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I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not exactly scraping by, Layne. You sell every one of your boring sculptures for a small fortune.”

“Whatever,” Layne said, rolling her eyes. “So… is the sheriff gorgeous?”

“He is. He looks quite good in the uniform, and I think he’d look good out of it too,” I said, imagining Asher’s shirtless body. The tattoos spanning his sculpted chest and his arms were magnificent. “See ya. I have to leave before it turns dark,” I said, looking outside the window and stilled. What the fuck was he doing here? His wild green eyes were on me, and when I met them, he stared. “Oh, fuck. He’s here.”

“The sheriff?” Trina asked.

“No, the crazy bastard.”

Did he come to finish what we started? And why oh fucking why couldn’t I say no when it came to him?

“Asher? Can we say hi?” Layne asked, rubbing her hands together, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Please.”

“You can’t say hi. We aren’t friends, Lay.”

“He’s there anyway,” Layne said with a pout. “Come on. I want to see how he looks.”

“No fucking way. Go sculpt your boring sculpture. I’m hanging up now.”

“You’re such a party pooper, Dee,” she grumbled, and her screen went off. I smiled at Trina, and she blew me a kiss.

“Have fun with the sheriff. You deserve it.”

I quickly logged out and closed my laptop and put it inside my backpack. Grabbing my phone and my bag, I walked out.

“I already know you’re here,” I said with a smirk as I pulled out the second tracker from my backpack, hiding it in my palm. “Did you come to say goodbye?” A low growl came from somewhere behind the cottage. “Don’t be shy, Pussycat. Come on out.”

“Well… I came to warn you.” Asher’s mouth twisted, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating look as he stalked toward me. “Oh,” he gasped, his eyes on my dress.

His gaze flickered to my lips, the cocky glint shifting to something darker. He gently pushed me until I was pressed up against the tree.

“You’re in no position to warn me, Asher. I’ll break you if you try anything I don’t like.”

He laughed, leaning closer to me.

Grabbing my hands, he pushed them above my head. “You talk a big game for someone so small,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. His fingers slid down my throat until he pressed them against my jumping pulse. “I can end you right now. If I want.”

“I can bite your cock off if I want. Right now.”

I nudged my knee into the bulge in his pants, and a whimper left his lips.

The line between the desire to kill and the desire to fuck had long become blurred for me. I knew it was the same for him.

He raised an eyebrow, licking his lips, his hand loosening around mine. I pulled my hands out of his hold, pursing my lips.

“Do it. Or is that pretty mouth of yours only good for empty threats?”

I dug my finger into his erection, enjoying the sharp intake of his breath, before moving the other to his back, sticking the tracker on his boxers.

His eyes dipped to my lips, and for one long, torturous second, there was nothing but the pounding of my pulse, the heat in his stare. I almost forgot why I started this game now.

When his lips crashed against mine, it was fierce, almost brutal—a mix of need and anger. This wasn’t a kiss; it was a battle. His mouth claimed mine, urgent and hard, his teeth grazing my lips in sharp, stinging bites.

Every kiss, every nip was a mark. He was branding me. He wanted me to remember this—the taste, the pain, the wildness of it—long after it was over. He wanted me to remember him when I was with Vincent.

He moved from my lips, his mouth along my jaw, biting and tasting, before he dipped down lower. To my chin, down my throat… devouring every inch of skin he could reach, leaving me begging for air.

When he pulled back, I closed my eyes, praying my legs wouldn’t give in. I didn’t want to feed his already inflated ego.