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being completely empty, he‟d parked three spots from
    her. As he pressed his key fob to unlock the driver‟s door, he watched her
    do the same with her black sports car. Luc fisted his hands. She‟d go home
    now, lose that little black skirt, white tank, red bra, and fuck-me shoes.
    Even though she played no part in the future he craved, he itched to follow
    her home . . . help her out of every garment, sink down into that perfect,
    tight body.
    He swallowed. Keep your dick in your pants. Cook, shut up, and get
    the hell out of Lafayette. Seven days. Think you can find some self-control?
    A feminine shriek zipped across the lot, shattering his thoughts.
    Alyssa.
    Luc‟s heart stuttered, and he nearly leapt over his car as he rushed
    across the asphalt. She backed away—right into his chest. He steadied
    her, palms cupping her bare shoulders.
    “What is it?” he demanded.
    Alyssa drew in a shuddering breath. “Bastards!”
    Before he could ask her who or what she meant, she reached into the
    interior and yanked on something. A moment later, she produced a long,
    serrated knife with a piece of paper attached. Under the streetlamps, it
    gleamed the word WHORE in bright red lipstick.
    Shock crested, then quickly morphed into molten fury. It was ironic;
    he‟d been thinking something similar only moments ago. But he would
    never have said it aloud, much less stabbed it to the front seat of her
    convertible.
    “Who would do this to you?” His voice vibrated with rage.
    She tossed the knife into her front seat and cast him a wary stare over
    her shoulder. “Who knows?”
    Luc turned her to face him and clenched his jaw. “Who. Did. This. To.
    You?”
    His tone took her aback. “Look, it‟s not new. Shit happens all the time.”
    All the time? That only infuriated him more. Luc drew her closer as a
    thunderous frown stole across his face. She wasn‟t afraid, and he was
    scared as hell for her. “What have the police said in the past?”
    “Police?” She shook her head. “This is just . . . a prank or a pissed-off
    customer who thought I didn‟t pay enough attention to him, most likely.”
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    Shayla Black
    And whoever did this could also be dead serious. That blade was no
    laughing matter. “What if someone really sick wants to hurt you? How long
    has it been going on?”
    “Like I said, it happens. It‟s been a while but—”
    “Get in my car.” He was done allowing her to stand like a convenient
    target in a shadowy parking lot. He didn‟t provide personal security detail
    like his cousin Deke, but he‟d spent enough time with the man and his
    business partner, Jack Cole, to know that remaining out in the open could
    be deadly.
    “What?” She looked incredulous. “I‟m not leaving my car here.”
    “I‟m driving you home. You‟re calling the police and reporting the crime
    so they can investigate.”
    Alyssa hesitated, then softened. “Luc. Your concern is really sweet,
    but—”
    “Get in the fucking car.”
    She blanched, and he cursed under his breath. He needed to get
    control of his temper. But the soaring sexual frustration, coupled with his
    alarm, had him on edge. Who thought they had the right to malign and
    scare her? Fists curled, Luc craved a chance to pound the asshole.
    Alyssa sighed, and Luc readied his next argument, but she strolled
    toward his SUV. “Fine.”
    He opened the door for her and watched her slide inside, the strands
    of her platinum hair settling over her shoulders. She looked somewhere
    between placid and reserved, despite the fact that she‟d just been
    threatened. Was she out of her mind?
    Shaking his head, he dashed around to the driver‟s seat. When he slid
    inside, she was already on the phone.
    “Sorry it‟s late, Remy. I thought maybe I should call y‟all. Someone
    messed with my car . . .”
    Quickly and unemotionally, she relayed their location and the event.
    Luc heard murmurs of the other man‟s conversation, his tone more goodol‟-boy than