“One second.”
“I unlock the door and wait in the bedroom,” she said in a rushed breath. “Please, don't hurt him.” Even if she wasn't emotionally attached to Zach, she didn't want to see him harmed.
He prowled toward her with the gun leveled at her chest. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and her neck strained with tension, but she kept her chin up and eyes full of fuck you.
A foot away, he stopped and pressed the barrel of the gun against her breastbone, his eyes fixed on her breasts. The cold metal slid down the center of her chest, taking the thin cotton with it, until the neckline reached her nipples. He leaned in, his timbre low and authoritative. “Walk into your room and sit on the bed.”
Her body quivered against that voice, itching to obey. But the glow of his silver eyes rooted her to the floor, chilling her with the ferocity that hardened their depths.
She looked away, clenching her hands at her sides and popping the finger joints with her thumbs.
“Now!” he shouted.
She jumped, gasping for air and stumbling toward the room. He followed her in, and when she sat on the bed, he shoved the tablet under her nose.
She didn't look at it, couldn't drag her eyes from the man who towered over her. Thick, dark energy hummed around him, and he oozed malicious, predatory power from his pores. Not wild or manic, not throwing fists or flinging spit. It was calculating, in control, warning her.
With her arms wrapped around her chest and hips, she glared into his eyes, shivering against their sharp animalistic beauty. Maybe if she said his name, it would remind him he was human. “Van, are you going to make me go outside?”
The only thing that moved was his lips. “Look at the screen and swipe through the photos.”
Maybe he'd lied about his name. She glanced down, and her brow furrowed as she took in the image. It showed Zach in a parking lot with his hand beneath a brunette's skirt. She blinked rapidly, startled, confused, and shook her head. “How did you—”
“Flip to the next one.”
Her mind raced as she swiped the screen with a numb finger. The girl was on her back in the truck with Zach's shaggy head between her spread thighs.
Nausea twisted her stomach as she swiped again. Same scene, same girl, Zach's hips now wedged between her legs, his pants stretched beneath his bare ass. Amber's body temperature skyrocketed, and her chest tightened. What did this mean to Van? Why would he show her this? “How do you know him?”
“I met this guy in a bar on Sixth Street last night. He told me he was fucking a whack job named Amber on Tuesdays and Fridays, and he wanted to stick his dick in a real woman.”
Her hands locked into fists. He could've been making that up.
He tucked the tablet beneath his arm. “With the lights on.”
Her stomach dropped, and an ache swelled, angry and painful, around her heart. “So you thought you'd...what? Enlighten me? While waving a fucking gun?” It was too much, too many surprises coming at her too damned fast. “Well, guess what? I am a whack job, and he can fuck whom he wants. Why do you care?”
His pupils flared, swallowing the silver rims of his eyes. “He's due at noon? Yes or no.”
Son of a bitch. “No. Twelve-o-four.”
He glanced at the side table, and she followed his gaze. 11:58 glowed on the clock.
No way did he just happen upon Zach at a bar after he just happened upon her porch. She gritted her teeth. “How long have you been watching my house?” And how the hell did he get in? “Oh my God. You stole my key? You arrogant, thieving dickhead!”
“Be careful, Amber.” His icy glare raised bumps over her skin. “Cover yourself up.” He waved a hand at the closet. “You have thirty seconds.”
Of all the women in Austin, why her? If he knew her schedule, maybe he'd figured out Zach was the only person who would notice if she disappeared. Hell, he had her phone. If he'd looked at the log, he'd know she talked to no one, had no one.
She strode to the closet, trying like hell to keep her shaking arms over her thinly-covered boobs. “What are you going to do to him?”
“If you ask another question, I'll kill him, slow and messy, all over your carpet.”
Her mind played out that scenario in Technicolor, and her thoughts degraded to a sick, selfish place where her disorder bred and thrived. The damage to her carpet would be permanent, a constant reminder, and she couldn't afford to replace it.
“If you convincingly chase him away, I'll let him live.” He glared at her, his lips pressed in a line. “And I do mean convincingly. The fucker better walk out of here without a doubt in his mind he'll never see you again. I just gave you the ammo to do it. Use it. Fifteen seconds.”