Pillows flew. Candle flames danced wildly as I overturned a couch cushion. Three years ago, losing a phone meant sending staff to the Apple Store. Tonight, it meant no connection to help if I needed it. Where is my damn phone?
My bedroom? I tried to stay low as I crawled along baseboards, hunting metallic glints. Behind me, floorboards groaned.
“Not now,” I hissed to the empty room. To myself. To ghosts wearing Armani suits.
I finally rushed to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers. Steak knives and takeout menus. No phone. Was that knocking on the front door? I ran to the bathroom, under the towel on the counter. No phone. Where is it? The bedroom search turned feral. The comforter flew, pillows turned over, to no avail. Pure panic had set in. My sobs blurred my vision.
A blue glow pulsed beneath the dresser. I lunged, cracking elbows on the hardwood. Fourteen percent battery. Three bars of service. Three unanswered texts from Bronc time-stamped 7:03 PM:
How ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow at 5:45 am sharp?
I walked to the kitchen, reading.
The last message arrived eight minutes ago:
Power’s out at your place. You good?
I stopped. I typed.Lost my phone earlier, just found it. All good here.Deleted. RewroteNo lights but I’ve got candles. See you at 5:45. Backspaced again. What is wrong with me?
The window above the kitchen sink rattled. Not wind this time—something solid tapping the glass.
The lighter clattered to the floor when the floodlights blazed across the yard. My spine hit the refrigerator door, cold condensation bleeding through the Sponge Bob sweatshirt. Three violentthumps shook the window above the sink, the same cadence as knuckles rapping on a limo’s privacy glass.
He found you.
Candle flames bent sideways as I sprinted past. Fingers numb, I tore open the deadbolt. Metal shrieked against weather stripping. Night air slapped my face, carrying diesel fumes and something darker—vetiver cologne clinging to memory.
“Julia.”
Thunder cracked as lightning arced across the plains. Silverback silhouette resolved into Bronc’s waterlogged form, black denim plastered to tree-trunk thighs. Rain sluiced off his stubble, caught the flicker of candles behind me. His shadow stretched monstrously across the porch wall; wind whipped his hair wild.
I swayed in the doorway, torn between slamming the metal against his chest and clawing him inside. “You…the texts said…”
“Didn’t answer.” He shouldered past, bringing the storm with him. Wet boots left wet prints on the entry rug. “Left six goddamn voicemails. You think this—” A calloused hand swept toward the gutted light fixtures, the scattered steak knives gleaming dully near the baseboards. “—is the best way to keep yourself safe?”
The door slammed itself. Bronc didn’t touch me, didn’t need to. His presence compressed the room like the atmosphere before a tornado. I backed into the kitchen counter, hip bone striking the drawer handle where steak knives still waited.
“Lost my phone,” I lied.
His nostrils flared. “Bullshit.”
“Found it later—”
“Later than what?” Leather creaked as he stepped closer, rainwater pooling around his boots. “Than when I drove past at eight and saw every security bulb unscrewed? Than when the power grid failed in the storm and you sat here playing pioneer with dollar store candles?”
The lightbulbs hummed to life as electricity surged back. The light of the pendant lights exposed my shaking hands, thedamp patches spreading under Bronc’s arms where his thermal shirt clung to battle-scarred musculature. He smelled like soaked leather and wet sand.
I gripped the counter’s edge. “Not your problem.”
“Made it mine.” He stormed toward the bedroom when he saw the overturned bedding and the dresser drawer hanging open where I’d ransacked it for my phone. “You think I can’t smell adrenaline souring your sweat? That I don’t recognize combat breathing patterns?”
Lightning flashed again. For one fractured second, his eyes seemed to glow gold.
My knees buckled. The counter dug into my spine as I slid downward. “Please. Just go.”
Bronc crouched, a controlled predator’s descent that brought us eye level. Rain dripped from his hair onto my crossed ankles. “Tell me who you’re running from.”
The look of genuine concern brought me up short. His heat reached me first, radiating through the chilled air like a banked forge. Then fingertips brushed my cheekbone, rough as saddle leather and just as capable of holding fast.
