Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kelsey
I wipe down the counter one last time, the smell of coffee and disinfectant filling my nostrils as I work the cloth in slow, methodical circles.
The café is quiet now, empty of customers, only the occasional soft meow breaking the silence.
After we close up shop, it suddenly becomes so much more peaceful—just me and Astra and a dozen rescue cats.
"You're getting good at closing up," Astra says, emptying the last of the coffee grounds into the compost bin. "You'll be managing this place for me in no time, if you want to, that is."
I smile, feeling a small glow of pride. "Thanks. It's not that different from Tart, really. Coffee's coffee, wherever you go."
"True," Astra agrees, leaning against the counter. "Though most cafés don't have furry co-workers trying to knock everything off the shelves."
As if on cue, one of the tabbies jumps up on the pastry display, batting curiously at the empty tray.
"Off, Jasper," Astra scolds gently, lifting the cat and setting him on the floor. "You know better."
In the week I've been working here, I've grown to admire Astra's dedication to these animals.
She doesn't just run a café—she gives these cats a second chance at life.
"So," Astra says, turning back to me, "any plans for tonight? Hot date with Boulder maybe…"
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "No. Things are... complicated with him."
"Complicated is the middle name of every club member I've ever met," she says with a laugh. "But that one has it bad for you. Even when he was pissed, I could see it in his eyes."
I busy myself with organizing the tea canisters, avoiding her gaze.
I'm careful about personal details, even with Astra.
Trust doesn't come easily for me anymore.
"Tell me more about the cats," I say, deliberately changing the subject. "How did you start all this?"
Astra gives me a knowing look but doesn't push. "I got tired of seeing them hurt and abandoned." She points to a small cat curled up in the window seat. "Found her behind a dumpster, barely alive. The vet said she'd probably been abused."
I look at Luna, now peacefully sleeping in a patch of late afternoon sun.
It’s hard to imagine that in her past, she was suffering, looking at her now.
Astra's voice softens. "Now we rescue from all over—strays, abuse cases, abandoned pets. We rehabilitate them here, and customers can adopt if they connect with one. There are a few that will likely stay here until the day they die, but… I’m not mad about it. At least they’re safe."
"That's beautiful," I say sincerely, my eyes scanning the room.
Each cat has a story, just like me.
All of us running from something, finding sanctuary in this quiet corner of Chihuahua.
My attention is drawn to a gray cat lurking under one of the tables, eyes wide and wary.
Unlike the others, who are grooming themselves or dozing, this one seems on alert, like it’s afraid of everything and believes threats lurk around every corner.
"Who's that?" I ask, nodding toward the gray cat.
"That's our newest rescue," Astra says, following my gaze. "No name yet. Found her hiding in a storm drain last week. She won't let anyone touch her."
I kneel down slowly, extending my hand palm-up on the floor, not reaching for the cat but offering a choice.
The gray cat watches me, tail twitching nervously.
"She reminds me of someone," I murmur.
"You?" Astra asks perceptively.
I look up, surprised by her insight. "Maybe a little."
Astra's smile is gentle but knowing. "I've noticed you have a way with the skittish ones. They trust you."
"Recognizing a kindred spirit, probably," I say, watching as the gray cat inches closer to my outstretched hand, curiosity battling fear in those wide green eyes.
"What would you name her?" Astra asks.
"Sam?"
Astra raises an eyebrow. "That's usually a boy's name."
"Not always," I say, thinking of my little brother, the only one in my family who helped me escape. The only one who saw through our father's facade, who risked everything to warn me when Benji found out where I was hiding in Billings. "Sometimes the gentlest souls have the plainest names."
The gray cat—Sam—is close enough now that I can feel her breath on my fingertips.
She sniffs cautiously, then, in a moment that feels significant, bumps her head against my hand.
"Well, would you look at that," Astra says softly. "I think you've made a friend."
My phone vibrates loudly in my pocket, startling Sam, who retreats back under the table.
I pull it out, heart rate accelerating when I see ‘restricted’ on the screen.
"You can take that if you need to," Astra says, moving to collect the cat bowls for washing.
"No, it's okay," I say, letting it go to voicemail.
My voice sounds steady, but my hand trembles slightly as I slip the phone back into my pocket.
No one calls from blocked numbers except people you don't want to talk to.
I finish the closing tasks as if I’m on autopilot.
The truth is, I’m distracted.
That call has shaken me up a bit, and my gut keeps turning.
When Astra heads to the back to check the inventory, I pull out my phone again, staring at the notification of a new voicemail.
My finger hovers over the screen, fear and curiosity battling within me.
