She lifted one shoulder. “Insist all you want, you miserable little puke. I said no.”

Curtis grabbed Yvette and dragged her into his side. “You’ll do it, or I’ll strip her shirt off, and then light her up and let you watch her burn.”

Doing her best to block Yvette’s terror-stricken face, Margo weighed the seriousness of the awful threat. They all looked deranged enough to do it. “I thought Toby wanted to rape her?” She shifted her gaze to Toby. “I thought he needed an intimidated girl that he could easily control. If you toast her, then what will he do? Excuse himself to the bathroom to play with himself?”

Toby locked his jaw.

Nervously, Saul snickered.

She knew they waited to see what Curtis wanted. She prayed he wouldn’t make her strip. She was afraid if he did, it’d force Dash to react too quickly.

Releasing Yvette, Curtis walked to the dining table and picked up Toby’s knife. “He’s f**ked bleeding women before.”

Cannon took a step forward.

Quickly she did the same, causing him to halt. Calmly, meaning it with every fiber of her being, she said, “Then for that, he’ll die.” And she pulled off her shirt. Without fanfare, without even really caring. She wanted Saul to get close so she could end this. She would enjoy killing the sick fool.

Dash was breathing hard. Cannon looked away.

Tipton kept his worried gaze on his granddaughter.

But Toby...Toby breathed deeper, put a hand to his crotch and rubbed. “The bra, too.”

Uncaring, Margo opened the front catch to her bra and let it drop. She didn’t slump, didn’t let her shoulders droop or her chin lower. Stuffy air washed over her naked br**sts and shoulders, her waist and belly above her slacks.

Toby thought she’d be less cocky if he got her half-naked. Well, he could bite the big one. She wouldn’t cower—no matter how mortified she felt.

“Now?” Saul asked, staring at her chest while shifting from foot to foot. “Can I stick her now?”

“Yes,” Curtis said softly, his gaze locked to hers, hoping to see some wayward emotion. “I think it’s time.”

Dash was deathly still, Toby distracted by her boobs, Curtis expectant. Only when Saul got close did Margo shift her attention to him.

Yvette softly sobbed, and poor Tipton suffered in silence.

Cannon kept his gaze averted, but Margo would bet on him being very aware, and very prepared.

With a low, guttural giggle, Saul looked at her chest and wiggled the needle, maybe thinking of where he’d like to stick it. In his other hand he held the gun...loosely. Jaw slack, eyes vacuous, he inched closer—and finally put himself within her reach.

As fluid as possible, Margo lunged. She knocked aside Saul’s gun hand while grabbing his wrist and forcing his hand up and into his own chest...where she depressed the plunger.

At the same time Dash sprang from the chair. He only had his right hand loose, but that didn’t stop him from hefting the dining chair and swinging it straight into Toby’s head, where it shattered off a leg and a slat from the back.

Cannon reacted, too, kicking out and sending Curtis backward into the table.

Screaming, Curtis squeezed the lighter, but from out of the kitchen, Rowdy grabbed his wrist—and broke it with little effort. The lighter fell from his grasp and Rowdy kicked it away.

Yvette had dropped down to the floor, curled in on herself, hands over her head, sobbing.

Logan and Reese burst in, guns drawn.

Saul quietly went numb, slumping down, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Ignoring her own near-nakedness, Margo quickly relieved him of his gun.

In the middle of the floor, Toby and Dash fought in a tangle of arms and legs. Toby was meatier, but Dash was far more pissed. He pounded on him, and in the process took a few blows himself that barely registered. Parts of the chair still hung from his left wrist, handicapping him only a little.

He half sat up and with undeniable force, punched Toby right between his legs.

The bastard gave a throat-stripping groan and curled in on himself. Still heaving, Dash stood and turned to her.

Toby, too dumb to know when to quit, picked up one of the broken chair pieces and drew it back.

Margo shot him. Once, twice. Right in the chest.

Yvette screamed.

Chaos reigned.

Toby went blank, his eyes losing their evil glint. Sinking back, he hit the floor, sprawled out and just...died.

Shirtless, her recovering arm now hurting like a son of a bitch, Margo crossed her arms over herself. “Dash?”

He was there in the next second, pulling her up and into his arms, holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Her br**sts were now hidden against his chest, but that left her naked back still exposed. She was vaguely aware of Logan giving orders, or other cops now crowding in.

Reese took Curtis from Rowdy, roughly cuffing him, uncaring of his broken arm.

“Cut me loose,” Cannon demanded, and it was Rowdy who produced a big folding knife and took care of that.

Immediately Cannon went to Yvette. He lifted her in his arms and went down the hall and into the bathroom. Margo heard water turn on.

Dash ran his hand through her hair, keeping her tucked close. “He’s washing off the kerosene,” Dash explained. “It burns.”

