around him. The insects chirped, and the old, forgotten and failed vineyard and its hollowed out winery waited in dead silence around him like the graveyard that the place was.

His gaze slid to his prey’s vehicle. A faded sedan. It was the kind of vehicle most people wouldn’t look at twice. That was why the predator had chosen it. To blend. To slip right past everyone’s guard. To appear ever so harmless.

Often, the most harmful things could look innocent.

He eased past the sedan. His eyes were on the main building to the right. His gloved fingers stayed loose at his sides. He was so close.

Thud.

Royal stopped. Tensed. His head turned—the barest of movements—as he glanced back at that sedan.

Thud.

His eyes narrowed. The faint moonlight and starlight spilled onto the car. No driver. Because the driver had gone inside one of the buildings. Or into the stretching, barren fields of the vineyard. But I’ll be finding you soon. And giving the guy the punishment he deserved.

Thud.

Royal took a step toward the vehicle. Was that sound seriously coming from the trunk of the sedan?

Thud.

It was coming from the trunk. The closed trunk. Still with silent steps, he hurried to the driver’s side. The window had been left half-down, so he shoved his gloved hand inside. Yanked up the old lock and opened the door. Then it just took him a few seconds to find the little lever that would pop the trunk.

Even as the lid of the trunk rose up, he ran back to the rear of the sedan. He yanked the pen flashlight from his pocket and shone it inside.

Holy shit.

It took a lot to surprise Royal. He’d seen so much—done so much—during the days and nights of his life that he was rarely ever caught off-guard. But he did not expect to see a bound woman staring back at him.

Royal blinked once. His light fell straight on her face. Her beautiful, terrified, tear-stained face. Gray duct tape covered her mouth. Her raised hands were bound together with the same rough, gray tape. Her wide, desperate eyes—glimmering with tears—stared up at him. Fear and hope fought in those gorgeous eyes.

A beautiful woman who was trapped in the trunk of a killer’s car.

Sonofabitch. His prey wasn’t still scouting for victims as Royal had believed. Time had run out. The bastard had taken another woman.

With his free hand, Royal reached out and carefully removed the tape. Even though he was trying to be gentle—and gentle was not often a word associated with him—she winced. Shuddered.

His chest tightened. He balled up the tape. Tossed it into the trunk.

“Are you…are you going to kill me?” A low whisper from the woman. Husky. Absolutely terrified.

Fuck. The night was not going according to plan at all. His gaze darted away from her. Toward the stretching old vineyard. Somewhere out there, his prey waited. Prey—a killer who had already murdered three other women.

His gaze returned to the bound woman in the trunk. A woman who was meant to be victim number four.

In his mind, he had a flash of the other victims. The brutal torture that had been inflicted on their bodies. The way they’d been found. Broken. Tossed away.

A tear leaked down her cheek.

She thought he was the killer.

Royal shook his head. “No.” He scooped her out of the trunk. Into his arms. Heard her gasp. Barely felt the slight weight of her in his arms. Then, staring down at her, Royal said something that he had never, ever expected to say, “I’m going to save you.”

He’d learned long ago that you couldn’t save the world. Sometimes, it was just better to watch the world fucking burn. But, this one time, he could save this one woman.

Can’t leave her behind. Don’t know where he is on the property. If I leave her and hunt for him, he could circle back. Could kill her while I’m searching for him.

With his teeth grinding together, Royal hurriedly made his way back through the darkness. He’d stashed his ride about a mile away. He hadn’t wanted to alert his prey, so he’d gone in silently. She didn’t struggle against him during that mile-long walk. Didn’t move at all. Hell, the woman barely seemed to breathe. He’d turned off his light, but he still gripped it on one hand even as he carried her. Royal kept his body battle-ready. If the prick who’d taken her came at him with an attack…

I’ll be vulnerable with her. She’ll make me weak.

He couldn’t afford weakness. Actually, he freaking hated weakness. Better to just eliminate the weakness as soon as possible.

