Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
But still… she shivers.
“Someone’s watching,” she whispers.
Cold shoots through my veins.
I pull her closer without thinking. “No one here is a threat.”
“I know,” she says. “This feels… old. Like it followed me.”
Those words punch the air out of me.
Old.
Followed.
I look around again—slower this time, more deliberate. Shadows, light poles, the line of the forest behind the fence.
Nothing stands out.
But my gut doesn’t settle.
“Let’s get inside,” I say quietly.
She nods.
My room is dim and warm, light from the hallway slipping under the door. She stands by the dresser, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “It’s like… I’m safe here, but not safe. And that doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” I say. “Because it’s not about the place. It’s about the feeling.”
She looks up at me then—big eyes, vulnerable in a way she rarely lets me see.
Something in me gives up resisting.
I step closer.
Not touching yet. Just inhabiting the air between us.
Her breath catches.
“Tony…” she whispers.
I brush a knuckle along her jawline, slow, deliberate. Her skin warms under my touch. She leans in instinctively.
“You don’t have to be afraid here,” I say.
“I’m not afraid of here,” she says. “I’m afraid of… this.”
She gestures between us.
Yeah. Me too.
But I won’t say it.
I take her hand, intertwining our fingers. “You’re staying in here tonight.”
Her eyes widen.
“Nothing’s happening,” I add, thumb stroking her palm. “Unless you want it to. This is about safety. You understand?”
She nods slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
I let go of her hand only long enough to pull back the blankets. She climbs in hesitantly, as if she’s not sure she’s allowed, and that alone squeezes something painful in my chest.
I circle to the other side and lie beside her, leaving space.
Enough space to keep a promise.
Not enough to feel distant.
The lamp clicks off.
Darkness settles.
Silence stretches.
Then—
“Tony?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me be here.”
I stare at the ceiling.
“I’m not good at this,” I say quietly. “Having someone in my space. Having someone… matter.”
She turns her head toward me. I feel her gaze even in the dark.
“I’m not asking you to change your life,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“Then why does it feel like your world shifted a little when I walked in?”
Because it did.
But I don’t say it.
Instead, I reach across the sheets and gently pull her closer until her head rests on my shoulder. She goes easily, without hesitation. Like she wanted that from the second we lay down.
Her hand slides across my chest.
Her breath warms my throat.
Her body curves into mine like she was made to fit there.
My pulse kicks hard.
“Is this okay?” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “It’s okay.”
Better than okay.
Dangerous.
Her eyes flutter closed. I listen to her breathing, steadying, softening. My hand drifts up her back, slow strokes meant to calm her. Or maybe to calm myself.
After a minute, just when I think she’s asleep, her voice comes quietly:
“It’s gone.”
“What is?”
“That feeling,” she whispers. “Of being watched.”
I tighten my arm around her.
“Good,” I say.
But deep inside, a cold thread winds through my gut.
Because I don’t believe it’s gone at all.
Not yet.
And definitely not because we crossed the state line.
It lingered for days.
It followed her two states away.
It sits just beyond the fence line, faceless for now.
Whatever is out there watching her… it’s patient.
But I’m watching too now.
And I don’t lose sight of threats once I’ve marked them.
Not ever.
Seventeen
Holley
The morning starts out so normal it feels like a lie.
The kind of morning that tricks you into thinking the world is steady, that nothing bad is lurking behind the next minute. Sunlight filters through the kitchen window at the Hellions’ compound, hitting the coffee pot just right. Tony is in the garage, already cursing at someone for stripping a bolt. And Tiffany—his daughter—leans against the counter finishing her drink, looking like a woman made of steel and sarcasm.
“You ready?” she asks, lifting her brow at me.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, adjusting the strap of the tote bag I’m bringing.
We’re going into town for groceries. Simple. Harmless. A chance for me to get to know her better because—let’s be honest—I have absolutely no idea how to be around people Tony loves. I want her to like me. Not because that’s required, but because the thought of disappointing Tony in that way feels… unbearable.
She smirks, clearly reading my nerves. “Relax. You’ll be fine. Worst-case scenario, you pick out the wrong brand of coffee beans and he sulks for a week.”
“That’s worst-case?” I squint my eyes at her, “he didn’t drink coffee when we were together. Did I miss a cue?”
She smiles. “You pass.”
“Huh?”
“Look in this world women are a dime a dozen. I brought up coffee to see if you paid attention to my dad for more than the orgasms he gives you. You passed the test.”
“Does he sulk?”
She nods, “that is as bad as it will get unless you do something dumb.” She moves. “Trust me,” she says, heading for the door, “in this family sulking is a cake walk to some of the things these men will do to get a point across.”