Page 159 of Darling Psycho

Lawless’ resting face was arrogance, and he did it sexily.

Turning her head, the kiss stole her entire heart. Every shred of her belonged to him. He kissed Angela until she clung shamelessly, willing to go for another round.

“Yes, I wanted you. I always fuckingwant you.”

A pounding of love overwhelmed her.

“I thought being snowed in with me made you antsy for some time alone.”

Another kiss, this one lasting longer, deeper. His hand left her thigh, molded to her aching breast. “That’s crazy thinking.”

“Yeah, well. I’m in love with a psycho, it tends to make a woman crazy.”

And wasn’t that the truth?

Lawless showed her just how much time he wanted to spend with her for the next few hours.

Though, some of that time, she was bound and gagged with her panties.

Wicked, delicious psycho.

THIRTY-FIVE

“Today was not the day to be a hero.” - Angela

According to Angela’s mama, bad luck always came in threes.

Two days ago, an assignment she’d worked on for a full week was deleted when her computer had a meltdown and reset itself. So she frantically rewrote it in twenty-four hours without sleep and too much coffee until her nerve endings vibrated.

And then her newly repaired truck kind of, sort of, went into a snowbank when she wasn’t concentrating, and she had to face Lawless’ wrath on how she could have gotten herself killed. He was dramatic. It was hardly a death situation. But maybe it was worth going off the road when she had the pleasure of watching him climbing down from his Harley and stalking toward her. God, that man could walk so sexily.

But now, she believed in her mom’s three bad luck strike theories.

It had been several weeks since the shooting incident.

Lawless and Rider assured her Ruiz was neutralized, whatever that meant. She didn’t delve further, just happy it was over and no one else would shoot at her man.

It happened fast.

The third strike.

No one could have seen it coming.

Not Angela, anyway.

She wasn’t criminally minded. Her eyes didn’t look for danger nearby.

She was too trusting of everything.

She might be in love with a criminal.

People she called family might be in that lifestyle, but her brain didn’t work that way.

It was why it was too late.

The third bad luck strike came.

And before that day was over, the day before Thanksgiving, Angela was locked in a too-tight box. Presumably buried alive.

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