Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
My heart stutters so hard it hurts. Clint. It’s definitely Clint. He’s not disguising his voice now. The room seems to tilt. Tucker doesn’t move. Not one inch. But every line of him goes lethal.
The voice on the phone laughs softly. “I know he’s there, Lucy. Men like him are always there at first.”
“You don’t get to call me,” I say, and I’m proud of how steady I sound because inside I’m shaking all over.
“Aw, there she is,” Clint drawls. “Knew you missed the fight with me. Oh the passion in you, I love working you up, and breaking you down. He’ll never be able to get to you like I can.”
Tucker reaches over and takes the phone from my hand before I even realize he’s moving.
“Listen to me,” he states, his voice low and flat and absolutely terrifying. “You call this number again and I’ll put you in the ground.”
Silence.
Then Clint laughs. “Who’s this? New guard dog? I’ve watched you come and go around my kid. You may be big, buddy, but a rock, or in this case a bullet can still take down a giant.”
“Motherfucker, I’m the man telling you that if you come near her or the kid, they’ll never find enough of you to bury.”
The line goes dead. The whole house goes silent. I stare at Tucker.
He stares back at the dark phone screen for one beat too long before setting it carefully on the table.
Too carefully.
Like if he isn’t deliberate, he might break something. And maybe he would.
I realize all at once that my entire body is rigid. Shoulders up. Breath shallow. Hands clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms.
Tucker sees it. His gaze flicks over me, taking in the tension. And something changes in his face immediately. The rage is still there, but it shifts direction.
Away from me. Away from the room.
He takes one slow step back from the table and lifts both hands slightly, palms open. “Hey.”
I can’t seem to answer.
“Lucy.” The softness in his voice now almost hurts more than the threat did. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Look at me.”
I force myself to. His expression is tight, jaw hard, but his eyes are steady.
Clear. “I’m angry,” he states carefully. “At him. At any threat. That’s the alpha male part of me, and I’m not going to lie about it.”
The phrase should sound ridiculous.
It doesn’t. Not coming from him. Not right now. He takes another measured breath. “But I would rather die than hurt you or Quinn.”
The words land hard. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just true. I know they are. I know it in my bones. And because I know it, the panic that had started to crawl up my spine slows just enough for air to make it back into my lungs.
My throat works finally. “I know,” I whisper.
He studies me carefully, making sure I’m being up front.
He nods once. Then, slowly, like approaching a skittish animal, he moves closer. Not touching yet. Just near enough that I can feel the heat of him, the restraint in every line of his body.
“How long?” he asks quietly.
I swallow knowing what he’s asking without him giving specifics. “A week.”
His eyes flare. I know what he wants to say. I know what it costs him not to.
“A week,” he repeats.
“I wasn’t sure at first.” I sigh, “he sounded different, distracted. I was hoping his latest fling would come back so I could be a second thought again. Apparently, that is over for real and now he’s back to his favorite pastime, messing with me.”
“Lucy.”
“I know.” My voice breaks on the words.
His jaw works. Then he says, very evenly, “Tell me everything.”
So I do. About the first call at the diner. The second by Quinn’s bedroom door. The third in the stock room. The voice, the breathing, the way every ring of my phone has felt like a threat lodged under my skin since then.
He listens. Still. Focused. Deadly in the way only very dangerous men can be when they’re making themselves stay calm.
When I’m done, the room is quiet again. Then Tucker reaches out. Slowly enough that I can stop him if I want. I don’t.
His hands settle on my upper arms, warm and strong. Grounding.
“First thing,” he says, “we change your number.”
I blink. “That simple?”
“It’s a start.”
“What if he still finds me?” I ask unable to hide my worries.
“He won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No,” he says. “But I can know he doesn’t get easy access.”
I look down at his hands on my arms. At the steadiness in them. At the care.
“You sounded like you wanted to kill him.”
“I do.”
The honesty of it should probably disturb me. Instead, it makes something in my chest unclench.
“But I’m not going to do anything stupid tonight,” he adds.
“Tonight?”
One corner of his mouth almost moves. “Don’t push it.”
A laugh escapes me.