“You remember who her father is, right?” He cocked a brow. “You lay a finger on his daughter and you’ll disappear faster than I can file the report.”
And then he smiled. Not the kind that belonged to kindness. The kind that knew his threat would land.
Shane’s hand dropped from mine like it was on fire. The night was over before it began. And I realized—this wasn’t about the law. It was about me.
A few months later, it was just the three of us at dinner: Jacob, Mama, and me.
Jacob said he was in the area—said he stopped in to check on us. He complimented the smell of Mama’s cooking, and she invited him in for dinner, since Papa wasn’t home and she’d made enough meatloaf. Mama asked about my weekend, and I told her I was going to the cinema with Adelaide, Rory, and Tyler.
Jacob’s jaw tightened—but he didn’t look at me. He kept cutting his meat into precise, surgical pieces, as if each slice belonged to someone’s throat.
When Mama went to fetch dessert, I started clearing plates. I reached for his, and his hand closed around my wrist. Not rough. Not gentle. A grip designed to hold things in place.
He pulled me closer until my knees brushed the table, and I could feel the steady heat of his breath ghost over my mouth. My pulse stuttered.
“No boy’s ever gonna be good enough for you, Summer,” he said, voice so low it was almost a growl. “None of ’em will ever treat you right.”
His gaze dropped to my lips and stayed there, long enough formy stomach to twist. Long enough for me to forget how to breathe. For one dangerous second, I thought he was going to kiss me.
He didn’t.
Instead, he reached up—slow, deliberate—and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my cheek.
“Help your mama, sweetheart,” he murmured.
Then he let go, but it didn’t feel like freedom. It was the mercy of a predator who knows it can reclaim its prey whenever it pleases.
And the cedar-and-smoke scent I used to love wasn’t comfort anymore.
It was a warning.
One that says,run—while you still can.
Chapter 1
The Night He Came
Summer
It’s after midnight when I hear her.
Mama. Crying.
Even with the sound of it muffled by the walls, it cuts through my skin like glass.
The house has been too quiet for too long. Lately, quiet doesn’t mean peace—it means something is breaking where I can’t see. I slide out of bed, my feet finding the cold wood floor. I move slow, careful to miss the loose board that groans under my weight.
Papa’s voice comes from the kitchen, rough at the edges.
“I didn’t think taking the case would bring this to our door, Elaine.”
Her reply is ragged. “You knew what kind of men he was tied to. Jacob warned you, Michael.”
“I knew what he’d done,” he says. “That’s not the same as this.”
I press my ear to the wall. The plaster is cool, but thin enough for their words to slip through.
“She’s just a girl,” Mama says, and her voice splinters. “Our girl.”