Burns? “Call an ambulance,” Margo said to the room at large, knowing Logan or Reese would handle it. And then to Dash she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Dash opened his big hands on her back, pressing her ever closer. “I am now.”

“I need my shirt,” she whispered, feeling a little slow. “And we should call the fire department about the fumes, and—”

“Ambulance is on the way.” Logan, gaze averted, handed over the shirt. “Fire department will be here soon.” He nodded at Dash’s legs. “If that’s kerosene, you need to get it washed off.”

“Right.” He kissed Margo’s temple, her cheek. “Come on.” Holding her close, still shielding her with his body, he walked with her into the kitchen.

Once they were alone, he set her back from him, his hands on her head, smoothing, touching her everywhere as he looked her over. “You’re okay?”

She nodded. “Take off your jeans.”

At the same time he said, “Put on your shirt.” With a shaky smile, he shook his head. “God, things are f**ked up.”

He helped her first, lifting the shirt and smoothing it over her head. He swallowed hard, then drew her in for a warmer, longer kiss to her mouth.

Hands cupped to her face, he put his forehead to hers. “Is your arm okay?”

No. Nothing was okay. She felt tears well up, but no way in hell would she cry right now. Nodding, she choked out, “Yes.”

Dash studied her face, and sucked in a slow breath. “I love you.”

Oh. Dear. God.

Talk about timing. She tried to get air into her lungs, but none of her important organs seemed to be working. She felt her lips move, but not a single sound came out.

Dash’s smile went crooked, reassuring her that he wasn’t insulted by her lack of a response.

Yet.

But God almighty, she had to get it together. “I—”

Logan stuck his head in, saw Dash with his jeans still on and scowled. “Get them off, already. You could end up with blisters. Wash off in the sink.” Then he said to Margo, “Paramedics are here. Do you need—”

Still reeling, she shook her head and said, “No.” She hadn’t been hurt. Not physically. “Have them tend to Yvette.”

Normally, that would have been enough for Logan.

No longer.

He stepped into the kitchen and moved close, watching her like he might any other vic who could possibly be traumatized. He even touched her chin, turning her face to the side to inspect the growing bruise from where Toby had slapped her.

“Logan...” she began, unsure what to say. Your brother loves me. No, that wasn’t something she wanted to start blabbing about here and now, especially when it could just be emotion talking. Dash wasn’t used to life-or-death scenarios. He wasn’t a cop.

He was just...awesome. Incredible. Cool under pressure. Burning-hot in the sack. Sweet but controlling. And how he controlled...

Oh, God, oh, God.

Ignoring her, Logan again turned to Dash. “Damn, do I need to strip them off you myself? Because I will if you don’t immediately—”

“All right, yeah. Got it.” Dash hurriedly kicked off his soggy shoes and peeled off his socks. Opening his jeans, he pushed them down and off. All while Logan continued to hold Margo’s face—and for some stupid reason she let him.

“Did you get any on your boxers?”

“No, they’re dry.”

Logan said nothing as he waited until Dash went to the sink and ran water over a dishcloth.

Satisfied, he turned back to Margo. Finally he released her face and...handed over her bra. He didn’t look discomfited by it. Apparently he’d gotten over the idea of her being a woman.

Glad that her underwear wasn’t still out in the middle of the floor where any number of cops might’ve stepped over it, she nodded. “Thanks.” Putting on a bra was the least of her concerns at the moment, so she just let the lacy garment hang from her hand.

“I checked on Yvette and Cannon.” Logan glanced at Dash. “He got them both stripped of their pants and in the shower. She’s pretty shook up, but he already talked her into letting the EMTs check her legs. The skin looks raw, broken in a few spots. But I think she’ll be okay.”

Margo knew better. It was going to be a very long time before Yvette recovered. “That poor girl.” Twice now she’d gone through this mess.

“Hey, thanks to you she’s alive and we have the bastards.” Logan ran his big hand over the side of her head, smoothing her hair in a way similar to how Dash often touched her, only without the hot look. “That is, we have two of them. Toby is dead.”

“Good,” Dash said from the sink.

Margo didn’t say anything. She’d promised the pervert that she’d end him, and she had.

Her only regret was that the other two hadn’t given her cause to shoot them, as well.

Logan searched her face. “Before things get too crazy, we need to talk.”

In his black boxers, Dash rejoined them, his legs now dripping water all over the floor. His skin looked sunburned, making her frown.

Logan folded his arms over his chest. “Rowdy’s snitch said it was a silver-haired man who ordered our perp to your house.” He waited one heartbeat. “The patrols were pulled back. That’s how the creeps got in here in the first place.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Dan?”

“He fits the description. Plus that address you gave me?”

“No way. Dan? Seriously?”

“Afraid so. He claims the address is wrong, but...” Logan shrugged. “Has he ever had a chance to unlock your window?”