The insects had gone quiet. The fact registered even as Royal froze. Very, very slowly, his head turned to look back at the path he’d just taken.

Only darkness stared back at him.

“If…if you cut the tape from my ankles, I can walk.” A breathless whisper. “You don’t have to carry me. I-I can⁠—”

“Run from me?” he rasped. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking like a leaf. You’re obviously scared as hell of me.” Royal kept walking. “I cut that tape now, and you’ll run, and you’ll probably run straight into him. He’ll shove his knife in your gut, and then my Good Samaritan efforts will be for jack and shit.”

She shuddered even harder in his arms. She also, he noted, didn’t deny that she’d run. As if he hadn’t been able to figure that out.

“I’m not the one who took you,” he said, voice barely a breath. “I’m saving your sweet ass.”

Then there were no more words because every instinct he had was screaming at him. Royal was used to being the predator. But with her in his arms, with the hair on the nape of his neck rising, he swore in that instance…

Prey.

Hell, no. He never wanted to be prey.

His black Lexus waited up ahead. He eased the mystery woman to her feet—she nearly fell so he kept a grasp on her waist—and he opened the passenger door to ease her inside. “Don’t try to get away,” he ordered softly when he had her settled on the seat.

He heard the click of her swallow. Right. Probably the wrong thing to say.

Royal rushed around the car. Slid inside. Shut his own door and turned to face her.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I’m your hero for the night.”

“That’s…” A slow exhale. “Not a name.”

Indeed, it wasn’t. “This is how we’re going to play things…I’ll drop you off at the nearest police station, and, in return for me saving your life, you will forget my face completely.” He pulled out his knife. “Deal?”

Her eyes were on the knife.

Hell. “I suck at the saving business.” Because he was clearly just terrifying her more when he’d actually meant to be semi-reassuring. “Hands.”

“Wh-what?”

“Give me your hands, sweetheart.” The endearment just sort of rolled out. Another vague effort to be reassuring? Gruffly, Royal added, “Give me your hands unless you want to ride all the way to the police station with them still bound.”

She shoved her hands toward him.

Carefully, because he did not want to so much as nick her, Royal eased the blade between her bound wrists. One quick slice, and he had the tape open. He pulled it off her wrists, then rubbed her skin. The tape had been tight as hell, so she had to be experiencing some pain as feeling rushed back to her fingers.

“Thank you.” Soft.

He grunted. Then leaned down to free her feet. No shoes. Another reason why it had been better to carry her through the night. She would have just sliced the soles of her feet on the rocks and old twigs and who the hell knew what else in the dark. His hand curled around her bare calf as he maneuvered toward her bound ankles. Hard to bend down that far in the tight confines of the car—especially with his big size.

She had on a black skirt that ended above her knees—and the skirt had risen even more when he settled her in the car. Her skin was soft, silken, and she was absolutely shaking with terror as he touched her.

Trying to be fast—but still careful—Royal sliced with his knife. He hauled back into his seat. “I’m not going to hurt⁠—”

And she was gone. She’d shoved open the door and run back into the night.

Dammit. Was this what it was like for heroes? No wonder he didn’t want to be one. Saving someone was a total pain in the ass. Maybe he should just let her run.

But what if she runs right back into her abductor?

There was truly no rest for the freaking wicked. He threw open his door and lunged out of the car. She hadn’t gone far—she’d fallen about four feet from the Lexus. Probably because her ankles had been bound too tightly and the feeling and pain had rushed back to her feet and sent her stumbling. But the woman was trying to crawl forward. She’d made it onto her knees. He rushed up behind her. “Would you just⁠—”

She threw a handful of dirt in his eyes.

Something that absolutely pissed him off, but damn if it didn’t impress him, too. He blinked rapidly and growled even as she staggered to her feet again. She took a step forward.

Still blinking and ignoring the burn in his eyes, Royal locked an arm around her waist. “Hey, pain in my ass,” he breathed against her ear. “Here’s some helpful info for you. Going back that way will lead to death. A violent, pain-filled death.”

