Page 58 of Light My Fire

Stevie went down. March hit her again.

And everything inside Tucker exploded.

He launched himself at March, a full-out body tackle that slammed him and March into the ground. The revolver bounced out of March’s hand, and Tucker rolled away, hitting his feet.

March too had rolled, and he came up with a tire iron in his grip.

He swung it at Tucker and it flew out of his hand.

Tucker dodged, dove, and rolled, facing the road, hands out.

“I didn’t peg you for the scrappy type, kid,” March said. His preppy look had turned disheveled, blood on his face, his lip cut, another cut over his eye. “You were all textbook and rules out on the line. Now what—? There aren’t any rules out here.”

“You’re right, man. There are no rules here.” Just instincts.

Then he charged March.

* * *

Stevie fully expected to wake,trussed up and kidnapped, in the back of March’s truck, the next in his line of women who would disappear, only to be discovered—raped and murdered—months later.

Instead, Stevie swam up through the pain and layers of shadow into the sunlight, her head throbbing, to the grunts and shouts of something feral happening a few feet away from her.

She opened her eyes. The world was spinning and blotchy, but clear enough to make out March wrestling with—wait.Tucker?

How did he—?

She couldn’t unravel it now. They held each other in head locks, scrabbling to bring each other down. Tucker landed a fist in March’s gut, then tripped him.

They thundered to the ground, the smack of fists against bone sharp.

She rolled to her knees, nausea rushing through her.Get up.

She pressed her head to the ground, gulping in breaths.

Get up.

A groan next to her, and she glanced over.

Dad. He held her jacket to his wound, his face pale, his breathing thin and reedy.

“Hang on, Dad. Just hang on.”

She pushed to her feet. Still woozy, she reached out, bracing her hand on the truck.

March had kicked Tucker away. He fell back, scrambling to his feet.

Tucker glanced over at her then, the fury, the fierceness on his face—yeah, he wore the same look her father had as he’d run toward her. As he threw himself in front of her to save her life.

I want that kind of love someday.

Her too. Oh, her too. Because if she could ever love anyone, it would be Tucker Newman.

The guy who just couldn’t stop showing up.

March grabbed up his tire iron and swung it at Tucker’s legs.

“Tucker!”

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