Sheriff Tate turned to Havoc. “Lock this place down. We don’t want civilians here tonight.”
Havoc moved immediately.
Then Sheriff Tate looked at me.
“Trigger,” he said. “You stay with her.”
I didn’t blink. “Yes, sir.”
Rylie looked like she might protest.
I leaned down so only she could hear.
“You ran to us,” I murmured. “Let us do our job.”
Her breath shook.
Then she nodded.
Downstairs, the music shut off. The closed sign went up.
And outside, somewhere in the dark, Thomas Thorn was deciding what to do next.
8
Rylie
The Magnolia ladies refused to leave.
I should’ve expected it.
They parked themselves in the living room like they were guarding a royal heir, and I didn’t have the energy to argue.
“I’ll make tea,” Mable announced, already walking toward the kitchen like she owned the upstairs apartments. This upstairs is where the Rangers lived. There were seven bedrooms, each had their own bathroom, a large living room, and a kitchen.
“We need casseroles,” another one said—I couldn’t remember her name because my brain was still stuck in survival mode.
“We need blankets,” someone else chimed in.
Nora sat beside me on the sofa, her belly huge and her eyes sharp. “Rylie,” she said softly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
I stared at my hands.
I could still feel Thomas’s fingers on my throat. The way the pressure had been calm, measured, like he was training me.
“I didn’t want anyone hurt,” I whispered.
Nora squeezed my fingers. “You think we’re not already hurt? We’ve been worried about you.”
I swallowed hard.
Trigger stood near the window, arms crossed, scanning the street like a predator.
He looked so big watching me.
So controlled.
And I couldn’t stop watching him.