She shuddered against him.

“I get that I’m no prince charming,” Royal continued, voice grim and low, “but I’m also not a sadistic prick who is going to carve you up and kill you, so…there’s that.”

She clawed at his arms. He was wearing long sleeves. Still had on his gloves. She didn’t touch his skin. He did haul her back to the car. The passenger side door was open. The interior light from the vehicle freaking lit up the scene. He plunked her down in the seat, then leaned in toward her. “You trying to get me killed?”

Her chest heaved.

“Because you’re shining a damn spotlight on us both. He could shoot me in the back right now and take you again. Then what the hell do you think your odds of survival would be?” And, since he didn’t want to get shot in the back, Royal needed to move. Fast. “You run again, and I won’t come after your ass. You can face him on your own. I’m not dying for you.” Cold. Savage. He rose and stared down at her. But I will follow you. Might even use you as bait. And I will kill the asshole. Those words, though, he didn’t say. No sense in adding to her fear.

The choice would be hers.

Then, deliberately, he stalked back around the car and got in the driver’s seat.

She didn’t run again. She did haul the door closed.

He tossed his gloves into the backseat and cranked the engine. “Good choice,” he growled. And he shifted to drive and shoved his foot down on the gas pedal. But his gaze darted to the rear-view mirror.

I’ll be back for you, bastard. Because his prey never got away from him.

***

Something was wrong.

He knew it as soon as he saw the sedan’s trunk lid rising up in the air. No, no, no! He raced forward with a snarl cutting from his lips. The trunk should never have been opened. He used the damn car specifically because there was no emergency release latch inside the trunk. The ride was too old to have one. The other women hadn’t been able to get out.

She shouldn’t have, either.

But as his hands slammed down on the edges of the open trunk, he saw that his beautiful prey was gone. His breath heaved in and out. Rage twisted and snarled within him. He grabbed the balled-up duct tape that had been left behind.

She got out. She found a way to escape me.

He whirled, stared at the night, and screamed her name, “Violet!”

“Violet…” Soft. She swallowed. Her mouth was so dry, and her lips and the skin around her mouth ached from the tape. “My name is Violet Murphy.”

He grunted.

Her fingers inched toward the door handle.

“Seriously, if you open that door and jump out while I’m driving sixty miles an hour, you will be a dead woman.”

Her fingers stopped inching.

How had he even realized what she was doing? His gaze seemed to be staring straight ahead.

“And if you go killing yourself, you’ll undo all of my good work.”

Was it her imagination? Or had there been mockery in his voice when he said ‘good’ just then? “I’m not jumping out.”

“Excellent to know.” A deep, dark rumble of sound.

She licked her lips. “I’m Violet,” she said again. “And you are…?”

“The man driving you to the police station.”

“Promise?” The word just slipped from her. And it cracked with both fear and hope.

She saw his fingers—broad and strong—tighten around the steering wheel. “Promise.” Still growled but somehow less harsh.

Not that there seemed to be a lot about her savior that wasn’t harsh. When he’d opened the trunk and shone his flashlight on her, she’d been sure that she was doomed.

Too big. Too strong. She’d stared up at his shadowy form and known that he’d overpower her in an instant. Fear had nearly choked her. All she’d wanted was to escape and she’d asked him…Are you going to kill me?

His answer had sent shock rolling through her. Before she’d fully recovered from that shock, he’d been carrying her through the darkness at double-time speed. He hadn’t even seemed winded by what had seemed like at least a mile traveling with her cradled in his arms.

She’d just told him her name because—even though he said he was there to save her, and even though he said he was taking her to the cops—she was still afraid to trust him. So she’d been trying to humanize herself. Not just be some random victim. In case he is the bad guy, and this is some psychological BS game that he’s playing with me. A game where he gave her hope, only to snatch it away.

