Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
He drags a hand over his head, like he can still feel it there. “Judge sent me to basic training. That’s how I avoided jail time. I saw a lot of bad stuff in the desert, but nothing compared to the rage I felt that night.” He exhales, slower this time. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time. Buried it deep, I guess.”
His eyes hold mine for a long beat, steady and unflinching.
“But that’s why I am the way I am,” he continues. “Why I live to protect women and children. I knew that night it was why I was put on this Earth, and I’ve lived it every day since.”
I don’t say anything right away. I just let his words settle, let them sink in, feeling something tighten in my chest as tears sting unexpectedly in my eyes.
Outside, the wind shifts again, something moving through the trees, a quiet reminder that the danger is still there, that none of this is happening in isolation, that this shouldn’t be happening at all.
And yet I don’t step away.
Neither does he.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.
Chapter 12
Ethan
Something’s wrong the second I open the door.
It’s not subtle, not the kind of feeling I have to stop and question. It hits fast and hard, a clean instinct that settles into my bones before my mind can catch up, the same instinct that’s kept me alive on this mountain longer than most men last.
The cabin’s too quiet.
I step inside and close the door behind me slower than usual, my gaze sweeping the room in one controlled pass. “Maddie.”
No answer.
My jaw tightens. She was here. She should still be here.
I move deeper into the cabin, my boots silent against the floor as my eyes track every detail automatically, the couch, the table, the kitchen counter, each space registering in a fraction of a second. The glass I gave her earlier is still there, half full, untouched.
“Maddie.”
Still nothing.
The air shifts, something cold sliding down my spine, and then I see it. The note. Folded once and placed in the center of the table like she knew I’d find it immediately, like she wanted me to.
I don’t reach for it right away because I already know I’m not going to like what it says, but I pick it up anyway because there isn’t a version of this where I don’t.
I won’t be the reason you get hurt.
That’s it. No explanation, no plan, no indication of where she went or how far. Just that.
My hand tightens on the paper, crumpling it slightly before I force it flat again, dragging in a slow breath and holding it there until the edge of anger settles into something colder, something more useful.
“She ran,” I mutter.
I turn and scan the room again, sharper this time, looking for anything else out of place. Her bag is gone. Her camera too.
She didn’t panic. She planned this.
That makes it worse.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I say under my breath, already moving.
I grab my jacket, my keys, my rifle, and head for the door. The cold hits hard the second I step outside, biting through the heat already building under my skin, but I barely register it. All I feel is the shift, the way this has changed.
This isn’t protection anymore. This is a hunt.
And she just made herself the easiest target on the mountain.
“Damn it, Maddie.”
I drop low immediately, scanning the ground, reading the dirt, the thin layer of snow, the slight impressions left behind. Her tracks are easy to find, too easy. She didn’t even try to hide them, which tells me everything I need to know about her state of mind.
“She’s scared,” I mutter.
And scared people make mistakes. Big ones.
I follow the tracks into the tree line, my focus narrowing until the rest of the world fades out, every broken branch, every disturbed patch of ground, every shift in the terrain feeding me exactly what I need.
She’s moving too fast. She’s not pacing herself. She’s running.
“Slow down,” I mutter, even though I know she can’t hear me, and even if she could, she wouldn’t listen.
That’s the problem.
Then I see it. A second set of tracks cutting across hers.
My body stills, not from panic, but from something colder, sharper, more precise. I recognize the pattern immediately.
He’s here. He’s been here. And now he’s following her.
“Bad move,” I say quietly, not to her, but to him.
I pick up the pace, not reckless, never reckless, but faster now, more direct. I don’t need to be careful anymore. I just need to get to her first.
The forest thickens as I move, the light fading as the trees close in, the air growing heavier, quieter, until every sound carries farther than it should.
Then I hear it. A branch snapping ahead, close, too close.