“Hello, Sarah.”
Color drained from Sarah’s face, and she nearly dropped the pillowcase from her hand, but she tightened her grip at the last second and prevented it from falling.
A wicked smile had spread over Brent’s face. It wasn’t his natural, sly, charming grin that had first made Sarah take him to bed, but instead was wild and violent. The corner of his left eye twitched, which only accentuated his madness.
“Bet you never thought you’d see me again, huh?” Brent asked, as if she should be impressed that the pair had reunited. He stepped toward her slowly, methodically, arm outstretched with the gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger. “You’re my ticket out of here, Sarah.” The smile widened even further, stretching Brent’s face to an unnatural width.
Sarah remained still, either frozen by fear or fatigue. Her muscles were little more than jelly. She knew that she couldn’t make a run for it. She’d get three feet before he put a bullet in the back of her head. She had to keep him coming toward her. She needed to get closer.
“No,” Sarah said. “I didn’t think we’d see each other.” She flashed a smile. “Goes to show how much more you know than me, Brent.”
“I tried to help you, Sarah.” Brent continued his walk forward, and the smile waned. “I wanted you to be my right hand. We could have done whatever we wanted, we could have ruled the city.”
“We can’t go back?” Sarah asked, keeping her tone docile and attempting to flirt even though she wanted to vomit. “We can’t give it another try?”
Brent wiggled his eyebrows, the conflict raging inside of him evident from his expression. His arm shook, wiggling the pistol as he stepped closer. “No. I can’t—We can’t.”
“If you kill me, then they’ll send you to jail, Brent,” Sarah answered. “You need me to take the fall for that woman you killed.”
“And the trooper.” Brent looked away for a second, his voice a whisper, as if he had suddenly just remembered all of the terrible things he’d done over the course of his life. He shook his head, shaking the memory from his thoughts. “It’s over, Sarah. No more running. No more games.” He cocked the hammer back. “No more.”
Sarah’s heart hammered in her throat, and her nerves grew hot and flustered. Adrenaline had her blood pumping and set her body on fire. “Wait, just wait.” She held up her hands, trying to buy herself some time and knowing the one thing that even madness couldn’t steal from a man. His lust.
Sarah dropped the pillowcase. She stepped toward him, opening her jacket as she did. And despite the cold, she didn’t shiver.
Brent kept the pistol aimed, but when she passed the barrel and was less than an arm’s length away, he slightly lowered his arm, his eyes transfixed on Sarah’s figure.
She approached him slowly, hesitantly, as if she were aroused and frightened by his prowess at the same time. It was a technique that she had discovered that most men enjoyed, but Brent most of all.
He dropped his eyes to her chest, his mouth slack, as she raised herself up on her toes and brought her lips closer to his neck, and in the same motion ran her hand down his chest, stomach, and stopped at his belt.
“I know you remember how it felt.” She kept her voice low, and she felt his heart pound against her own chest. “I know you remember how good it made you feel.” He looked down at her, and she flashed a short smile. “How good it made me feel.”
His breathing grew irregular and heavy, and while his attention was focused on her, the gun was still outstretched, and his finger was still on the trigger. And with her exposed, all it would take for him to kill her would be to place that barrel against her temple and then squeeze the trigger.
Sarah kept her eyes locked on Brent’s while her practiced fingers unbuckled his belt. His desire had hardened, but still he kept the gun up and aimed. She needed him to drop it. She needed him to let go. She pushed her hand into his pants and stroked him, inching her own lips closer to his until they were only a breath apart.
“If you want me,” Sarah said, her voice still that whisper. “Then take me.”
Brent’s entire body trembled, his eyes locked on her, his breathing quickening, and then in one split second, he dropped the pistol and forced his mouth onto hers. He picked her up, his hand groping her body, and pinned her against a tree.
Sarah peeled her lips away from his and then eyed the pistol on the ground as he kissed her neck. Then, slowly, she pushed his head down, and he kissed her body as he lowered to his knees. Sarah ran her hands through his hair, hardened by the cold and all of that fucking gel he put in it. She gave it a playful tug and forced his eyes up toward her.
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
And when Brent smiled, she swung Brent’s head down and thrust her knee as hard as she could into his nose. The contact triggered a wave of pain all the way to her hip, which was only worsened by the cold, and blood spurted over her jeans and the ground as Brent’s head popped back and he tumbled to the dirt.
Sarah sprinted for the gun, arms outstretched, and she made it three steps before a hand clamped around her ankle and pulled her to the ground.
Her chest and stomach smacked against the rocky soil, the air rushing out of her lungs with a heavy whoosh noise. She turned to look back and saw Brent’s angry snarl and the flash of blood on his face.
Sarah kicked again, hitting Brent in the forehead, but he refused to relinquish his grip. He clawed forward. She squirmed, thrashing her body as viciously and wildly as she could muster.