By offering him her name, she wasn’t just some faceless woman to kill. She was Violet Murphy. And she had a life. “I have two brothers. Both older. Parker is deployed, and I haven’t heard from him in six months.” Her words tumbled out. “But my other brother Dawson lives in town. He runs a real estate company. I, um, I’m a dancer.”

“Why in the hell are you telling me this?”

“So you won’t kill me.” An immediate response.

His head turned toward her.

She automatically squeezed her eyes shut.

“And why are you closing your eyes?” he gritted.

“Because I’m scared this is some sick game. You’re making me think I’m going to leave, that I’m going to get away and go home, but it’s just a trick so you can rip the hope away from me.”

The car braked. Hard. Hard enough that she shoved forward, and the seatbelt cut into her shoulder. And then…

His fingers curled around her chin.

“I promise I won’t play sick games…with you.”

She could feel the rough texture of his callused fingers against her skin.

“I can’t say the same about the sonofabitch who took you.”

Her eyes flew open.

His face was close to hers. The light from the instrument panel spilled into the front of the car. She’d seen his features under the moonlight as he carried her. She glimpsed them now and again had the same thought…

Dangerous. Deadly.

“I’m not mind-fucking you, sweetheart. I’m saving your life. Though I can see where you might get confused. Good deeds are new for me.”

His face was so close to hers. His mouth close. And she was seriously screwed up because she was staring into his eyes and thinking…

Fallen angel. He looks like a fallen angel. Sculpted cheeks. High forehead. Beautiful, but in a savage and dark way. His thick hair tumbled over his forehead. He wore all black. A thick shirt with sleeves that stretched down to his wrists.

“How did you wind up in the trunk of that car?” he asked her.

She blinked. Her eyes had been on his mouth. A mouth that was slightly cruel. Oddly…sexy.

What is wrong with you? You can’t find anything about him attractive. Not the time. Not the place. Not the man.

Except…

Hero?

“Violet,” he said her name as if he were tasting it—and he liked the taste. “How did you wind up in the trunk of that car?” His thumb brushed lightly over her lower lip.

“I was…dancing. I have a show coming up. I-I’m playing Snow White, and I stayed late because I was working on the finale. Everyone else left. I came out. The stage was dark. The whole theater was dark, as if everyone had forgotten me. I went out the back. I pushed open the theater’s rear door and then…” Her voice trailed away. She could recall shoving open the door. Going out into the night. Her breath caught.

“Remembering details, are you? Something that scares you?”

Everything about the night scared her. “I went out the back.” Her voice was a whisper. “Didn’t look behind me as I hurried for my car. S-someone grabbed me. Slapped a hand over my mouth.”

His thumb brushed over her lips once more. An ever-so-careful caress.

“And another hand grabbed my waist. I didn’t have time to scream.” The memories poured out as if a dam had burst. Fear poured through her. “I kicked back at him. Fought at his hold. I got free, stumbled forward, and—” Violet stopped.

Because the memory stopped.

“Violet?”

“He slammed into me. Twisted me and threw me to the ground. I think I hit my head.” Maybe?

His hand freed her chin. Rose to lightly slide over her temple. Then, higher, to her forehead. His long fingers dipped under the thick curtain of her hair, and she winced when pain shot through her head.

“Bastard,” he breathed.

“Then I was in the trunk. It was dark, and I couldn’t get out.”

He let her go. Eased back fully into his seat. “You didn’t see him. His face?”

She pushed at the memories but found darkness. “I don’t remember seeing him.”

He started driving once again.

“I’m not a big fan of the dark,” she confessed. She was rambling and didn’t care. Still trying to humanize herself in case he was the bad guy?

He doesn’t feel bad. He touches me so carefully. And when he’d said bastard in that low, lethal snarl, she’d heard the rage. A rage that had been directed at her attacker, not at her.

“When I was seven, my older brother Dawson locked me in a closet.” Violet gasped after her confession. Why, why had that spilled out? Now she just needed to stop. Only she couldn’t seem to do that.

