How Many Times Do I Have to Say I'm Sorry? (Maudlin Falls)

by Lesli Richardson

  Leaning a little, she got a look at his pale ass. Tight, nice.

  Lustful heat rolled through her core when she imagined leaving bite marks on his unblemished flesh.

  Later. At home.

  “Hurry up,” she growled.

  He straightened and turned away from her as he tucked himself in. “I’m sorry, but it’s not every day I get raped at dinner by a perfect stranger.”

  Guilt flashed through her. She hadn’t given him much of a choice. It wasn’t his fault he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken care of pleasantries first, like finding out his name and zodiac sign, before taking him to bed and claiming him. “You damn sure didn’t fight me. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain. Later. At home.”

  “Who says I’m going home with you?” He finished putting himself back together, lips tightly pursed as he reseated his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate you paying for my dinner, and…this, but frankly, I’d rather go home. Alone.” He held out his hand, presumably for his laptop case. He wasn’t a skinny toothpick, but she’d seen more muscles on a starved raccoon.

  Oh, my mate is so cute when he’s angry. She’d soon fuck that attitude out of him. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Sorry.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re coming home with me. You’re going to follow me, and when I tell you, you’re going to run like hell for my car.”

  Screw the earlier plan. She’d shoot the fucker in the booth and mojo a few patrons to swear they saw one of his buddies do it. She’d been to this pub before and knew they didn’t have any security cameras in the dining room.

  Her mate glared, but he couldn’t resist her order.

  She grabbed his still outstretched hand and dragged him out of the bathroom. Across the crowded restaurant, Peckingham sat in his booth, oblivious.

  She leaned in and rumbled in her mate’s ear. She really would have to ask him his name at some point. “Wait for me by the front door. When you hear the shot, run. I’ll catch up with you.”

  “What shot? Run where?”

  “Straight ahead. You’ll see my car. Can’t miss it. Go.”

  Casting a glance at her over his shoulder, he crossed the dining room and stopped at the door.

  Good, she didn’t want to have to chase him down after making the kill.

  That could lead to a very ugly accident. Or, at the minimum, public indecency.

  At least she still had his laptop. She had a feeling he wouldn’t try to run away without it.

  She stopped beside a waitress, touched her shoulder, and sent her a thought. On her way across the room, out of Peckingham’s direct line of sight, she repeated the action several times with patrons and waitresses alike. Then she walked up to his table.

  The men were so drunk they didn’t notice her at first.

  “Jonathan Peckingham, Junior,” she softly said.

  That’s when his eyes focused on her. Recognition and fear washed across his features. She drew her gun.

  “As Head Enforcer of the Targhee pack, and by edict of the pack Alpha, this is for selling out your daughter, asswipe.”

  She put one hollow-point bullet squarely into his heart and another between his eyes into his brain, turning both to mush and ensuring his demise despite his wolf shifter bloodlines. He slumped back in the booth. Screams filled the restaurant as she calmly holstered the gun and turned from the booth. She’d expected at least one of his slimeball buddies to come after her, but they didn’t, apparently in too much shock and too drunk to do anything but stare at their fallen comrade.

  Across the room, the glass door was swinging shut after her mate. Several patrons spooked by the sound of the gunshot stampeded toward the door. Quick, smooth strides carried her across the dining room, through the throng, and out the door before she even had to reach out to push the door open again.

  She spotted her mate halfway across the wet asphalt, frightened, running. Without missing a step she reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. In his path, her Saleen’s lights blinked and the horn chirruped as the car unlocked.

  He slid to a stop a few feet from the car as she strode up behind him and opened the passenger door.

  “In.”

  When he hesitated, she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him into the seat and dropped his bag in his lap. “Buckle up.” She closed the door and walked around the front end to slide behind the wheel.

  When she turned the key, the engine smoothly roared to life. More patrons spilled out of the pub onto the sidewalk and into the parking lot as she pulled out and pointed the car toward I-75. A few sheriff’s cars passed going the other way, lights and sirens blaring, heading toward the pub.

  She smiled at him. “Another job well done.”

  * * * *

  He felt like he could barely breathe. He sat there clutching his laptop bag and praying he’d wake up in a hospital after maybe slipping in the shower or something. When a line from The Big Bang Theory came to mind, something about a lack of adhesive ducks, a frantic giggle escaped him.

  Or maybe I’ve died and this is a weird form of Hell?

