“Some of the people are looking. I see them.”
“You worry too much about that kind of shit. This is about you and me wanting each other. Come on, babe, I need you,” he coaxed.
Cara’s heart thumped and her pulse raced. Maybe it would be exciting. Hawk wanted to bang her, and he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that there were about forty people out in the yard. She did want to please him, but in public? Her stomach was a tight ball, and she had the urge to run away. In the golden reflection of the bonfire, and in the shadowy darkness of the yard’s outskirts, everyone was fucking and no one cared who was looking, but Cara didn’t want the pleasure she and Hawk shared to be on display. It just wasn’t her style, and if he cared anything for her, he’d understand. Call me a prude, but this isn’t my scene.
“Come on, babe, open up.” Hawk’s hands tugged at her closed legs.
“Hawk, I’m sorry, but this isn’t for me. I know you’re cool with this, but I’m not. I don’t mind kissing and stuff, but screwing you in front of a bunch of people just isn’t my thing.”
Hawk was quiet.
“I know this is the way things are done in your world, but you have to respect my world, too. I don’t feel comfortable with all this. I hope you understand,” she said.
Hawk still didn’t say anything. He withdrew his finger, wrapped his arms around her, and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Are you mad?” Cara said.
“No, I’m not mad. I don’t want you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. It’s cool.”
“I like our intimate moments to be for us only. It makes it special that way, you know?”
“You don’t have to explain, babe. I get it.” Hawk kissed her head. Turning around, she cupped his chin in her hand, licked his lips, and kissed him possessively.
“Down deep, you’re a real sweetheart,” she murmured.
Holding her close, they sat on the ground, arms wrapped around each other, and watched the sparks of the bonfire spit and sputter. Well after the flames died to smoldering embers, they held each other.
* * *
Later that night, in his room, Hawk held Cara as she slept, allowing an intimacy he had never felt with any woman grab hold of him. It amazed him that he could enjoy holding a woman without fucking her. Remembering their fucking, his cock twitched. My wildcat is too fuckin’ hot. When I’m deep in her pussy, it’s like nothing in life matters except for her. Fuck, I need her in my life.
Earlier that day, Cara told him she was happy, and he wanted to tell her he was happy, too, but he couldn’t. Fearing that his revelation would give her the upper hand, he didn’t say anything. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Cara is the best thing that’s happened to me besides the Insurgents. Why can’t I tell her how she makes me feel?
Trusting a woman was not in his makeup—in the end, they always fucked the man over. Even though what he had with Cara was good, it was almost too good, and dread permeated his mind at the thought of losing it. Fear she’d take off like his bitch mom gnawed at him. He couldn’t be sure Cara would stick around for the good and the bad, and although the barriers around his heart weakened, he wasn’t ready to give Cara all of it.
Shit, I’m fucked-up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The early morning frost crunched under the detectives’ feet as the sun attempted to cut through the clouds’ grayness. The small group of men viewed the lifeless body of a young, blonde woman on the mountainside next to Platte Creek. Her body had all the earmarks of the Mountainside Strangler, a name coined by the Pinewood Springs Tribune.
“Fuck, the sick bastard did a number on her,” Earl McCue, lead detective, hissed through his teeth.
The men stood over the body and imagined the horrific way this young woman spent her last hours. The detectives were quiet; a few thought of their own daughters, safe at home in warm beds, while others thought of stringing up the sadistic fucker responsible for such havoc.
“He stepped up his game on this one,” observed Earl.
Young Jane Doe #8 had the same bruises, cuts, cigarette burns, and ligature marks around her neck as her predecessors. However, the killer added a new twist to his mayhem: he sliced off her nipples and slashed open her vagina.
In canvassing the area, the investigators located motorcycle tracks again, as well as car tracks. Earl had no doubt an outlaw biker gang was messed up with this. He didn’t think they did the murders, but their involvement was clear. Except for Hannah and Dana, all the other women the fucking monster tortured and killed were petite and blonde. They had also been Jane Does until Nadyia Kravchenko; the sheriff’s department received a big break when her sister identified her.