Page 76 of Brutal Ice

“You’re my partner,” she told him. “Of course, I trust you.”

He took her hand, and then hauled her forward. His mouth took hers. Deep. Hard. Desperate. “Do everything I say,” he growled. “No hesitation. No questions.”

Her gaze held his.

“He’ll think you’re alone when you arrive. He won’t see me.” Because Royal had a plan.

She licked her lips.

“He won’t kill you from a distance. He’ll want to get up close. When he gets close, you shove your knife into him, you got it?”

Violet nodded. “The knife is already in my purse.”

That was the kind of dirty talk he liked to hear. “I’ll show you where to cut him. The best spots to drive that blade ever so deep in order to bring him to his knees.”

Violet paled, but she didn’t back down.

“Going to be able to do that, Violet?” he pushed. “You really gonna be able to shove a knife between someone’s ribs? Or to drive it into a man’s stomach and twist the blade?”

“I’ll do what’s necessary. Especially if it means saving Simone and stopping a killer.” A pause. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not backing down.”

“Good.” Gruff.

“Nothing about this feels good,” she murmured. “But she needs me. And he can’t get away.”

“The knife will be step one.” An exhale from Royal. “And then we’ll take care of everything else.” Because the sonofabitch will not be getting away from me. Not this time.

Violet would never need to fear his attack again.

Royal wasn’t going to leave this perp subdued. This wouldn’t be like the last two hunts that he’d done with Beau. For those instances, he’d left the killers waiting for the cops.

Not this time.

No bow would be wrapped around this killer’s neck while he waited—bound—for the police to arrive.

This hunt was different. Personal.

You will be dead before the sun rises because you never, ever should have touched Violet.

Dead.

Chapter Fifteen

She pulled the car to a stop near the small, rundown gas station. The lights from the big Lincoln she’d been driving lit up the old pumps. Pumps that had run dry long ago. Windows with broken glass—crisscrossed like spider webs—reflected her lights back from the front of the station. Violet leaned forward as she peered through the windshield. Farmland stretched for miles on either side of the station. Withered crops that had been abandoned probably as long ago as the gas station.

From where she sat, there was no sign of Simone.

Shivering, she reached for her phone. She kept the car running. She dialed Simone’s number. It rang and rang and…

Voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached Simone. I’m out dancing my life away. Leave a message, and I’ll hit you up later.”

Her breath rushed out. “Simone, I’m here. Where are you?” Violet hung up. Clenching her back teeth, she turned off the car. The lights immediately died away. Violet opened the door. She looped her purse over her head, wearing it across her body. Her mace and her taser were in that bag. Slowly, she exited the vehicle, and as she did, she made sure to keep a grip on her phone—and to slide the knife out of her pocket and curl it in her right hand.

“Simone!” Violet called out.

No response.

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