Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fighting against the continuing ache in his ankle, he got to the fence line quickly, and he knew it was in his best interest to push on. But he couldn’t stop himself from pausing to touch the red fabric. His fingers closed on the satin, caressing it. Right away, a groan built up in the back of his throat. The material was soft. Really fucking soft. Just like the flesh under the girl’s stomach.

So hurry the fuck up.

He let his fingers drop, placed his palms on the top of the fence, and hoisted himself up and over it. Gingerly, he set his feet down on the other side. There, he paused and listened. The night air was quiet. No sounds of the girl, running wildly away. No city noises. Not even the call of a nocturnal beast pierced the silence. The lack of sound was a frustrating sliver, digging into his skin.

Patience.

And there it was. The crack of a twig. He swung toward it and started off.