Finally, I press play, holding the phone to my ear, my heart hammering in my chest.
"Did you think a name change would be enough, Cady?" Benji's voice, low and sinister, fills my ear. "This childish game ends now. We know where you are. It's time to come home and face what you've done."
The phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor.
Cady.
He called me Cady.
My birth name, the one I legally changed after testifying against my father.
One that sounds alien now.
It feels wrong.
Like clothes that don’t fit.
How is this happening?
How did he find out where I am, get my number?
How can he still torment me like this when I was so damn careful?
I've been so careful.
This is a new phone, a burner that only Tara knows about.
Unless...
My breathing becomes ragged, the edges of my vision darkening.
I slump against the wall, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest.
This is just like in Billings.
I can't go through this again.
I can't run again.
But I can't go back either, not after what I've done.
"Kelsey?" Astra's voice seems distant, though she's right in front of me, her face riddled with concern.. "Hey, breathe. You need to breathe."
I can't.
My lungs have forgotten how to work.
My body is betraying me, shutting down from pure terror.
Astra demonstrates, her voice calm and steady. "Kelsey, focus on my voice. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, with me."
I force myself to follow her lead, dragging in a shuddering breath, then releasing it.
Again and again.
Slowly, the world comes back into focus, the dark spots in my vision receding.
"I'm sorry," I gasp, embarrassment flooding me now that the panic is subsiding. "I don't... this doesn't usually happen."
"Don't apologize," Astra says firmly. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
I shake my head quickly. "No. No hospitals. I'm fine, really. Just... I have a heart condition. Sometimes it acts up when I'm stressed or tired." The lie comes easily, but I am so tired of lying.
Astra doesn't look convinced. "Kelsey, if you need help?—"
"I don't," I cut her off, more sharply than I intend.
I soften my tone. "I mean, thank you, but I'm okay. Just need to take my medication when I get home."
As I speak, my mind drifts back to my childhood, to Benji—not as he is now, hard and cruel, but as he was before—my big brother who taught me to ride a bike, who helped me with homework, who stood between me and our father's rage on more than one occasion.
Everything changed when Mom got sick.
Cancer, and it was terminal.
Benji was fifteen, I was twelve, Craig thirteen, and Sam only seven.
Dad retreated into his ‘work’, leaving us to fend for ourselves.
Benji stepped up, became the parent none of us had anymore.
But after Mom died, something in him broke.
Or maybe it was always there, dormant, a seed of our father's cruelty waiting for the right conditions to grow.
He became Dad's right hand, eager to learn the "family business."
Eager to please.
I never understood how my nurturing, protective big brother could transform into a man who would hunt me down for exposing our father's crimes.
How he could choose loyalty to a monster over his own sister.
"Kelsey?" Astra's voice brings me back to the present.
She's still looking at me with concern. "You sure you're okay?"
I nod, pushing myself to my feet. "Yeah, just need some air."
As I move toward the door, I notice a vehicle parked across the street—a dark SUV with tinted windows.
It hasn't been there all day.
"What's going on?" I ask, nodding toward the SUV. "Is someone watching the café?"
Astra follows my gaze, her expression relaxing slightly. "Oh, that's just the club. That SUV isn’t anything to worry about, okay? After Andrés made those threats, Amara assigned some of the guys to keep an eye on the place."
My stomach twists with unease. "Andrés?"
"Local idiot," Astra explains, locking the register. "He's been coming around, making threats. Tried to shake us down for 'protection money.' As if we don't already have the best protection in Chihuahua." She nods toward the SUV. "Python would gut him if he tried anything, but Amara wants to be cautious. There’s some other stuff going on with the club, and things could be tied together, but I’m uncertain. Hell, we all are."
I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
If the club is watching the café, that means Boulder might be out there.
Things between us are so raw right now, so complicated.
I was hoping for some time to figure out how to handle the situation, but now it seems unavoidable.
"Do you... do you know who's out there tonight?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
Astra shrugs. "Python mentioned something about Boulder and Brick taking shifts. Why? Still complicated?"
I bite my lip. "Yeah. I wasn't exactly honest with him about some things, and he found out."
"Men hate being lied to," Astra says, gathering her purse. "But they'll get over it if you give them a good enough reason. Or a good enough blow job."
I laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."
We finish closing up, and soon I'm stepping out into the cool night air, Astra locking the door behind us.
"You want a ride home?" she offers. "Python wouldn't mind swinging by."
I shake my head. "Thanks, but I like the walk. Helps clear my head."
