Gods, I’m a monster. There’s no other explanation for the twin bolts of fear and desire that go through me at the thought. The feeling of pure power.

I shake my head, shrugging off the feeling. It’s not real. It’s not who I am. I may be a monster in my own way, but I’m not a murderer, and certainly not of someone who didn’t deserve it. Sure, Rafe was an enforcer, so he’s hardly a saint. Even in peaceful times, it’s not like we’re running a perfectly legal business. Which isn’t to say that he deserved to die, but he definitely wasn’t a civilian.

Now I’m talking myself in circles.

I pick up my phone and then set it down. “No, what am I doing? Engaging in this fucked-up game isn’t okay.” I need to pass this over to people who are more qualified than I am. It’s time to end things with the stalker. Except . . . No, this isn’t my fault. I may be a cheater, but I couldn’t have had any way of knowing what I did would lead to someone dying.

If this is my stalker’s doing.

“Only one way to find out.” It’s an excuse and not even a good one. I don’t care.

Do you know Rafe?

It barely takes him five seconds to respond.

Unknown

Don’t be a coward now, baby. What do you really want to ask me?

I glare at my phone. He’s so irritating.

Did you kill him?

Unknown

Your parents would have done the same thing if they saw his grimy hands all over their precious princess.

He’s not entirely wrong, and I hate him for it. My parents have a firm “no enforcers” rule. At least not for hookups. It complicates things, tempts people to think they’re outside the chain of command because they’re in my bed. A relationship is one thing, but for casual sex, the boundary is firm. I was never tempted to break it . . . until that night of acting wildly out of character.

You didn’t answer my question.

Unknown

What do you want me to say, baby? That I slit his fucking throat for touching what’s mine? That I’ll do the same to anyone else who puts their hands on you?

I shiver. He’s bluffing. He’s got to be . . . Except I don’t believe that, do I? I can’t tell what I’m feeling. It’s like my body and brain are at war. My brain is screaming that I’m playing with fire and the only way this ends is in pain and death. My body? It’s got its wires crossed.

Not sure what response you’re looking for with that dramatic proclamation. Do you want a cookie?

Unknown

Haven’t you figured it out yet, baby? I want YOU.

I come home to an empty apartment, but that’s nothing more than I expect. It’s become the usual these days. What isn’t usual is my ensuring there’s no stalker hiding in a closet before I drop my purse onto the kitchen counter and pour myself a strong glass of whisky. There’s a part of me that wants to keep my wits about me . . . but there’s a stronger part of me, buried deep, that wants an excuse to behave badly.

I don’t have to pretend I’m a good person who has the right priorities when I’m seven sheets to the wind. Whatever that fucking saying means.

I take my whisky and phone into the bathroom and set them on the counter. A long, scalding-hot shower does wonders on the knots forming between my shoulder blades. I’ll have to get a massage soon because there’s only so much I can do to combat the tightness on my own.

By the time I turn off the water and wrap a fluffy towel around my body, I’m feeling loose and somewhere in the vicinity of relaxed. Luke still isn’t home, so I drop the towel on the floor and stretch out on our bed. The sheets smell faintly of him, of us, and my guilt raises its irritating head.

The guilt’s also mixed up in frustration and shame and, yes, lust.

I don’t make a conscious decision to slide my hands over my warm, naked body, but the touch feels good, so I keep going. I have a lot of pent-up tension, and this is a surefire way to release some of it. I cup my breasts and pluck at my nipples. Warmth curls through me. Yes, this is what I need.

I tease myself, dragging my fingertips over my stomach to my pussy. I spread my legs and circle my clit lightly. Delicious tingles start low in my stomach. I want to take my time with this, to really work off my stress.

My phone rings.

I open my eyes. I’m not even sure when I shut them. “I should have put the damn thing on silent.” I ignore the call until it goes to voicemail . . . and then the phone immediately starts ringing again. “Motherfucker.”

I grab it with my free hand and curse even harder when I see UNKNOWN as the caller. Now’s the time to put my cell on silent or even turn it off. I don’t do either.

Instead I answer. “You’re interrupting.”

His slow chuckle makes things low in my stomach clench. I could pretend it’s because I’m still circling my clit, but that’s not entirely the truth. “Do you think you deserve an orgasm after how you’ve been acting, baby? Fucking mobsters and running your mouth every chance you get.”

I circle my clit faster. What the fuck is wrong with me that his almost-threats make this hotter? “As if you’re not just as bad as a mobster.”

“You’re right. I’m worse.” Another of those delicious low laughs. “Why don’t you let me fuck you instead? I’ll do a better job of it.”

My curtains are closed. There’s no way he should be able to see what I’m doing. He’s bluffing. “I’m not fucking myself.”

“Not yet,” he agrees easily. “Stop teasing that clit and give your needy pussy your fingers.”

Again, my fear rises. Again, it makes my desire deeper, hotter. “Are you watching me, Wolf?”

“Always, baby.”

Either he’s bluffing . . . or he’s got cameras in my room. It’s possible. Probable, even. He was here to leave the ring, so he had the opportunity. Bastard. “You’re a creep, you know that?” I put my phone on speaker and drop it onto the bed next to me. I could blame this on the whisky, but I’m barely buzzed. No, it’s danger I’m drunk on. “You want to fuck me, Wolf? Come do it.”

I roll over onto my stomach and knees, the new position putting my ass in the air. It feels extra vulnerable, which makes me work my clit harder. It’s not enough, but I knew it wouldn’t be. I slide two fingers into my pussy, almost shocked at how wet I am.

He hasn’t responded. I’ve startled him. Good.

My orgasm is close, flirting with the edges of my awareness.

“You want me to fuck you, Red?” His voice is different. Even more ragged. I think there’s an accent, but I can’t be sure. “You want me to give that pretty cunt all the things you’ve been too much of a good girl to ask for?”

I finger myself harder, faster. This isn’t real. He’s not here, for all that his presence saturates the room. “Big words for a guy who isn’t even in the room,” I gasp.

“Give your clit some love, baby.”

Without having any intention of obeying, my fingers move from my pussy to my clit. I’m so sensitized, it’s almost too much. “Fuck.”

“That’s right. Come for me, Red. Say my name when you do.”

I can’t give him that. I won’t. My orgasm rises and crests, and with my last little bit of willpower, I moan, “Luke!”

A beat of silence. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“Prove it.” I roll onto my back. It was a good orgasm, but it wasn’t enough. I’m not satiated in the least. My body is one throbbing knot of desire, and my fingers aren’t going to get the job done, no matter how many times I come. Damn it. I drag in a rough breath. “Did you put cameras in my bathroom, too, Wolf?”

He makes me wait for his answer. “No.”