“I didn’t tell anyone anything. I swear, the only person who knew was Linc.” I was pleading now.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell him: sweat, leather, old smoke. The air felt thin.
“I should’ve finished what I started that night,” he said.
I shoved at his chest with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”
He caught my wrist mid-swing, his grip bruising my skin. “You’re not walking away this time.”
“Linc will find me,” I said. “He’s already looking.”
Something flickered in his eyes at Linc’s name. A flash of hate twisted his smile.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “He always did like playing the hero.”
He yanked me forward, the rope sliding through his fingers. I twisted, my shoulder slamming into the wall hard enough to make spots flash behind my eyes.
“Let go!”
He laughed, breath hot against my cheek. “Scream all you want. No one can hear you over the music.”
I screamed anyway. The sound tore through my throat, raw and desperate, echoing down the hallway.
He clamped his hand over my mouth. The skin of his palm tasted of salt and dust.
For a heartbeat, everything froze. The muffled roar of the crowd on the other side of the wall. The burn of fear floods every inch of me. The weight of his body pinning mine.
Then somewhere, faint but certain, I heard my name.
Linc’s voice.
Josh’s grip tightened.
He leaned close enough that his words brushed my ear. “Looks like the cowboy’s too late this time.”
The rope in his hand loosened, the loop falling open, swinging toward me like a slow pendulum.
And that was when I stopped being afraid and started getting angry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LINC
The crowd inside the arena was already worked up before the first gate swung open. It was the kind of noise that filled every inch of space, laughter and applause, and the shuffle of boots against concrete. Strings of lights hung from the rafters, blinking red and gold over the sawdust and the smell of horses. It was Christmas Eve in Montana, and the town had come out for it.
Kristin was supposed to close out the barrel racing. She had been calm all day, too calm for someone who had been looking over her shoulder for weeks. She said she was fine. I had almost believed her.
The announcer’s voice cracked through the speakers.
“Next up, Kristin Felder riding Lady.”
The stands roared. The spotlight pointed toward an empty alleyway. Judges and pick up men stood there looking back and forth when they realized there wasn’t anyone coming.
I waited. One beat. Two. Three. The noise dulled to a restless murmur.
She never missed a call.
Kipp caught my eye from the timing table. I motioned for him to hold the clock. He frowned but nodded.