"Be careful," she warns. "Text me when you get there, okay?"
I promise I will, then start down the street, my senses on high alert.
The SUV is still there, but I can't see who's inside.
I'm torn between hoping it's Boulder and dreading it at the same time.
I've gone about three blocks when I get that prickly feeling on the back of my neck—the one that tells me I'm being watched—followed.
I pick up my pace, careful not to look behind me too obviously.
A truck turns onto the street ahead, its headlights momentarily blinding me.
As it passes, my blood runs cold.
It's a black Ford F-150, just like Craig used to drive.
Same model, same tinted windows, same dent in the passenger door.
It can't be him.
It's just a coincidence.
There are thousands of black F-150s in Mexico.
But what if it isn't a coincidence? What if Benji wasn't bluffing in his message?
Panic claws at my throat again.
I dart into the nearest open shop—a small convenience store—my heart racing.
I position myself so I can see the street through the window, watching for the truck to pass by again.
"You're being paranoid, Kelsey," I mutter to myself, using my new name like a shield. "Get it together."
"You seem to be making a habit of talking to yourself," a deep voice says behind me.
I whirl around, fist raised instinctively, only to come face to face with Boulder.
He catches my wrist easily, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.
"Easy, Montana," he says, using that damned nickname again. "It's just me."
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension from our argument this morning hanging between us.
He's still holding my wrist, his touch sending sparks across my skin.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, pulling my arm free.
"Surveillance duty," he says, his eyes scanning the street behind me. "What's got you jumping into random stores?"
I hesitate, but the fear is too fresh to hide completely. "I think someone's following me. A black truck. It... reminded me of someone."
Boulder's expression hardens, and he moves past me to the door, looking out at the street. "I don't see any black truck. How long has this been going on?"
"Just tonight," I say, rubbing my arms against a sudden chill. "It's probably nothing. Just me being paranoid."
He turns back to me, studying my face. "You don't strike me as the paranoid type, Kelsey. More like the type who's got something real to be afraid of."
His perceptiveness is unnerving.
I look away, unsure how to respond without revealing too much.
Boulder steps closer, his voice dropping lower. "Look, I'm still pissed about the vacation lie. But if you're in some kind of trouble..."
"I can handle it myself," I say automatically, the words coming out more defensively than I intend.
He doesn't back down. "Jesus, Montana. You have balls of steel, but you’re… god, you’re not an idiot. You can’t handle this yourself." He hesitates, then adds, "Let me stay with you. Just to be safe."
My first instinct is to refuse.
Independence has become my religion since fleeing Montana.
Accepting help feels dangerous, like admitting weakness.
But the memory of Benji's voice—cold, threatening—makes me reconsider.
Before I can answer, Boulder pulls out his phone and dials. "Lashes, it's Boulder. Yeah, I know... Listen, I need you to do me a solid and take my shift tonight... Yeah, I'll owe you one." He listens for a moment, then chuckles. "No, not that kind of solid. Thanks. I'll cover for you next week."
A strange feeling twists in my stomach at the way he laughs with this "Lashes" person.
Jealousy?
I push the thought away, irritated with myself for caring.
"It's done," Boulder says, pocketing his phone. "I'm all yours for the night."
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.
"Fine," I grumble, "but just for tonight. I've got a couch you can crash on."
We walk to my apartment in silence, Boulder keeping close, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.
There's no sign of the black truck, but I can't shake the unease crawling under my skin.
My apartment building is nothing special—just a basic four-story complex with exterior stairs and a security door that doesn't really secure anything.
Boulder frowns at the flimsy lock as I let us in.
"You should get that reinforced," he says.
"I'll add it to my list of security upgrades, right after the moat and drawbridge," I reply sarcastically.
Inside my apartment, Boulder doesn't sit down.
Instead, he checks each room, looking in closets, checking window locks.
I should be annoyed at his presumption, but instead, I find it oddly comforting.
"All clear," he says, returning to the living room where I'm still standing awkwardly by the door. "Place is small enough that no one could hide in here anyway."
"It's not much," I admit, suddenly self-conscious about the sparse furnishings, the lack of personal touches. It's not a home, just a place to sleep. "But it works for now."
Boulder's gaze softens as he looks at me. "You don't have to tell me why you're running from him, Kelsey. But know that while I'm here, nothing touches you. Not a damn thing."
His words hit me like a physical force, breaking through the carefully constructed walls I've built around myself.
No one has promised to protect me in a long time.
Not since Sam helped me escape.
I've been so focused on protecting myself that I've forgotten what it feels like to have someone else stand guard.
