Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucian
I hold her as tightly as I can, wishing I could attach her to my chest, carrying her around like a kangaroo baby.
She tells me about the text.
Lovely to see you again, baby sister.
My jaw locks.
I’m going to kill him.
“I’ve called you babygirl.” I kiss the top of her head. “Is that okay? Does it remind you of him?”
“No. God, no.” She shakes her head, her silky hair brushing against my cheek.
“That’s creepy, that he calls you ‘baby sister.’”
I want to say more, to tell her all the terrible things I would do to him, but my words have already made her entire body tense. I’ve hit something, a nerve, a trigger. I can sense I’m closing in on something big.
She’s not ready. I divert.
“So that was him you saw on that platform.”
“Most likely.”
“But you didn’t take your phone with you.”
“You know because you track me with it, stalker. I had to turn mine off when I left your house.”
A good reason to put a ring on her pretty finger. Bachman wives have Bachman tech phones. There is no way to turn the location off.
“You didn’t take it with you.”
“No, I bought a burner phone.”
I lean back, resting the back of my head on the pillow, my arm bent behind it. I stare up at the ceiling as I think. “How the hell did he get the number for your burner?”
I think of the boot prints.
My god.
Was he not only outside her cabin…
But inside?
Inside the cabin walls while she was sleeping? So close to her—
My blood boils with rage, my pulse doubles, and I have to get out of bed to pace.
“You’re never walking out of my sight again,” I say.
“That’s not possible.”
“Watch me make it happen.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but I cross to where she lies, bend over, slide my hand into her hair, and tilt her head back.
She gasps.
Not in fear.
In surrender.
She’s mine. And I’ll do anything to keep her safe.
I lean down, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “When this is over, I’m chaining you to my bed.”
She whimpers.
And it sounds like a prayer.
And then I kiss her.
Not soft. Not gentle.
The kiss is a claim—teeth, tongue, fury. She gasps against my mouth.
When I pull away, her face is flushed, her eyes shining for more.
I lie down beside her, pulling her back against me. It’s time to circle back to the thing she doesn’t want to say.
“Tell me more about Caleb,” I say. “Was there more meaning behind that text?”
She nods and curls up closer, as if she’s the one who wants me to carry her now. My breath catches as I feel the first hot tear slide down my chest.
I pull her up so I can see her face. She tries to hide from me, brushing her hand over her cheeks. “Don’t,” I say. “It’s okay to show me your tears.”
I try to hide my anger and demand to avoid upsetting her, but I can’t help it as I hold her face and search her gaze.
“What did he do to you, Erin? Tell me.”
And she tells me. Between sobs that make her shoulders shake. She tells me everything.
About how he came into her room.
How he never touched her, which almost made it worse for her she said. He would stand there, naked, staring at her. She lay in her bed, frozen in fear and revulsion. He would say, ‘Watch me, baby sister. Watch what you make me do.’
Then he would… I can’t even imagine the act, but I want to cut off the body part he made her watch him touch. She lay there, still and quiet, trying to force her mind to leave her body. She said it felt like watching it happen while floating above her bed.
And when he was done, he told her that if she ever told anyone about his night visits, he’d hurt her sister.
“And I didn’t tell anyone.” Her voice breaks. “Not until now. Not until you.”
“And he still hurt her,” I say for her.
“He took her legs! He could have killed her—”
And the crying takes over, too hard for her to speak.
And I hold her as tightly as I can.
And plan every way I’m going to make him pay.
I let her cry until she’s all cried out. I kiss every inch of her perfect face. I carry her to the shower, thankful for gas-powered water heaters, and wash her body with the slip of soap I find there.
Dressed warmly and wrapped in my coat, I place a fresh cup of tea in front of her at the table while I tend to the fire. Then I get her some real food — eggs and toast, not one of the 80-calorie granola bars she packed.
I sit down across from her, my hair still damp, the beginnings of a beard on my face, dressed for the weather in heavy boots, thick canvas pants, and layers under my gray wool sweater.
It’s going to be cold and wet. And we’re going hunting.
My men are stationed in the trees. Bayne should be calling me back anytime now. Then, the real plan begins. I reach for the notebook, asking, “Can I take another look at this?”
She nods with a smile, happily sipping her tea.
I’m just opening the page when there’s a knock at the door. Even though I know my men have my back, I can’t stop my heart from pounding in my chest.
“Who’s that?” Erin’s worried gaze flicks to the door, the color draining from her face.
I stand, giving Erin the one look I know she’ll obey. “Stay here. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
I dip into the bedroom, tucking a Glock in the back of my waistband.
I pass by Erin, giving her one more look. “Stay.”
“Yes, sir.” Even in her worry, she was teasing me with a little dog-like yip.
“Good girl,” I joke back with a wink. “You’ll get a treat later.”
That causes her to blush.
I approach the door cautiously, every muscle tense. Then, a familiar voice of one of my men calls out, “Hey, Lucian. You’ve got a visitor.” The jovial tone in his voice relaxes me. “Says he’s your brother.”
I laugh a little. “We’re all brothers.” I pause for a moment before opening the door, then turn to Erin to reassure her. “It’s one of us,” I tell her. “A Bachman.”
She smiles, “Great. The more the merrier.” She hops up to put the kettle on.
She’s about to serve whoever’s on the other side of that door some of her God-awful instant coffee. And knowing my brothers, they’ll be polite enough to drink it.
If they survive a cup of that, they’ll survive anything the Hoax can throw at us.