Across the street, a black Lincoln sedan sat in the darkness with all lights off.
I sat inside, watching the surveillance feed on the in-car monitor. Every ugly fight and twisted exchange between that man and woman was clear on the screen.
A warm hand, calloused from years of handling guns, slipped into the collar of my silk robe.
Lucas knelt on one knee on the carpet in the back seat. His fingertips moved over my shoulder, then settled against my chest.
His low, hoarse voice was rough with desire he had suppressed for too long.
With his lips pressed beside my ear, he asked, "Watching the people who hurt you tear each other apart like animals, does it give you any satisfaction?"
My breathing caught. I tilted my head back and let his lips bury themselves against the side of my neck. T