"Boulder..." I whisper, my voice cracking slightly.
He crosses the room in two long strides, his hands coming up to frame my face.
"I mean it," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Nothing gets past me."
The intensity in his eyes is my undoing.
I rise on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that's both a surrender, and some sort of claim.
His response is immediate, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against his body.
This kiss is different from our previous encounters.
There's an urgency, yes, but also something deeper, something that feels dangerously close to need.
His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, skimming down my back, gripping my hips with a possessiveness that makes me gasp.
We stumble toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as we go.
Boulder's cut, shirt, and jeans creating a trail behind us.
My work shirt and bra join them, followed by my jeans and underwear.
When we reach the bed, Boulder pushes me down gently, his body covering mine.
The weight of him is comforting, grounding.
His hands pin my wrists above my head, and he looks down at me, his eyes dark with desire.
"Mine to protect," he growls, nipping at my neck. "Say it."
The demand should anger me.
I don't belong to anyone, have fought hard for my independence.
But tonight, with fear still thrumming through my veins, there's something freeing about surrendering control to him.
"Yours to protect," I whisper, arching into him.
His grip on my wrists tightens fractionally, a reminder of his strength. "I won't let anyone hurt you," he promises, his lips trailing down my neck to my collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation.
His mouth finds my breast, teeth grazing my nipple just hard enough to make me gasp.
One of his hands releases my wrist to slide down my body, slipping between my legs to find me already wet for him.
"Always so ready for me," he murmurs against my skin, his fingers circling my clit with just the right pressure. "So fucking perfect."
I moan, hips bucking against his hand. "Boulder, please..."
"What do you need, Montana?" he asks, his fingers teasing my entrance. "Tell me."
"You," I gasp. "Inside me. Now."
He groans, positioning himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze as he pushes into me slowly, filling me inch by inch until he's seated to the hilt.
We both groan at the sensation, and for a moment, he stays perfectly still, our bodies joined completely.
"Keep your eyes on me," he says, starting to move. "I want to see everything."
The vulnerability of it is almost too much.
Sex has always been a physical release for me, a way to forget my troubles for a while.
But this—the eye contact, the intensity, the raw emotion—this is something else entirely.
Boulder's thrusts are deep and measured, his gaze never leaving mine.
One hand grips my hip, the other still pinning my wrists above my head.
I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, taking him deeper.
"Fuck, Kelsey," he groans, his rhythm faltering slightly. "You feel so goddamn good."
I can feel my orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure low in my belly.
"Harder," I demand, needing more. "Please."
He complies immediately, his thrusts becoming faster, more forceful.
The bed frame creaks in protest, the headboard thumping against the wall.
I don't care.
All that matters is this moment, this feeling, this man.
"Touch yourself," Boulder commands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "I want to watch you come around my cock."
I slip my free hand between us, my fingers finding my clit.
The dual sensation of his cock filling me and my fingers on my most sensitive spot quickly pushes me toward the edge.
"That's it," he encourages, his eyes darkening as he watches. "Let go, girl. I've got you."
His words are my undoing.
My orgasm crashes over me in waves, my body clenching around him as I cry out his name.
Boulder follows shortly after, his rhythm breaking as he drives into me one last time, his release hot inside me.
For several minutes, we lie tangled together, catching our breath.
I expect him to roll away, to put some distance between us as he usually does after sex.
Instead, he gathers me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me protectively.
"You okay?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
The sex was incredible, but it's this moment—the quiet intimacy afterward—that terrifies me most.
It feels too real, too meaningful.
"Boulder, I..." I start, then stop, unsure what I even want to say.
Part of me wants to tell him everything—about my father, about Benji's threats, about why I ran.
But the words stick in my throat.
"You don't have to explain," he says, kissing my forehead. "Not tonight."
I'm grateful he’s not making me, but a small part of me wishes he would push, would make me spill my secrets so I wouldn't have to decide whether to trust him.
Eventually, Boulder's breathing evens out as he falls asleep, his arms still locked around me like he's afraid I'll disappear.
I watch him sleep, studying the lines of his face, relaxed now in slumber.
He's beautiful, this man who promises protection.
But as I lie awake, listening to the night sounds of Chihuahua filtering through my window, I can't shake the fear that's taken root in my heart.
This arrangement is becoming complicated.
Feelings are getting involved.
And in my experience, feelings make you vulnerable, make you slip up, make you an easier target.
The dangerous thing about walls is that once someone finds a crack, it's only a matter of time before they see what you're hiding inside.
And some secrets are too ugly to share, even with someone who makes you feel safe.