"Him?"
"The husband. The boyfriend. Whatever city trash you picked up to replace us."
I blink, confused by the venom in his tone. "There is no him, Austin. I’m single."
The tension in his shoulders snaps, releasing instantly. A dark satisfaction floods his expression. He inhales deeply, smellingme, taking in the scent of my shampoo and the sweat on my skin. "Good. That simplifies things."
"Simplifies what?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out with his free hand. I flinch, expecting... I don't know what. Violence? Anger? But his touch is shockingly gentle. He trails a rough, calloused thumb along the line of my jaw. The friction sends a shockwave of electricity straight down my spine, pooling heat between my legs so intense I almost gasp.
It’s an instinctual, biological response. My body remembers his touch, craves it, even after years of silence. It’s a claiming. He’s not just touching me; he’s checking to see if the connection is still there.
And sure enough, it is. A live wire, sparking and dangerous.
"You have no idea," he murmurs, his eyes tracking the flush spreading across my neck. "No idea what it’s been like. Knowing you were out there. Wondering who was touching you."
"Austin, stop," I breathe, though I lean into his hand involuntarily.
"I can't stop," he says, his voice raw. "I tried. For so many years, I tried to hate you for leaving. I tried to forget the way you looked at me that last summer." He leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "But then I saw you in that car today. And I realized I was lying to myself."
He pulls back slightly to look me in the eye. "You’re not selling this house, Courtney."
"I have to. I can't live here."
"Then we’ll figure something else out. But you’re not running again."
"You don't get to decide that," I try to summon some anger, some resistance. "You don't own me, Austin. You don't own this town."
He chuckles, a dark, rumbling sound. "We own the mountain, sweetheart. And everything on it is under our protection. Including you."
He steps back, releasing me from the cage of his body. The sudden absence of his heat leaves me trembling in the cool mountain air.
"I’ll send some prospects over in the morning," he says, his tone shifting back to business-like, though his eyes remain predatory. "They’ll clear the ivy, fix the porch. You’re not doing heavy lifting. Not with those hips."
My face burns. "I can hire my own help."
"You could," he agrees, walking backwards down the steps, never breaking eye contact. "But you won't. Because no contractor in Pine Valley will step foot on this property once they know the VP of Broken Halos MC has claimed the job."
"You’re unbelievable," I sputter. "You’re... you’re a bully."
He stops at his bike, throwing a leg over the seat. The suspension groans under his weight. He puts his helmet back on, but leaves the visor up.
"I’m a man who knows what he wants, Courtney. And I’m done waiting."
He hits the starter. The bike roars to life, drowning out my protest. He revs the engine, a sound that vibrates through the rotting floorboards of the porch and straight into my bones. With a final, lingering look that feels like he’s stripping me naked right there in the driveway, he kicks the bike into gear and tears off back down the gravel road.
I stand there for a long time, listening until the sound of his engine fades into the distance.
My hands shake. My heart races. Deep inside, in places I thought had gone dormant years ago, a heavy, wet heat throbs, demanding to be soothed.
I look at the overgrown house, the looming pines, the darkening sky.
Just three days,I tell myself.
But as the echo of Austin’s voice lingers in my mind—You’re not running again—I realize that for the first time in a long time, I’m not sure I want to run.
I turn the key in the lock, the rusty mechanism grinding in protest, and step into the musty darkness of the Wade estate. It smells of dust and neglect, but underneath that, there’s the faint, lingering scent of the mountains.
