Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
“Tell me what happened,” he says, voice low and patient. Like he’s got all the time in the world.
I don’t even know where to start. “He was at the diner. Waiting for Casey. Just… watching her, for hours. Then he threatened us, right in front of everyone.” I can feel myself shaking, not from fear exactly, but rage. “He said, ‘Family should stick together. Shame if something happened to yours.’ Who does that?”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens, the line of it sharp as a cut stone. He’s quiet for a second, but I can see the tension coiling in his forearms, his back, the way he blinks twice before answering. “Did he touch her? Did he put hands on you?”
I shake my head. “No. But he wanted us to be scared. He wanted me to be scared, and I—” My voice cracks. “I am. I’m fucking terrified for my sister. He’s not going to stop.”
"He won't hurt you," Wyatt asserts, his tone unwavering and firm as iron. His voice is infused with a resolute certainty that leaves no room for doubt. "He won't harm your sister, or your mom. Not as long as I’m breathing."
"What if he does something to you?" I ask, my voice tinged with apprehension.
Wyatt doesn't even flinch. His gaze is steady, unyielding. "He won't get the chance," he replies with certainty.
I realize he means it, every word. And for the first time in hours, my heart rate actually drops below warp speed.
He rocks me gently, back and forth, as I tell him every detail of the encounter. By the end, I’m boneless and wrung out, all the anger replaced by heavy relief of feeling Wyatt’s strong arms wrapped tight around me.
Wyatt brushes a thumb across my cheek and wipes away the last of the tears. Then he tilts my face up and kisses my forehead, light and careful, like I’m something precious.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, soft against my skin. “You don’t have to do anything except let me protect you.”
And for once, I don’t argue. I just nod and rest my head on his shoulder, soaking up his warmth until the shakes finally stop.
Later, he carries me to bed and holds me close, his breath in my hair and his hand on my back. For the first time since I moved back to Silver Spoon Falls, I actually feel like I’m where I was always meant to be.
And when I wake up, I know that whatever happens next, I won’t face it alone.
CHAPTER 12
WYATT
I wake up to find Naomi half-buried under my arm, her wild hair tangled against my chest. The room smells like her and I’ll never get enough of her vanilla fragrance mixed with the raw, sweet scent that means she fell asleep after we fucked last night.
I let myself breathe her in for a minute, hand drifting over her bare shoulder, watching the way her cheek rises and falls against my ribs with every slow, even breath. In sleep, she looks nothing like the tough, razor-witted woman who can hold her own in a roomful of perverts and high-rollers. She looks young, fragile, lips parted just enough to show the line of her teeth, her hand curled into a loose fist at my side. Her face is marked with the faintest lines, traces of worry she’ll never admit to anyone but me. I press my lips to the crown of her head and let my eyes close, pretending—for one minute—that nothing ugly can get to us here.
Of course, that’s a lie. I didn’t sleep more than twenty minutes last night, thinking about that little shit, Stellan, and what he might try next. My mind kept running the same tape over and over again. I can hear Casey’s panicked voice on the phone, Naomi’s face as she told me about the threats, the way her hands shook when she finally let herself fall apart. I told myself I’d wait until daylight to deal with it, that I’d give her this one night of peace, but my heart never got the message.
I can feel my pulse in my jaw, in my wrists. My muscles ache from holding her so goddamn tight. I know I should let her sleep, but the urge to touch her, to make sure she’s real and whole and still mine, is too much. I shift onto my side before sliding my hand up her arm to the back of her neck. The skin there is soft, warm, and impossibly alive. I trace the line of her spine with my fingers, then lower my mouth to her shoulder and kiss it, feather-light at first, just enough pressure to gently wake her.
She stirs. A little moan escapes her lips, quiet and questioning. I push the hair away from her ear and whisper, “It’s just me, fever.” My voice is gravel but gentle.