Page 48 of When The Mountains Held Us

He found her.

I don’t know how an angel like her happened to stumble along my path, but I plan to keep her safe by whatever means necessary.

I want to delete the texts so she doesn’t see them, but I know that doing so would be a disservice to her. Keeping her safe starts with not shielding her from the truth, despite my very strong, personal feelings to the contrary. She needs to know. Leaving those texts there goes against every single instinct currently screaming at me to erase them from existence, but if I’m going to protect her, then that starts with her knowing she needs to be careful, and exactly what this new string of threats suggests.

Resolving to speak with her in the morning about it, I make my way around the house, ensuring that all the doors and windows are locked, double-checking my work, and then checking it one more time for good measure. I doubt he knows she’s here, but I’m not taking any chances. It’s naive of me to believe, if he knows she’s here and wants to get to her, that a few locks will keep him out.

Everything within me urges me to take her and leave North Creek—to run from the problem. I have no interest in finding myself in the same position as last time, all those years ago. But I already know that running is not the answer. Part of the vow I made to myself was that I would never again cower in the face of danger. Memories of the night I made that vow creep into my mind, but instead of shutting them down like I normally would, I embrace them with open arms, allowing all the rage and desperation of that night to suffocate me. I breathe it in, feel it soak into the very marrow of my bones as it floods my veins and sharpens my focus to a point.

In a way, the rage calms me. I can control it like this, can allow it limited access to my mind and body while keeping my attention on the task at hand. It’s a balancing act, like I’m a hundred feet above the ground, balancing on a tightrope where one wrong move might send me tumbling over the edge and back into the dark place for good.

This memory, this precipice, anchors me to a narrow point in time in which I took back control. I don’t want to go back to that place, but for her, I will.

I don’t know what lies ahead—what demons lurk in the shadows of my life and hers, watching and waiting to rear their ugly heads.

I can only hope that the asshole is smarter than he sounds and doesn’t try anything stupid.

If he does, I’ve got a nine millimeter bullet with his fucking name on it.

Twenty-Six

Oakley

His typically bright green eyes are darkened to a deep forest green and peer up at me from beneath dark lashes with all the mischief and confidence of a man who knows what he wants and knows he can deliver.

Fingers tease up the sides of my legs and tug at the waistband of my sweatpants. I lift, letting him drag them down with a painful slowness that has my core flooding with need. My breathing comes in anticipatory pants at the look of pure male satisfaction as he teases me with feather-light touches along the bare skin of my legs.

He knows what he’s doing is driving me mad with desire and heat. I squirm beneath his touch, trying and failing to get his hands to move where I want them. Where I need them.

His fingers dance along my skin before grazing up the inside of my thighs, his touch igniting a fire in my belly as I grow more and more ravenous for him. A smirk graces his perfect lips as he flicks his gaze up to mine again, as if making sure he has my full, undivided attention.

He does.

He parts my legs with his hands, and my thighs fall open in a silent plea to keep going. He stares down at my center, taking in the sight before him with a look of wonder in his eyes, like he’s at the top of a mountain and looking out at the mountain ranges in the distance. It’s a look of reverence that sends a pulse straight to my clit.

Slowly, he drags his hand over the soft skin between my legs, and I let out a moan of relief at his touch. He repeats the motion, expertly stroking his fingers over my clit in a way that makes my thighs tremble in anticipation.

Those eyes are on me again, and I can’t seem to pull myself away from them. He holds his hand up between us, his fingers glistening with my arousal, before he sucks them into his mouth. His tongue swirls around them, cleaning me off of him, and his eyes flutter shut as a masculine groan escapes him at the taste of me. I moan at the seductive sight.

With another flick of his eyes, he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and gives me a wolfish smile before lowering his head between my legs and⁠—

A knock at my bedroom door startles me out of the dream with a sharp inhale, and I instinctively clutch the covers to my body while trying to not only slow my breathing, but ignore the fact that, yup, I definitely moaned.

Out loud.

Fuck me.

“Uh, Oakley? Sorry to wake you, but I made coffee.”

Levi’s gravelly morning voice sounds through the closed door, doing nothing to distract me from the dream. Instead, it drags me further under its spell.

When I don’t answer, he tries again. “I have a cup here for you. Can I come in?”

“No! I-I mean, I’ll grab it in a minute.”

“It’s no bother. I have it here for you.”

The doorknob jiggles a little, and I clutch the blankets a little tighter to my chest.