Lauren's hands flew to her mouth, bile rising in her throat. The casual violence of the dead bird. The possessive tone. The thinly veiled threat against Wyatt. The implication that she was property to be kept pristine on a pedestal.

"I'm going to be sick—" She stumbled toward the bathroom, barely making it before she emptied her stomach into the toilet.

She heard Wyatt moving in the other room, his voice low as he made phone calls. Lauren stayed on the bathroom floor, her forehead pressed ...