The bed is soft and hot. Too hot. The room smells like pine needles, coffee, and Irish Spring soap.
For three terrifying seconds, I don’t remember where I am. Unfamiliar male voices are arguing in the distance.
My other senses kick in, registering the wall of heat that’s pressed to my back. Solid, steady breaths regulating my own.
I’m not in Happiness anymore.
One crooked picture on the wall. Two locks on the door. Three sweaters folded on the chair.
Then the memories of the last couple of days rip away the peace I was attempting to find.
The stalker wall. The letters. The dress. The photo of Miriam’s body.
It had to be Miriam on the ground because a betrayal by her would be the final crack in my armor that sends me spiraling to a level I won’t recover from.
Then there was the text that all but proves it.
Mother’s waiting.
I sit up too fast, and the room spins.
She’s not my fucking mother.
I’m not back there.
I’m not at the compound.
“Easy.” Valen’s voice is rough and throaty. His hand rests on my shoulder, steadying me. “We’re safe, remember? You’re so strong, Clover.”
I nod, not trusting my voice yet.
The bed shifts as he sits up, and I glance over my shoulder. He’s shirtless, his hair’s a mess, and his eyes are red-rimmed as if he hasn’t slept. There’s also a letter in his hand, and my face heats.
“You stayed,” I say. The words scratch and claw at my throat.
“I told you I would.” He carefully sets the letter down on the nightstand, as if it’s made of glass. “How do you feel?”
How do I feel?
Exhausted. Terrified. Violated. Angry.
But also—oddly—hungry. The scent of bacon clicks in my brain, and now I know why. I’ve never been able to turn down bacon.
“I could eat,” I say, and his face breaks into the first real smile I’ve seen in days.
“That’s my girl.”
His girl. A full-body flush erases the chill that’s invaded my skin since we arrived at the compound. It’s what I’ve waited for, right? To be his girl?
Regardless of what people called me—desperate, lonely, messed up—there was never another option for me. I was always meant to be his, and he was meant to be mine. I feel the truth of it as vividly as my own heartbeat.
In the next room, the voices get louder. Chief’s gravelly tone makes me smile, and what sounds like Chase’s laugh eases some of the tension in my shoulders. Through all the chaos out there, someone’s cooking, and I can almost hear the sizzle of frying bacon as the smell drifts through the crack-open door.
“What time is it?” I ask through a yawn. I’m still exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally drained. Yet there’s an undercurrent of excitement I’ve never had before.
“Almost nine.” Valen runs a hand through his messy hair, and my gaze falls to the stacks of letters on his nightstand, each pile bound with elastic or ribbon. “I’ve been reading.”
His bloodshot eyes and dark circles now make sense. “All night?”
