I had more important shit to worry about than tonight’s precarious win. I could see nothing but Alex, think of nothing beyond her body restrained on my bed. Alone and vulnerable.

Holy fuck, I had to get out of here.

“I’ll go collect,” Jax said. He knew. One look into my wild, feral face, and he knew that I needed to be with Alex on that damn boat. Of course he did—he’d given me the heads up about Zach’s escape. I’d pushed ninety the whole way to Portland, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. When she’d walked through that door…

Fuck, relief didn’t even begin to describe it.

Adrenaline still pumped through my blood, stringing me so tight I might snap in two. Six fucking months without her had nearly killed me. Fighting in this damn cage tonight instead of being with her was killing me, but I hadn’t been able to back out. Not without pissing off some guys no one dared piss off.

I slung the duffle over my shoulder and elbowed a path around people, ignoring congratulatory high fives and murderous glares. The steady din of voices receded, and that fucking door ballooned in my eyesight.

I wanted through it, now. Wanted across the field to the dock where my boat called to me. Where the sexiest temptress on the planet, in the fucking universe, waited with her wrists and ankles bound by leather, body helpless and begging to be stripped bare.

We both knew our true bindings; the invisible line, born of pain and devastation, which connected our hearts. Nothing on Earth could sever that, not even six months, during which I’d tumbled down the path of no return. Even so, I’d known.

Going back for her wasn’t an if—it was a when. But I never thought Zach would be the reason for going back. If not for his escape, I’d still be battling my inner demons and convincing myself she was better off without me. And maybe she was. I considered the various layers between us—space, doors, even the clothes hiding her body. The horrific things I’d done. That last layer was thick and not as easy to overcome as opening a door or ripping material apart. She was going to hate me, not only for what I’d done—leaving her alone and believing I was dead—but for what I wanted to do, the urges I could no longer contain.

Like squeezing the fucking life out of her brother as soon as I tracked down his ass. I should’ve killed him six months ago. Then it would be done. Over with. No longer an issue I had to agonize about. And I’d never have to worry about him going after Alex again.