Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“Kyle,” I say carefully, keeping my voice calm and low, “this isn’t… this isn’t how you get what you want.”
His eyes flash. “I’m not a villain.”
My stomach flips. “You kidnapped me,” I say, the word tasting like rust. “That’s villain behavior.”
He laughs, sharp and shaky. “No, no. This is—” He scrubs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to reorganize his brain. “This is leverage. This is a negotiation. Your daddy’s gonna sell. He’ll have to.”
My wrists ache. I test the rope once—tight. My shoulders scream. I stop. No wasted energy.
“Even if he did,” I say, “you think I’m going to… what? Thank you? Fall into your arms because you took away my choice?”
Kyle’s pacing stops so abruptly it’s like he hit a wall. His face shifts into something raw and weirdly wounded. “I was going to give you everything,” he says, voice cracking at the edges. “A house. Security. A future. Your parents wouldn’t have to work themselves to death on the ranch. You wouldn’t have to run back to the city and pretend you’re happy.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t know me.”
“I do,” he insists, stepping closer. Too close. His cologne punches into my lungs. “I watched you. I’ve been watching you since high school. Since you looked at Hawthorne like he hung the moon and he didn’t even deserve you—”
“Don’t,” I bite out, a flare of rage cutting through the fear. “Don’t say his name like you understand anything about him.”
Kyle’s mouth twists. “He’s a broken soldier playing cowboy.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “You are delusional,” I whisper. “You’re not in love. You’re obsessed. Those aren’t the same thing.”
His eyes go glassy, like the words don’t compute. Then his expression hardens, the mask sliding back into place. “You’ll understand,” he says, too calm. “You’re just scared right now. Once your daddy signs, once the ranch is mine, I’ll show you what it looks like when a man actually takes care of you.”
My stomach turns. “Let me go,” I say. “Right now. Before you make this worse.”
Kyle laughs again, but this time it’s frantic. “Worse? You think this is worse?” He gestures wildly at the room. “This is a start. This is me fixing things. This town owes my family. Your family owes my family. And you…” His gaze sweeps me like I’m a prize he already won. “You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” I say, voice shaking but clear.
His buddy shifts behind him, watching the windows like he finally remembered this isn’t actually a private fantasy—it’s a crime scene waiting to happen.
Kyle points at me again, angry now. “You were supposed to choose me. I gave you every chance. I gave your daddy an offer. I gave you—”
“You gave me threats,” I snap. “You gave me fear. You gave me a truck in the night and cut fences and—”
His eyes widen, offended. “I did it for us.”
My mouth goes dry. “Kyle…”
He steps closer again, breathing hard, losing the thread of his own plan. His voice drops to something intimate and sick. “Once you calm down, you’ll see I’m the only one who can give you a real life. Hawthorne will drag you down with his ghosts.”
The room feels smaller. The ropes feel tighter. My pulse roars in my ears so loud I almost miss it—
A faint sound outside.
Not wind.
Not birds.
A crunch of tires on gravel.
My heart stops for a fraction of a second.
Kyle doesn’t notice. He’s too busy unraveling. “You could’ve had me,” he says, as if that’s the greatest gift any woman could receive. “You still can. Just… stop fighting me.”
I lift my chin and lock eyes with him. “No.” The word lands like a slap.
Kyle’s face twists, rage boiling up fast. He lifts his hand—
And the front door explodes inward.
Not literally—no fire, no dramatic movie blast—but it slams open so hard it bangs against the wall, and the room floods with men who move like they were built for this.
“Lone Star,” someone barks. “On the ground now.”
Everything happens at once.
Kyle’s buddy lunges for something on the counter—maybe his phone, maybe a weapon, I can’t tell—
A man in black moves faster and takes him down with a hard shove and a twist that ends with the buddy face-first on the floor, pinned, cursing.
Kyle whirls, eyes wild, hand half-raised like he can somehow control this. “What the—”
“Nash,” I scream.
And then I see him.
He comes through the doorway like a storm given a body—hat gone, eyes burning, jaw carved from granite. His gaze finds me instantly.
Time narrows to that look.
Like the entire world can burn as long as I’m still breathing.
“Laney,” he says, voice rough and wrecked.
Kyle staggers backward, panic and fury battling on his face. “You— you can’t just— this is—”
Gray Calhoun appears behind Nash, calm as a knife. “Kyle Stroud, you’re done.”
Kyle’s gaze darts around the room like he’s looking for a miracle. “My dad— my dad—”