Page 49 of No Strings Attached

Chapter Sixteen

Sleeping on the floor hadn’t done Sam’s back any favors. He grimaced, feeling like an old man, his body protesting as he sat up.

Just beyond the window, the sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon, its rays painting the sky with a stunning display of oranges, pinks, and purples. Sam sat in the peaceful moment, captivated by the beautiful view.

The view below him was even more breathtaking. Morgan looked so peaceful as he slept, his hair tousled. His incredible, naked body was completely at ease as his chest rose and fell with each steady breath. Sam gazed at him, overwhelmed by the depth of love he felt for this man.

Not wanting to wake his mate, Sam carefully lifted the blanket from the bed and draped it over Morgan then quietly crept out of the room and gently shut the door behind him.

With so many bags to rummage through, Sam felt like a kid on Christmas as hurried down the hallway. He forced himself to slow down when he reached the stairs. The last thing he wanted was to face Dr. Baldwin again and explain why he’d tumbled ass over teakettle down the steps.

The phone wasn’t what held Sam’s interest. He’d gone so long without one and had no one to call, so the device would probably collect dust.

What made him bubble with excitement were the clothes. For a decade Sam’s wardrobe consisted of things he’d gotten from the donation center or items given to him by people who’d let him sleep on their couch. He would always appreciate the generosity of others, but there was a special feeling that came with having something brand new, never worn by another person.

Sam knelt in front of the couch, carefully removing each item. When all the bags were empty, he had no idea what he wanted to wear first. There were just too many choices.

Since he was famished, maybe eating something would help settle his excitement so he could decide what to wear, though he was really leaning toward the soft green shirt and the cream-colored shorts with two front pockets and belt loops.

Nope. No decision would be made until his grumbling stomach was taken care of.

Sam stood, grinning as he walked toward the kitchen. He wasn’t even sure why he was considering an outfit when the day was almost over, but he was just too damn excited to wait until morning.

And to show his appreciation, Sam was going to cook a nice dinner for him and Morgan.

If his mate insisted on spoiling Sam, then he was going to do some spoiling in return.

Sam’s smile faded as he stopped halfway to the kitchen, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He walked backward as quietly as he could, his heart racing so fast that the blood rushed loudly in his ears.

Nothing had grabbed his attention, but if his body was telling him something wasn’t right, Sam was going to listen to it.

Just as he reached the steps that led to the second floor, a blur of motion rushed toward him.

“Morgan!” Sam stumbled as he tried to spin and race up the steps. He was yanked backward and thrown so hard that his head cracked against the wall. Sam gripped his temple and tried to stagger away, desperate to get to his mate, but he tripped over something and crashed to the floor.

“You want to steal from me?” Daryl’s voice was a deep, unhinged snarl. He ground his foot into Sam’s back where he still had his stitches. “After everything I did for you. Give me my fucking duffel bag before I start removing body parts.”

A thunderous sound made the floor beneath Sam vibrate. Before he could figure out what it was, Daryl yanked Sam to his feet by a fistful of his hair, sharp claws digging into his neck.

Sam cried out, gripping Daryl’s wrist to stop the guy from ripping out his hair. “Take one more step and this human will drop dead before you can save him,” Daryl warned.

Through his pain and tears, Sam saw a naked Morgan standing halfway down the stairs, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth should have shattered.

“All I want is what belongs to me, cop. Hand it over and I’m gone.” Daryl’s grip on Sam’s hair felt like razors cutting into his scalp. “Don’t try to play hero. Your decision will decide whether Sam lives or I rip his throat out.”

“Your bag isn’t here,” Morgan growled. The combination of his massive, muscular body and his canines on full display made him appear as if he’d just walked out of the bowels of hell.

“Either you give me the fucking bag or I drag Sam out of here. I’ll stash him until you go get it, and then we’ll do an exchange.”

If Daryl dragged Sam out of the house, the guy would kill him, regardless of what he’d just told Morgan.

“You can blame Sam for this. If he hadn’t been a goddamn thief, none of this would’ve happened.” Daryl jerked Sam’s head back violently, pressing his claws tighter against Sam’s throat. “I’m done talking.”

Daryl walked backward, keeping Sam in front of him as he headed for the kitchen. Sam kicked and struggled, but his feet dragged along the floor.

Morgan moved down the stairs, slowly advancing toward them, the promise of death in his eyes. “Let. Sam. Go.”

Throwing an arm out when they reached the entrance to the kitchen, Sam frantically tried to hold on to the wall. Daryl was too strong and easily jerked Sam back enough so that Sam’s fingers slid free.

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