But I processed his knee hitting the bed and his hand capturing my arm.

I shot up and tried to pull away.

“What the f**k?” I clipped as he looped the scarf over my hand, it tightened at my wrist and, even as I pulled and struggled, before I knew it, he’d tied the other end to my headboard.

My eyes shot to him and rage shot through my system.

“You f**king f**ker!” I screeched.

“Look at my hand, Sylvie,” he ordered, calm as could be, the f**king f**ker!

“Fuck you!” I yelled, my other hand going toward my wrist tied to the bed but he batted it gently away. My eyes shot back to him. “Let me untie it!”

“Look at my goddamned hand, Sylvie,” he bit out, calm a fleeting memory.

“Fuck you!”

He moved. My eyes moved to where he moved and I saw his fingers tug at the end of the scarf, a slight yank and my wrist was instantly released.

I froze and stared.

Then I wasn’t frozen anymore but not because I moved. Because Creed’s hand wrapped around the back of my neck, he pulled me to him and both his arms closed around me, plastering me to his body.

“That’s how you do it,” he growled in my face. “You do it so, you get tweaked, you still got control and you can get yourself loose any f**kin’ time you want. You do it and you have a safe word so, it goes places you don’t like, you say it and it… fuckin’… stops. The guy who did that shit to you, Sylvie, he was a goddamned animal, takin’ from you what you didn’t want to give. Not all men are. In fact, most men aren’t. And I’m a man who’s not.”

“Let go of me,” I snapped.

“I gave it time. Your mouth on my tat, I’m done with givin’ it time. You’re not gonna dig deep, I’m diggin’ in there for you.”

“That is not gonna happen.”

“It is. You don’t wanna talk. I will. He promised me, Sylvie.”

My body went solid before I tried to jerk away but his arms only tightened so tight I could barely breathe.

His face got close and his voice got low. “He promised me. I would never, ever f**kin’ leave you to him unless he promised me.”

I glared into his eyes.

“He lied,” he whispered.

“We’re done,” I hissed. “You’re out. We partner but you’re gone. Outta my life. Outta my house. Outta my bed. Outta everything but the job.”

“No f**kin’ way and you know what?”

“I don’t care what,” I clipped.

He ignored me. “The way I know it’s no f**kin’ way is because you won’t be able to let me go. I can leave. I can be gone. You can try to make it just about the job but you won’t be able to do it. I know that because you didn’t kick my ass out, Sylvie, not completely. You’re keepin’ it about the job and that shit is not about Knight. It’s about finding a way to stay connected to me. You’re foolin’ yourself, baby, but you sure as hell aren’t foolin’ me. I been dead for sixteen f**kin’ years, suckin’ in air and not gettin’ any oxygen until I sat down with Knight Sebring and he told me the names of his team. Then, finally, f**kin’ finally I was breathin’ again. And you know, don’t f**kin’ bullshit me, you know you been dead until you woke up that morning, rolled off your bed and aimed your gun at me. Try to deny it, Sylvie, but your tongue traced your name on our pier on my skin because you needed that. You need me. You won’t stay away and you won’t let me go because, baby, you can’t breathe without me.”

Then he let me go. I fell to my hand in the bed and watched as he moved through the room, bending and tagging his shit before he walked right out.

I reached low and yanked the sheet up.

Shit. Fuck. Shit!

Okay, get my head together. Okay, see to Charlene and the kids. Get to Knight. Explain. Get to the airport. Get the f**k out of here.

My body jolted when Creed stormed back into the room wearing nothing but his jeans.

He stopped, planted his hands on his h*ps and demanded to know, “You know where he is?”

I stared at him, not keeping up before I asked, “Who?”

“Dixon,” he bit off.

My head jerked. “Who?”

He leaned forward, his face suffused with hard fury, “Jason f**king Dixon. The animal who did that to you.”

Cold washed through me. Ice cold.

Oh no. I didn’t like this.

I did not f**king like this.

And I didn’t like it because I had no freaking clue what he was talking about but he seemed to know.

Just whatever he knew was not right.

“What?” I whispered.

Creed ignored my question and asked his own. “He still in Kentucky? Or did you just get the f**k out and don’t know?”

“Jason Dixon married Peggy Linklater six months after you took off. By the time I left, they had two kids and she was pregnant with the third.”

It was the truth but it was the wrong thing to say. I knew this because it seemed every muscle in his body stood out in deep relief, such was the effort he was making not to move.

I got up on my knees holding the sheet to me. “Creed –”

“He wanted you,” he growled and that cold crept deep.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Dixon had a thing for you,” he told me.

“I know.”

“We fought about him,” he reminded me.

“I know,” I repeated.

“You told me it was only me.”

Oh God. Oh shit. What the f**k was this?

“It was only you.”

“You bled for me.”

Oh God. Oh shit. What the f**k was this?

“Creed –”

“Did he lie or was it you?”

I shook my head. “This is… we’re not going over this. This shit is history.”

“Can’t fake blood,” he told me. “You gave me your virginity.”

“Yes,” I snapped. “What is this shit? Of course I did. You know that. Jason Dixon? What the f**k are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer. He asked, “Who did it to you?”

“You know. You told me you knew,” I reminded him.

“He told me it was Dixon.”

“It wasn’t Jason Dixon.”

“He told me it was Dixon,” he repeated.

Jesus, God, what was this?

“It wasn’t Jason Dixon.”

“Then who was it?” he demanded.

“We’re not doing this, Creed,” I fired back.