Edge of Hunger. Rhyannon Byrd
jackass mangled Kendra, leaving her body scattered over a field for an unlucky group of teenagers to come across when they stopped to take a leak. It was pretty sick and the kids are probably going to need therapy. Guess I really should have listened to you.
Naw, he could save that useless conversation forâ¦never. He already hated himself enough at the momentâhe didnât need to add her scorn on top of it. Sheâd tried to warn him, but like the arrogant know-it-all his brother always accused him of being, he hadnât listened. Seemed heâd spent years fine-tuning the worthless talent of shutting people out, ignoring them, even when they were trying to help him.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, Ian struggled to get his mind on something useful, something that would help Riley nail that murdering bastardâs ass, but his brain just kept buzzing with the images of Kendraâs broken body and the blood-soaked field that he knew he was never going to be able to fully erase from his memory. Hell, they couldnât even be sure itâd been a human who killed her, the damage was so extreme.
If you canât be honest with anyone else, jackass, at least be honest with yourself. You know what it was, his conscience taunted him, scraping against his nerves like a jagged blade. Youâve known all along.
Ian clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the snide asshole in his head, wishing he could just get his hands on whoeverâ¦or whatever was responsible. He might not have been in love with Kendra, but heâd respected the hell out of her, and at the start of their affair, heâd enjoyed the time he spent with her. Kendra Wilcox had been a good person. Funny, beautiful, independent. She hadnât deserved what sheâd suffered. Christ, no one deserved to die like that.
Riley was going to come back for him the second something came up, and he needed to rest before things started rolling, but he was too angry to sleep, adrenaline still pounding through his system, keeping him on edge. If he couldnât get some rest, food would be the next best thing to keep him going, but he couldnât face another nuked dinner. Everything tasted stale to him these days, his appetites bored with the usual fare.
Muttering under his breath, Ian made his way into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass, then headed back toward the sofa, picking up the remote for his flat-screen TV; the only thing in the apartment worth lifting, if anyone ever bothered to break in. Flicking on a Rockies game, he sprawled out over the cushions, trying to focus his mind on RBIs and pitching averages, rather than the gruesome images heâd witnessedâtrying not to think of Kendra and the strange little blond whoâd warned him that someone close to him was in danger.
Like an idiot, heâd spent the entire damn night and day trying to convince himself that Kendraâs murder had nothing to do with him, that he couldnât have prevented it from happening. But he knew better. There was a burning, gnawing sensation in his gut that felt too much like shame for him to buy his own bullshit. He made an attempt to drown out the unwanted, sour emotion by hitting the scotch, but it didnât work worth a damn. Instead, he just kept sinking deeper into the guilt, like standing on the muddy banks of a river, his bare feet sinking farther and farther into the thick layers of sludge. Riley had pressured him all night for anything he could offer up, but heâd lied through his teeth, claiming that he didnât have any information. He didnât tell him about Molly, much less the fact that sheâd delivered her strange little warnings straight to his face, begging him for his help.
And he sure as hell hadnât mentioned the dream theyâd shared. Instead, heâd done his best to avoid thinking about it, though it was always there, lingering at the edge of his consciousnessâ¦waiting for the moment to strike.
Like now, his conscience whispered, and he drained the glass, the liquor hitting his gut with a hot, fiery burn.
Exhaustion finally overtook him in the seventh inning, his last thoughts centering on Molly Stratton as he drifted into a restless sleep. He wondered where she was, what she was doing. Wishing he could get her out of his goddamn mind. Hating the grinding frustration⦠the illogical panic that burned like acid in his chest every time he faced the maddening possibility that he might never see her again.
Despite the oppressive heat of the evening, he slept hard, thanks to the booze. Until the dreams began again. Ian had half expected the fertile heat of the forest and the erotic frenzy of the gypsy campfire, and heâd been prepared to do everything he could to keep his focus on the first woman he got beneath him. If he went with it, then maybe he wouldnât find himself drilling Molly into the damp forest floor, taking more of her than he had any right to.
But as always, fate had a way of turning around and biting him on the ass.
As Ian pulled himself up from the deep, murky levels of his subconscious, he opened his gritty eyes to a soft, flickering lightâand instantly knew something was wrong. Something even more messed-up than before. Than the twisted nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.
There was no forestâ¦no gypsy campfireâ¦no sloe-eyed provocative brunette to slake his lust.
Instead, Ian found himself kneeling on a soft, intricately woven Persian carpet, the air around him filled with the intoxicating scents of woman and wood smoke as a fire roared somewhere in a distant hearth, the heat of the flames warm against his naked body. And sprawled before him on her back, her pale thighs spread indecently wide, lay Molly.
âWhat?â he heard her gasp, surprise softening her husky voice, blurring the edges of her speech, as if sheâd only just realized it was happening again. Sheâd probably been snuggled up in one of the lumpy motel beds, carrying on some warped conversation with his motherâs ghost, only to suddenly find herself there, with him. Her gaze flicked its way down the pale line of her body, velvety brown eyes going wide with shock as she took in the unadulterated intimacy of their positions.
She moaned, and quickly covered herself with her arms.
Lust thickened in Ianâs throat, choking off his ability for speech. He gripped her wrists, pulling her arms away from her body, pinning them at her sides. The red-and-black swirl of the rug accentuated the warm, luminous glow of her skin, while her honeyed scent grew stronger with the rise of her pulse. Atop the delicate swell of her breasts, her nipples hardened like tender berries, lush and beautiful and ripe. He wanted to draw them into the heat of his mouth, suck on them until she came undone. Wanted to run his lips across her fever-warm skin, so smooth and soft and delicious, and work his way down the mouthwatering length of her body.
âIan?â she whispered, her voice hushedâ¦shaky. âHow?â
He shook his head, unable to pull his heavy gaze away from the provocative details of her figure, each exquisite discovery making him ache just a little harder, a little deeper. âI donât know.â
âWhere are we?â she asked, her breasts rising and falling as the cadence of her breathing grew shorter and sharper.
âDonât care. Just donât move, donât cover yourself,â he growled, a grittier edge to his voice than heâd ever heard before, graveled and rough. He released his hold on her wrists and shifted, rubbing himself against her, against those perfect breasts and the soft, slick folds nestled between her splayed thighs, her sex so tender and wet he damn near lost it then and there. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, to take from her. Harsh, explicit intimacies that had no place between strangersâand yet, heâd have taken them if he had the time. Hell, heâd have given her more of himself than heâd ever given any other woman in his entire lifeâhave lost himself in her, content to spend days on end exploring the sensual secrets of her body, drowning in the discoveriesâ¦in the breathtaking details.
But time was the one thing he didnât have.
He knew that with each harsh, erratic breath, the seconds heâd been granted with her were slipping away. Trying to grab hold of them would be like struggling to trap rushing water within his hand. Pointless,