Tessa
“I would have torn him apart.” Zane’s words have been on repeat in my mind ever since he headed down the steps to shower.
It’s all I can think about.
His reaction is exactly why I couldn’t stay. My dad was always going to be trouble for us. No matter what. Had Zane and I actually gotten married? There’s not a single doubt in my mind that he would have made our lives miserable.
But, man, how I’d wanted to walk down that aisle.
When things got bad over the last eighteen years, which was more times than not, I’d imagine that I had. I’d imagine Zane lifting my veil, of him leaning forward and capturing my lips as man and wife. And for a moment—one brief, blissful moment, I’d been happy.
And then reality set in, and I’d remember that I lost everything that ever mattered to me.
My gaze drifts back to the door where Zane disappeared fifteen minutes ago. Why didn’t he ever settle down?
Masculine voices outside rip my attention from the door and plunge me back into the present. My heart begins to beat faster as flashes of last night assault my mind.
Did they find us?
Are they here for me?
When the voices grow closer, my heart rate increases. I push to my feet and grab a steak knife from the drawer to the right of the stove. Heavy bootsteps thud just outside the door, and two large shadows pass by the curtained window.
I tuck myself into the corner.
Zane is down in the shower, completely unaware of what’s happening up here. I could scream, could yell for help, and he’d come running. I’d rather die than have anything happen to him. So, heart in my throat, I remain as still as I can…and wait.
You can do this, Tessa. You can fight.
The door opens, and two men I don’t recognize stroll in. One has a gun holstered to his hip, the other a large knife on his.
Adrenaline surges through my system, and I charge out, blade raised. The pain in my leg is barely registerable as the fight in me surges to the surface and blocks out everything else.
The one closest to me ducks, and the man behind him shoves me back and pins me against the wall as he rips the blade from my hand. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he says softly. His brown eyes are kind as he looks at me, and just as quickly as he disarmed me, he releases me and takes a step back.
“Speak for yourself, Demo,” the man I attacked says as he straightens and brushes both hands over the front of his shirt. “She swings another blade at me, and I’ll throw her overboard. I hope you can swim,” he adds.
The man he called Demo chuckles softly and strolls over toward the bench seat where I’d been playing solitaire. He’s just sitting down when Weston and Ryker walk in.
Four large men. All of them dwarfing the small cabin.
I stay where I am, closest to the door, my heart hammering as panic claws at my throat. Large men. Large hands. I know Weston won’t hurt me. And Ryker hasn’t been anything but kind, but the trauma response doesn’t get it.
And my fight or flight is currently weighted heavily toward flight. “What is happening?” I ask, doing what I can to keep my voice steady as I consider how long it would take for me to reach the door.
Could I get out before anyone could stop me?
“Girls’ night,” Weston says, his southern accent lacking all humor.
“Yeah, we’re going to braid each other’s hair,” the man I attacked quips.
The door to Zane’s room opens, and he steps out wearing jeans, a dark t-shirt, and boots. His hair is wet, and the cut on the side of his face has been freshly bandaged. Just seeing him eases my panic, and my racing heart begins to slow.
He’d never let anything happen to me.
And he wouldn’t keep company with people who would hurt someone.
“You guys are early,” he says.