“Why the fuck would he do that?”

“He thought it was funny. A joke. We were playing hide and seek, and he locked me in, and he meant to get me right out—that’s what he said—but, the lock got jammed. I was stuck in there.” Shivers spread over her arms. “My mom wasn’t home, and Dawson didn’t know how to get me out. It was so dark in there, and I stayed in that closet⁠—”

“How. Long?”

“Five hours. Until she got back. Dawson got tired of hearing me crying, so he went into the other room. He turned his radio up as loud as he could. I think it drowned out my cries.”

“Want me to kill your brother?”

“What?”

He turned the vehicle. Headed down another long, dark stretch of road. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Who are you?” And he hadn’t been serious. Right? Right?

“Savior. Get-away driver. Ass kicker.”

“That’s…still not your name.”

“A name doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does to me.”

She saw his jaw harden. “If I give you a name, you’ll have to give it to the cops.”

“I…” Okay, she might. Quite likely.

“You’re an oversharer. Kinda cute, in an odd way.”

Her brows shot up. “I’m riding a whole lot of adrenaline right now, so just excuse me if I talk too much.” It’s been a killer night, all right? “I am not normally like this. In fact, I don’t normally share personal details at all. Even with close friends.”

Soft laughter. Deep. Warm. Sexy.

Nope. There it was again. The descriptor that should not be there. Sexy. “How did you find me?”

“Would you believe I was just out for a stroll and happened upon you?”

She shook her head. Then realized he couldn’t see the movement because he was looking at the road while she was looking at him. “No, I don’t think I would believe that.”

“Good. Because that would be a total bullshit lie.”

She peered down at her fingers. “Why won’t they stop shaking?” Though it wasn’t just her fingers that shook. Her whole body trembled.

“You’re in shock. Probably have a concussion. Adrenaline and fear are tearing you apart on the inside, but you are doing a damn fine job of holding your shit together. Really. Bravo.”

She jerked.

“So talk to me if you want,” he invited, voice almost lazy. “Tell me your secrets. Tell me your fears. Tell me anything you want. But don’t expect the same from me. I’m a shadow in your life, and that is all I will ever be. When I leave you at the police station, forget me.”

I don’t think I could forget you if I tried. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“Talk to me, Violet.”

“He was going to kill me, wasn’t he?”

“I won’t let that happen.” A vow.

But…

He hadn’t denied it. I was supposed to die.

Her hands balled into fists. “I’ve been dancing since I was six years old. My dad died that year, and my mom was trying to distract me, I think. She signed me up for lessons. Signed my brothers up for taekwondo. Baseball. Had us all so busy we didn’t have a minute to let the tears take us.” Tears were taking her right then. “My first show was The Nutcracker, and I was a mouse.” Dawson had called her a rat. Parker had told her she was a cute mouse.

“Bet you were fucking fantastic.”

A startled laugh escaped her. How can I laugh now? “I was terrible. I fell off the stage.”

A rumble came from him. Laughter that was deep and warm.

Without thinking, she reached out and her hand touched his arm. The surge hit her without warning. An electric charge that pulsed up her arm and throughout her whole body. Scared, she snatched her hand back.

“I kept dancing,” she heard herself whisper. “My brothers gave up baseball. Stopped taekwondo. They moved on to football. A thousand other things. But I kept dancing.”

“Why?”

“Because I had learned that you could escape any pain when you went onto a stage. When you dance, you become someone else.” And I’ll get on the stage again, and I’ll escape this, too. I’ll be someone else again.

She could pretend that she hadn’t been taken. That she hadn’t been a victim. That this nightmare wasn’t real. Act as if it had all happened to someone else. Just a role. Not me.

“I’m good at pretending,” she heard herself say. “I’ll blend in, and I’ll become someone new, and this won’t hurt me anymore. I’ll wake up, and this will all feel like a bad dream. Everything…” Her gaze flickered over him once more. “Except you.”

