Page 103 of Gunner

“Someone did.”

I took the bag from her hand and looked inside. Seeing the lasagna, I knew exactly who had ordered the food. Shaking my head, I couldn’t stop the smile.

“Kirby, wait. Let me get you a tip.”

“Already taken care of.” She waved as she jumped back in her car and backed out of the driveway.

Closing my door, I leaned back against it and closed my eyes.

Despite him not being there to answer, I asked out loud, “What are you doing to me, Gunner?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Gunner

Sitting in my truck, I watched Kirby pull into Haizley’s driveway. Getting out of her car, she jogged up the steps and knocked on the door. A moment or two passed, and no one answered.

Kirby looked at her watch and knocked again. Finally, the door opened and there she was.

Haizley Walker.

The other half of my soul and the sharp pain in my ass.

When she looked in the bag and saw what it was, her shoulders slumped. That was her tell that she was giving in. She called out to Kirby before the woman got back in her car. I was sitting too far down the street to hear it. But I didn’t need to. She didn’t try to give it back. I counted that as a win.

Who would have guessed watching a woman’s shoulders slump would have the power to get me hard as steel? A professional might suggest that my desire to control her every action was indicative of narcissistic tendencies.

Yeah, I had looked some shit up.

I knew what it was. Knew what I was doing was wrong. I just didn’t give a fuck.

She was mine.

Mine to control.

Mine to protect.

Mine to fucking consume.

And mine to fucking love for the rest of our lives.

She was running scared, but that was ok. I enjoyed the hunt. The wolf always did. And when he finally captured his lamb, there would be nothing left of her for anyone else.

I sat in my truck until all her lights went out. Thank God the weather had finally broken. April wasn’t summer, but at least there was no more fucking snow.

Time quickly fell into a pattern in the days that followed. At precisely eight o’clock in the morning, a breakfast delivery was made to Haizley’s location. The dinner delivery arrived promptly at six o’clock in the evening. Beginning the day following her departure from the clubhouse, I started having lunch delivered promptly at one o’clock.

For the first three days, she texted and asked me to stop. When I refused, she started texting thank you.

Sitting in my truck outside her house, my phone buzzed.

Little Lamb:Thank you for dinner. It really isn’t necessary.

Me:It is. You need someone to take care of you.

Little Lamb:I’ve been taking care of myself for the last twelve years.

Me:Twelve years too long.

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