  Okay, maybe not Hell. Not that he was religious, but he guessed eternal punishment probably didn’t include scorching hot sex with a smokingly gorgeous stranger.

  “My bike’s back there,” he lamely said. It was the only thing he could think to utter in his shock. “I need to get it.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror as she took the I-75 northbound on-ramp. Then she looked at him. “Ah, I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have taken you for a rider. That’s good. We can ride together. What kind of bike? Harley? Or something fast and sporty, like a Ducati or a Hayabusa?”

  “Schwinn.”

  She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “That’s not a motorcycle.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, I’d never ride a motorcycle. Those things are dangerous. It’s a bike, a twelve-speed. I prefer to take green transportation. I want to leave as small a carbon footprint as possible.” He knew he was ridiculously babbling in his fear.

  He didn’t think he imagined her disgusted sigh as she turned back toward the road ahead of them.

  “I told you to buckle up.”

  He wanted to argue, but something in her tone told him that might be a very, very bad idea.

  Especially considering she’d just killed someone.

  He carefully set his laptop bag on the floor between his feet and buckled his seat belt. “Where are we going?”

  “Home. I told you that.”

  “You told me? Sorry, I don’t remember that. Would that be before or after you raped me?”

  Maybe not the wisest thing to say, but self-preservation had never been his strong suit.

  In the glow of the instrument panel, he saw her expression darken. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to explain.”

  “When are you planning on making time?”

  “After we get home. I have to eat.”

  “I have a home, and it’s in the other direction—”

  He was thrown hard against the seat belt as she jammed on the brakes, the car sliding with a loud squeal of tires on the damp pavement. They came to a stop on the right-hand shoulder.

  She turned to him. “Listen to me, and listen good. For the last time, you’re coming home with me, and it’s now your home, too. Do. You. Understand?”

  Something about her eyes stole his strength. Not just their sweet, dark mocha color, but they compelled him, washing away all his will.

  He felt himself nod.

  She nodded back. “Good. We’ll figure out how and when to get your stuff moved.” She shifted the powerful car into gear and took off again, the force slamming him back in his seat. Apparently, she drove at only two speeds—stop, and oh, shit.

  He wanted to ask her name, or at the very least find out if she was going to kill him, too.

  She spoke again, her tone sounding more gentle. “No, I’
m not going to kill you. I will not hurt you, I swear. I’m sorry you had to see that. I never expected to meet you tonight.”

  Spooky. As if she’d read his mind.

  Maybe I don’t want to know her name. Less chance of him identifying her so she wouldn’t come after him. “So you can’t let me go because I know what you did?”

  She smiled. “Not exactly.”

  He liked her smile. Jesus, I’ve lost my mind. I’ve been abducted by a hot sexy murderer, and in less than five minutes I’m already suffering Stockholm Syndrome.

  She veered toward the Land O’ Lakes exit. “I’m not a murderer. I’m a pack Enforcer. That fucker sold his fifteen-year-old daughter to his drug dealer to be a sex slave so he could pay off his debt.” She timed it just right so she rolled through the intersection as the light turned green, veering hard to the right. “Asshole does something like that, he gets taken out. It’s my job to do the taking.”

  “Isn’t that something for the courts to decide? Why not turn him in to the police?”

  She snorted. “Police have no business in pack business.”

  He didn’t know what to make of that, so he kept his mouth shut.

  * * * *

  For more information on Bleacke’s Geek and the other books in the Bleacke Shifter series, including buy links, you can visit the page I have for the series on my website.

  About the Author

  Author Lesli Richardson, who is better-known by her more prolific wild-child Tymber Dalton pen name, lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. She writes a wide variety of heat levels and genres, from mainstream sci-fi all the way to scorching ménage.

  The USA Today Bestselling Author (as Tymber) and two-time EPIC award winner is a part-time Viking shield-maiden in training who loves to shoot skeet and play D&D with her friends. She’s also the author of over one hundred and sixty books and counting, including The Reluctant Dom, Cross Country Chaos, Her Vampire Obsession, the Bleacke Shifters series, the Governor Trilogy, the Determination Trilogy, The Great Turning Trilogy, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, the Coffeeshop Coven series, the Good Will Ghost Hunting series, the Drunk Monkeys series, and many others.

  She lives in her own little world, but it’s okay—they all know her there.

  She loves to hear from readers! Please feel free to drop by her website and sign up for her newsletter to keep abreast of the latest news, snarkage, and releases.

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