The forest seemed to exhale around us, the fear that had coiled in my gut beginning to loosen its grip. Jackson’s steady presence, the warmth of his arms around me, was a bulwark against the lingering dread. The fire crackled, a small, defiant beacon against the encroaching night, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I allowed myself to feel a fragile sense of peace. The weight of my past, the monstrous things I had endured, still pressed down, but for this moment, in the quiet embrace of the wilderness and the man who had become my sanctuary, I felt a flicker of something akin to hope.
“Jackson?” I whispered, the sound barely disturbing the stillness. He shifted, his arms tightening around me, a silent acknowledgment. “Do you regret it?” My question, heavy with unspoken fears and lingering doubts, hung in the air between us.
“Regret what, baby?” His voice was a low rumble, a comforting sound that smoothed the jagged edges of my anxiety.
I shook my head, the movement small against his chest. “Sleeping with me?” My words felt too fragile, too inadequate to capture the enormity of what had transpired. He chuckled, a soft sound that vibrated through me, his thumb tracing slow circles on my knuckles.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting mine, reflecting the firelight in their depths. “Not the pain, notthe joy. Because it led me here—to you.” His words settled, a warmth spreading through me, a promise that held more weight than any vow.
Moments later, the quiet was broken by his murmured question. “Do you?”
I shook my head again, a slow, deliberate movement.
No. I didn’t regret it. Not the shared vulnerability, not the raw, unbridled passion. Not the moment where our shared pain had somehow woven us together, forging a bond that felt unbreakable. Then, before I could even fully process my affirmation, his lips were on mine again, a kiss that was no longer a desperate claiming, but a tender surrender. His kiss deepened, a silent conversation of shared scars and burgeoning hope. The fire crackled, a warm hearth in the encroaching darkness, and for the first time since that horrific night, I felt a fragile peace settle over me. Jackson’s arms were a fortress, his presence a promise of protection against a world that had tried to break me. He didn’t force me to feel differently, didn’t demand forgiveness or understanding. He simply held me, his steady presence a testament to the bond forged in the fires of our shared trauma.
“I don’t regret it either,” I finally whispered, my voice thick with emotion. My words felt true, a declaration of the unexpected solace I’d found in our tangled, broken existence.
He pulled back, his blue eyes, usually so fierce, now softened with a tenderness that both thrilled and terrified me as his thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. “I love you, Karlyn Ingalls. You’re mine now and forever. Mine to love. Mine to protect.”
I smiled up at him, tenderly caressing his face, wanting to say those same words back to him when a loud pop broke the silence. Stiffening, I looked around and asked, “What was that?”
“Nothing, baby. Absolutely nothing,” he said right before he smiled so brilliantly it almost blinded me, and a flood ofemotions burst forth from my chest, so achingly beautiful I wanted to weep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Declan
“I don’t like this,” I muttered to myself, my voice rough as sandpaper against my own ears. My eyes darted across the dense, shadowed wall of the forest, a cage I couldn’t escape, even as I watched the couple sitting unnervingly close to the fire.
Ravage’s plan.
The words themselves left a bitter taste in my mouth. From the moment he’d spat them out, a cold dread had coiled in my gut. My conscience, a voice I usually trusted implicitly, had screamed at me, clawing at my insides, demanding I refuse.
And I had. I’d refused, but the defiance felt hollow, a futile gesture against the tide of his determination. I knew with a certainty that chilled me to the bone that he would go through with it, with or without my blessing, with or without me.
“Why don’t we send one of my deputies?” I’d offered, my words a compromise I really didn’t want to make. “Someone who can actually defend themselves if things get ugly. Someone trained, someone who can think on their feet.” But Ravage and Firestride, their eyes glinting with an almost fanatical certainty, had dismissed my concern with a wave of their hands.
“He’ll know,” they’d insisted.
“It has to be her, or no one.”
The weight of that statement pressed down on me, suffocating.
Her.Karlyn.
I despised the very idea of using her as bait. It went against everything I believed in, everything I’d sworn to uphold. But I wasn’t a fool. I saw the note, the demand clear as day. This fucker wanted her, and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that only she would draw him out.
So, I had relented. A decision I already regretted, a compromise that felt like a betrayal of my own principles. My demand, a desperate attempt to salvage some shred of my integrity, was that Ravage stayed with her. With the other three men and my own deputies positioned strategically, I wasn’t going to risk that sick bastard getting his hands on her. I’d seen the aftermath of his cruelty, the grotesque tableau of the women he’d... mutilated. The thought of Karlyn’s death adding to my ledger, of her blood staining my conscience, was a prospect I couldn’t bear.
And so, here we were. Ravage and Karlyn, a tableau of calculated vulnerability in the forest before a roaring fire. The rest of us, ghosts in the periphery, spread out like a suffocating net, our eyes wide and unblinking, our ears strained for the slightest rustle, the faintest whisper in the oppressive silence.
We were waiting.
Waiting for a monster.
Ravage had played his part perfectly—a showman leaving the clubhouse, a theatrical display of camaraderie, laughter echoing as he and Karlyn mounted his bike. Then, a staged stop at Trudy’s place for supplies—a final act before they rode out of town, towards the Diamond Creek forest. Though forest was a generous term; it was more of a desolate scrubland in the hills, far from any watchful eyes.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended, broken only by the mournful hoot of a distant owl and the insidious crackle of the fire. Each pop and hiss felt like a tiny hammer blow against my nerves. My pulse thrummed a frantic, uneven rhythm againstmy ribs. Every instinct honed by years of law enforcement, of navigating the murky depths of human depravity, screamed that this was a risk we couldn’t afford.