“Oh, Violet, don’t fool yourself.” Rough. Low. “I’m the baddest dream there is.”

He braked the Lexus near the police station. Not right in front of it, but in the lot about fifty feet from the entrance. Close enough, Violet supposed. She stared at the bright lights of the station. A beacon in the night.

Beyond the glass doors and windows, she could spy uniformed cops milling around.

“You’re safe.”

His warm, deep voice washed over her.

“Just put one foot in front of the other and go inside.”

He wasn’t the bad guy. He hadn’t been, uh, mind-fucking her, as she’d feared. He really had saved her life.

“You’re not getting out of the car,” he noted.

Her head swung away from the police station and those bright lights, and she looked back at him. “Thank you.” How did you repay a man who had just saved you from hell?

“You don’t need to thank me.”

Yes, she did.

She unhooked her seat belt. And lunged toward him. Her hands curled around him, and she held him tightly in a fierce hug. “You saved me.”

His fingers pressed lightly to her back. “Not like I could leave you in the trunk.”

A shiver chased down her spine.

“You have to go inside, Violet. Tell the cops what happened. Just leave out as much about me as possible.”

Her head tilted back. “Why?”

“Because not everyone will think I’m a hero.” His eyes were on her mouth. “And because they won’t be wrong. I’m not a hero.”

Was his head lowering toward hers? Did he…wait, did he want to kiss her?

Did she want to kiss him?

Her heart shoved hard in her chest, and she knew a million reasons why she should not do this…

Kidnapped. Nearly killed. Concussion. Wrong place. Wrong time.

But Violet didn’t care. Maybe because she was beyond control and rational thought. Maybe because she just was reacting based on pure animal instinct. Her hands lifted to curl around the back of his head, and she dragged him toward her. Their mouths met in a too-hard crash. No finesse. No care. She crashed her lips into his and squeezed her eyes closed.

He laughed lightly against her lips.

She jerked back.

“You are unexpected,” he murmured. “But let’s try it this way…” His thumb slid over her lower lip. Her mouth parted for him.

This time, he kissed her. Soft. Careful. His tongue dipped between her parted lips, and she was absolutely lost. No other word for it. Animal instinct took over again as a driving, primitive need swept through her. Lust. Hunger. Desire.

He kissed her with care and a tender savagery that called to something deep inside of her. He tasted her as if he had all the time in the world. She tasted him as if she’d been dying of thirst and he was truly the best drink she’d ever been offered. Her first sip of wine.

And…

He pulled away. “Go.” Gruff. “Before I decide to keep you.”

A joke, of course. Wait, wasn’t it? She scrambled toward the door even as one hand rose to her lips. She could still taste him.

She wanted more.

Her fingers fumbled and opened the door. “I won’t forget you.”

“I’d rather you did. As soon as you walk into the station, please do forget all important descriptors when it comes to me.”

She wanted to look at him again, but she didn’t. She opened the door. Stood. Felt the pavement bite into her bare feet. Violet started to take a step forward but found she couldn’t move.

“I won’t leave until you get inside the station.” Low. “I’ll have my eyes on you the whole time. You’re safe when I’m watching you.”

You’re safe when I’m watching you.

Her head moved in a slow nod. One foot lifted. Then the other. Jerky movements. Like she was one of those old wind-up robots that lurched and staggered its way forward.

Step by step, she got closer to the lights of the station. Even though the urge was strong, Violet didn’t glance back over her shoulder. One step. Another.

Inside the station, the officer behind the counter looked up. Frowned.

She kept advancing. Lurching. Creeping. Violet grabbed for the door. Her fingers curled around the handle, and she wrenched it open. “Help…” Too soft. She swallowed. “Help me!”

The uniformed cop ran from behind the counter. “Ma’am? Ma’am, what happened?”

“I was…kidnapped. Taken…”

His hands curled around her arms.

She did look back. In that last moment, she did.

She saw the Lexus’s taillights as her savior drove away.