The truth.

The paper on my chest told it all.

I realized where she must have gotten it. Kale’s accident. Her dad’s shop was the only tow in town and the one we used for police matters. She worked for him, ran the business side of it. She must’ve collected Kale’s things out of the truck, found the letter. Learned the truth. Wasn’t happy about it.

Obviously, based on the fact that my balls were aching, she’d had a plan to get back at me.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Sarah was scorned as shit.

Technically I’d broken up with her. But not by choice. I’d done it for her. I sighed, tipped my chin back, grabbed the wooden slat that held me prisoner, and tugged at it, but it didn’t give. “Fucking quality construction,” I grumbled to myself.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of this mess with my dignity intact. But that wasn’t all that important now.

Sarah was what was important. I’d hurt her. Enough to buy me at an auction so she could get me like this, to punish me. Payback for what she thought I’d done to her. I tugged on the slat some more. Gritted my teeth and yanked.

She still had feelings for me, although not the right ones. I had to make this right. She was out there mad at me. I couldn’t have that. The thought that I’d hurt her again, that she’d been hurting all this time was like acid in my stomach.

There was hope though. I tasted it on my tongue.

She might hate my guts, but she wanted me. If I had to get her in my cuffs and pleasure her until she talked, I’d do it. It was time to get shit straightened out. To make her mine once and for all.

As soon as I got out of these fucking cuffs.

6

SARAH

Saturday Morning

“You bought Huck Manning?”

I stalled at my dad’s question just outside the doorway to the service bay. Blinked.

Of course he would have heard about what I’d done at the auction. The Bend was small enough that word traveled fast. I hadn’t been subtle about my interest in winning Huck Manning. I’d given the first and only bid and was going to be taking a chunk out of my checking account to pay for it.

No woman could blame me. He was over six feet of male perfection. Solid. Strong. Chiseled. Tousled fair hair I remembered running my fingers through. A square jaw I’d… sat on. His mouth. God, so skilled. He might be the chief of police, but he was dangerous to me.

I cut over to the shop’s small kitchenette, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and peeked inside it to make sure it was actually clean, then filled it from the coffee pot, which was always fresh and full. Only after I doctored it with some sugar did I respond.