Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
A man in a leather jacket brushes past her near the canned goods aisle, and she startles hard enough to drop the basket she’s carrying. The sound of cans hitting tile is louder than it should be, and she freezes like a deer waiting for the shot.
I crouch down, picking the cans up one by one as I look up at her. “Hey. It’s just a guy, Rox. He’s nobody.”
She nods, but her hands are shaking. Close up, I can see the fine tremor in her fingers and her pulse hammering in her throat.
I hand her the last can, brushing my thumb over her knuckles before I can stop myself. “You’re safe. You’re with me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She forces a small smile, but it doesn’t light her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
But she doesn’t. Not really.
Whatever she’s running from has sunk its claws in deep, and it’s still there, coiled behind her ribs. I can see it in every careful breath she takes, every glance over her shoulder.
Back in the truck after we stock up on groceries, I turn to face her, not even starting the engine yet. I wait for her to look at me before I speak. “I don’t know what happened before you came here, but whatever it is that’s got you so scared, we can help. You’re not alone anymore.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes wide and glassy on mine. For a moment, I think she’s going to shut down again, but then her shoulders start to shake. She covers her mouth with her hand like she’s trying to keep it in, but it breaks anyway.
The dam. The silence. All of it.
It comes out in pieces at first, how she’d been at work on an ordinary night. How she recognized the man at one of her tables. What she overheard. Her voice cracks when she says the word mob.
By the time she gets to the part about the gunshot going off behind her and hearing glass shatter, she’s sobbing so hard she can barely breathe. I don’t think, I just reach over and pull her into my arms. She clings to me like she’s drowning, and I hold on tighter, running my hand up and down her back until her breathing slows.
When she finally pulls away, her eyes are red, but she holds my gaze anyway, her next words coming out in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have told you. If he finds out where I am—”
“He won’t,” I interrupt, my voice coming out rougher than I mean it to. “He’s not getting anywhere near you, Roxie. Not while I’m breathing.”
She blinks, like she doesn’t quite believe it, but I mean every word. “Boone, Dillon, and I will figure this out. All we need to do is tell them. No more shutting us out, okay? If we’re going to keep you safe, we need to know everything.”
She wipes her face with the sleeve of her sweater, her eyes still shimmering. “I’m sorry for bringing this to your door. I dragged you into something that has nothing to do with you.”
I reach for her hand. “Don’t ever apologize for doing what you had to do to survive. You hear me?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, uncertain but searching. I lean in and kiss her with slowness and certainty. A promise more than anything else.
“We’ll protect you,” I murmur against her lips. “That’s not up for debate.”
For the first time since I asked if she wanted to come to town with me, a small smile tugs at her mouth. “Thank you.”
17
DILLON
When Roxie and Chance get back from town, I know something’s up. Chance has that stormy look he wears whenever he’s planning something. His jaw is locked tight, his eyes shadowed.
After we help haul the supplies inside, he barely waits for the door to close before saying, “We need to talk.”
Boone and I follow him to the living room, where Roxie stands by the fireplace, her fingers twisting together, her expression a mix of guilt and terror. My chest tightens. Whatever this is, it isn’t something small.
“Hey,” I say gently, keeping my tone light. “You look like you’re about to confess to a murder. Nobody here bites, promise. Unless you’re into that, of course. If you are, I can totally bite.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, and I pat the couch beside me. “Come on, sit. You’ll feel better.”
She hesitates, then finally moves toward me and takes the seat I offer. The second she sits, I reach for her, tugging her gently against me.
I feel the tension thrumming through her body, tight and high-strung, like a wire pulled taught. She sags against me, not fighting my grip, leaning into me like she needs something to steady her.
In response, I tighten my hold and brace myself. It’s useless. Nothing I’ve done prepares me for the truth. I think maybe she’s hiding from an ex-boyfriend or, at worst, a loan shark.