“Thirty seconds,” Jake snaps. “Move.”
Mason grabs my hand and we run. He keeps me from slipping on the gravel in the lot. Just as we duck behind the truck, the world erupts behind us.
The explosion punches through with a roar so violent it shakes the ground beneath my boots. Heat blows over us, and metal screams. Fire climbs into the sky in a twisting column of orange and black as the warehouse caves in on itself.
Kelly’s body disappears beneath steel and flame.
I should feel better, or maybe at least a small measure of peace.
Instead, dread crawls up my spine, because Cole Turner knew—he knew about Kelly, the warehouse, that we were coming. And he stood there smiling anyway, like this was all part of the plan.
Mason gets me into the truck, his hand firm on the back of my neck, grounding me as Jake peels us out onto the highway. Nobody speaks.
In the rearview mirror, the fire burns hot enough to turn the clouds orange.
It looks less like an ending and more like a signal.
And somewhere out there, Cole Turner is still watching me.
86
MASON
Lily hasn't said a word since we left the warehouse.
Back at Blackthorn Ranch, I take her straight to my cottage. I unlock the door and she walks in ahead of me, moving on autopilot. Her clothes are streaked with dirt and Kelly's blood. Her hands are steady, but I can see the tremors she's fighting to suppress.
I’m not sure I should touch her, and I hate that. "Lily."
She turns to face me. The look in her eyes guts me—not broken or traumatized, butfurious. "I need a shower.”
"Okay."
She heads upstairs, but halfway up the stairs she stops. Her shoulders are rigid, her spine straight. She doesn’t turn around, but I can hear her perfectly. "Come with me."
It's not a request.
For the first time since she called me to say she was going to see if her sister was alive, I can breathe. I lock the front door and I follow her up.
87
LILY
Trusting Mason will follow, I turn on the water, testing the temperature with my hand. The heat rises in waves, and I adjust it until it's almost scalding.
I start undressing.
My movements are stiff. I pull off my shirt—Kelly's blood is dried on the cuff—and drop it on the tile. My jeans follow. My boots. Each piece of clothing feels like shedding a layer of what happened, what he tried to do.
When I'm down to my bra and underwear, I pause.
I can feel Mason watching me from just outside the bathroom. His presence is a weight in the enclosed space, heavy and intense. Part of me wants to hide—the part that's been trained by trauma to make myself small, to disappear. But that's not who I am anymore.
I refuse to be her.
Reaching behind me, I unclasp my bra and drop it on the pile of clothes. Then I step out of my underwear and turn to face him before I step into the shower.
Our eyes meet.
