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)
“Your dad isn’t here,” Gray says flatly. “But law enforcement is. And you’re going to the ground.”
Kyle’s attention snaps back to me, desperation sharpening. “Tell them—tell them you came willingly. Tell them you’re—”
“I’m not,” I say, voice steady now, because Nash is here and the fear finally has somewhere to go besides inward. “You tied me up, Kyle.”
Kyle’s face contorts. He takes one step toward me—
Nash moves.
He doesn’t lunge wild. He doesn’t lose control. He simply becomes a wall between Kyle and me in one heartbeat, and the look he gives Kyle is so cold it makes my skin prickle.
“Don’t,” Nash says quietly.
Kyle’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“On the ground,” Gray repeats, sharper. “Now.”
Kyle hesitates—just long enough to think he can still negotiate his way out.
And then one of Nash’s men takes him down, fast and efficient, pinning him to the floor and snapping cuffs on his wrists. Kyle starts shouting, thrashing, spitting words that don’t make sense.
“This was supposed to—she was supposed to—she’s mine—”
Nash doesn’t even look at him anymore. He turns to me and drops to his knees in front of the chair like the rest of the room is irrelevant. His hands shake as he reaches for the rope behind my wrists. “Laney,” he murmurs, voice breaking around my name, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
The first slice of the rope feels like air returning to my lungs. Then my wrists are free. My arms ache as blood rushes back in, needles and fire. I gasp.
Nash immediately slides his hands to my forearms, steadying me, checking me like he’s counting bones. “Are you hurt?” he asks, eyes frantic. “Did he—”
“No,” I whisper quickly. “No. Just… ropes. My shoulders. I’m okay.”
His jaw tightens, rage flashing. Then he swallows it down like a man who learned the hard way how to control what lives inside him. He cuts the rope at my ankles.
The second I’m free, I fold forward—half from stiffness, half from relief—and Nash catches me like he’s been waiting his whole life to do exactly this.
I cling to him.
His arms lock around me, crushing and careful at the same time, his face pressed into my hair. “You’re safe,” he whispers. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
My body shakes like it’s finally letting go. “I knew you’d come,” I choke out, voice breaking.
Nash pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes glossy with something dangerous and soft. “Always,” he says. “Always, Laney.”
Behind us, Kyle is still yelling, the sound of a man unraveling completely. Someone drags him toward the door. His buddy is hauled up too, wrists cuffed, head down.
Gray’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Sheriff’s on his way. Everybody hold positions.”
The word sheriff makes reality crash back in.
The house. The ropes. The crime.
But Nash keeps me anchored. His thumb wipes at my cheek, and I realize I’m crying. “Hey,” he murmurs, forehead to mine. “Look at me.”
I do.
“You did good,” he says. “You fought. You stayed smart.”
“I was scared,” I admit, voice small.
“I know.” His voice softens. “Brave isn’t not being scared. It’s doing it anyway.”
My throat tightens again. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”
His face shifts, pain flashing. “Not happening. Not in any universe.” His mouth brushes mine—just a whisper of a kiss, gentle and grounding, not taking more than I can give right now. It steadies me better than any words.
Outside, sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.
Kyle’s shouting fades as they drag him out.
The room is suddenly quiet except for my breathing and Nash’s heart pounding against my palm where I’m still holding his shirt like a lifeline.
He cups my face. “We’re going home,” he says. “To your parents. To your ranch. And then we’re going to figure out the rest.”
“The rest,” I whisper, because my brain jumps there automatically—Saint Pierce, distance, the future.
Nash’s gaze is unwavering. “Yeah. The future. The part I tried to give up on. The part I don’t want to lose again.”
I swallow hard. “Nash…”
“I don’t care where you live,” he says quietly. “I’ll fly. I’ll drive. I’ll split my time. I’ll build you a porch swing in Saint Pierce if that’s what it takes.” His thumb strokes my cheek, steady. “But I’m not letting you go because logistics are scary.”
My chest aches in the best way. “You’re really saying that,” I whisper.
“I’m saying it,” he says. “And I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me.”
The sheriff arrives. Statements happen. Gray handles the details with the cold competence of a man who’s seen this kind of ugliness before and refuses to let it win. Nash never lets go of me while it all unfolds—his hand on my back, his body between me and the world.
When we finally step outside, the air hits my face like freedom.
The sky is streaked with late-day light. The quarry road is dusty. The Lone Star trucks sit like guardians in the gravel.