Page 61 of Unhinged

He was still furious with Hannah’s friend for trying to change her, but honestly, he didn’t altogether mind. He’d always thought she was a beautiful woman. Now that she dressed in more flattering clothes, she was even more so. She would complement him perfectly, and no man would ever touch her—except him. She was meant for him alone.

He expertly picked the lock on the back door and entered the laundry room next to the kitchen. The alarm beeped its low warning, and he bolted to the front of the house, eager to disengage the system before it announced his presence. He punched in the code and ducked into the dining room, listening intently for movement. When none came, he smiled to himself.

The feeling quickly evaporated, the smile sliding from his face. She really should be more careful with her security precautions. It was so easy to bypass things these days. The fact that she’d used a very important set of numbers didn’t help either. They represented a date that was intimately familiar to him—and to her. She’d lost her best friend and her innocence while he’d gained… everything.

He’d never truly known power until that night. That feeling as he held Selah’s life in his hands and slowly snuffed it out… It was incomparable. It hadn’t been intentional, not really. But when he’d overheard the two of them in the store, talking about boys—about sex—he hadn’t been able to help himself. Selah was a whore, and he couldn’t abide women with no morals.

Hannah, on the other hand… She was one in a million. At first, he’d assumed that she was just like her friend. Although he’d been shocked to discover she’d survived, it seemed like an act of fate. He existed just on the periphery of her life, watching, waiting.

But he was wrong. She’d never been with a man. He knew from the way she carried herself, the way she interacted with the men she’d dated. Never going on more than a few dates with one man, she was reserved and aloof. He’d realized then that she was waiting for the right man—waiting for him. The thought filled him with elation. She’d eluded him once, but now he had her. Almost.

Now that the alarm had quieted, he gazed at his surroundings, listening for any little sound. The house remained still, too still, and he knew it was empty.

Dear God, had something happened to her? Worry spread through him. She’d deviated from her routine and he didn’t like it, not one bit. He needed to look around, see if anything stood out. Careful to avoid the windows, he wound his way through the bottom floor of the house. Sticking close to the wall in the living room, he glanced at the lamp that had illuminated the room. Much as he’d guessed, it was on a timer.

He climbed the stairs on silent feet and tiptoed down the hallway to her bedroom. Moonlight spilled in through the windows, aided by the yellow glow of a street lamp, and he gazed around the room. Nothing appeared to be out of place. Her robe lay draped over a chair in the corner, toothbrush tucked into its holder on the bathroom counter. But no Hannah—and no purse.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He hadn’t seen a handbag anywhere downstairs, and there was no sign of one up here, either. She’d gone somewhere with someone. Whoever it was had probably picked her up and taken her somewhere. She would be back soon, then.

Wistfully, he glanced at the queen-sized bed. Just one moment wouldn’t hurt. He stretched out on the bed, stroking the soft cotton of the comforter, imagining the feel of her next to him. His cheek nuzzled her pillow and he inhaled deeply. She would be soft and sweet and⁠—

He jerked upright and sniffed again, unable to believe he’d missed it until just now. Lifting the pillow, he buried his nose in the fabric. A man’s scent, musky and male, assaulted his senses.

She’d had a man here. In her bed—in his place.

Red crept into the edges of his vision as his control snapped. His fingers curled into the flimsy fabric and pulled. Stuffing exploded in a puff of white as the fabric ripped, and he flung it to the side. The second pillow met its demise in a similar fashion, and he tore the tainted sheets from the bed.

Rage coursed through his body as he whipped the knife from where it rested against his calf. The long blade gleamed as it slashed down into the mattress over and over until his heart raced and his lungs heaved with exertion.

Drawing his arm back, he stabbed the knife into the wall. Time to teach her a lesson. He withdrew the object from his pocket, then draped it over the hilt of the knife. Pale moonlight fell across it, and the gold glinted in the thin shaft of light.

He’d worked too hard for this. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—give up now. Hannah would be his. He would make sure of it.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

Silky hair spilled over his chest and shoulder, tickling his skin, and Luke shifted the sleepy woman in his arms. Hannah let out a soft grumble, and he smiled into her hair.

“Time to wake up, sweetheart.”

He trailed a finger over each of hers, across the back of her hand and up her arm to her shoulder. Hannah shivered at the contact as he brushed the tiny wisps of hair at the base of her neck, and she turned her head, burying her nose against his chest. He pulled her more tightly to him, relishing the feel of her as she snuggled close.

“Mmm.” She sighed contentedly, groping blindly for the sheet.

He chuckled and caught her hand in his. “C’mon, sleepyhead.”

Her face scrunched up in consternation as he extracted the sheet from her questing fingers. “What time is it?”

He quirked a smile. Hannah was not a morning person. “Almost ten.”

Her eyes flew open wide as she tore herself from his arms and bolted upright. “Ten in the morning?”

“That’s usually how it works,” he teased, reaching for her.

She evaded his hands and, realizing she was naked, grabbed up the sheets and held them to her chest. “I never sleep in this late.”

“You were exhausted, and it looked like you needed the rest.”