Chapter 23
Juliet
For a week, I had worked out of the cabin while Bronc and his team searched for my mother.
I had faith they’d be able to find her. I knew they were the best at what they did.
Sitting alone perched at the dining table beneath dawn’s thin light with a year’s worth of invoices scattered around me, I poured over one discrepancy after another.
The motorcycle shop’s books had their own mysteries to solve.
The television over the fireplace gave off a soft glow, illuminating the dim living area.
I’d gone to leaving it on a national news station hoping they might mention something about my mother’s kidnapping.
Her story had fallen out of the news cycle pretty quickly after the first couple of days.
I guess I knew until they had any leads, there would be no other mention.
She was beyond our grasp until Harrison decided to make a move.
I don’t care what anyone thought. He had her.
My gut told me he did. I happened to glance up as I moved from one invoice to the next, and my eye caught on the familiar face of my father.
The chryon beneath, an urgent banner: KIDNAPPERS MAKE CONTACT. My stomach twisted as I dove for the remote, hit the unmute, then the DVR button. The voice of the anchor filled the room. “Jules Bettencourt heard from his wife Renda’s apparent kidnappers today.”
Then I heard his familiar voice, familiar but strained.
“The people who took my wife sent me a message today. In it, they told me she was well, but that they were growing impatient. They sent a picture of her and told me they expect something in return. But I swear to you, I do not know what they want. I’m begging you, please tell me what you want and I will see that you get it.
” The television screen filled with the picture of my mother wearing a sleeveless powder blue Chanel dress with a ruffled neckline and straight skirt.
I knew this dress well. It was Harrison’s favorite.
He bought one for me in three colors. I hated every one of them.
The anchor’s face was now back on the screen. “If you have information on the whereabouts of Renda Bettencourt, please contact the New York City Police Department.”
I replayed the footage, feeling sicker with every press of the buttons.
My father’s emotions were unreadable to me.
They seemed to fluctuate between fear and anger.
Surely, he knew Harrison was holding her because of me.
Of all the reasons for him to resent me, this one was the worst. The weak disappointment of a daughter caused him yet another reason to harbor animosity towards me.
Could I just ignore what was happening when I knew I could stop it? My mother was fully aware that Harrison had continually harmed me. She basically told me that love hurts. But could I return that same kind of cruelty? Stay hidden and safe while they tortured her in my place?
That question mark had lingered above every stack of books and ledgers I tried to work on as the days had passed before now. My eyes had filled with the familiar blur of numbers, and I couldn’t keep still at the table for more than five minutes at a time.
A weak morning wind played through the grass as I stood by the window, still clutching the remote. I closed my eyes against the strain of my thoughts. I had to decide quickly what I was going to do. Harrison wasn’t a patient man. This was his final warning. I knew it was.
I tossed the remote onto the couch and bent to gather a mess of papers strewn across the floor, my focus and sanity eroded in equal measure.
Each receipt, the printed blurs of ink, turned as meaningless as the promise I made to stay put.
My mother’s face flashed through my mind.
Her possible suffering hung in the air of the cabin and crushed the breath from my lungs.
The broadcast looped in my mind on the verge of constant panic.
The dress, the plea, the terrifying confirmation that she was a pawn in his effort to get to me.
If I waited for Bronc, her captivity could last forever.
How could I let my mother pay for my inaction?
I had to find a way to contact him.
The biggest problem was going to be not tipping my hand to Bronc. Speaking of, I heard a motorcycle outside.
The door flew open, and I saw in his eyes he knew something had happened.
I hadn’t guarded the bond. But that’s alright.
I’d have to tell him about the newscast no matter what.
Maybe he’d see the picture and pick up some kind of clue as to her whereabouts.
That was my biggest dream. If he and his team could find her, I could stay safe. I had to give them one more chance.
The floorboards creaked under Bronc’s boots as he stepped inside, sharp eyes scanning me like I was a map riddled with Xs.
His silver in his beard caught the light from the wall sconce.
My God, but he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
His gaze burned into me. He knew something had happened.
His eyes, too knowing. I turned away, fingers crushing invoices in my hand.
“Team picked up a lead near Honduras,” he said, shrugging off his cut slowly, deliberately. Stalling. Testing. “Your mom’s trail’s still warm, Little Wolf.”
I spun around quickly. This was great news.
A sigh of relief left my lungs. “Oh my God. That’s great!
” I wrapped my arms around his waist. The feel of his hand stroking the hair down my back calmed my soul, if only for a moment.
I stepped back and grabbed the remote control.
“Your timing is perfect. You need to see this.” I clicked play on the DVR button and watched his jaw tighten as he looked on.
“Fuck. He’s getting bolder. That’s for sure.
” He shook his head as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Menace. Motherfucker made contact with Bettencourt. Sent a picture. Check out Fox News. Got it? It’s mostly just her, but try to pick up anything you can.
Timeline’s bumped up. Call Randall. We need to be airborne at twenty hundred hours. That gives us six hours’ prep.”
My head reeled. “Bronc? What’s happening?”
He cupped my face in his large hands. “Once we determined Hasting’s private jet had set down in Honduras, we started mission planning.
We’re moving our operation base to Honduras.
Either that’s where his lab is, or it’s near there.
We’ll be better able to move on him quickly, the closer to him we are.
” He leaned in and gave me a tender kiss, as though that was going to make his leaving easier.
“So, I’m going with you, right?” I was indignant.
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “As much as the thought of being away from you for even a day kills me, I can’t have you there.
You’d be too big of a distraction. My focus would constantly be on keeping you safe instead of finding and eliminating Hastings.
I know if you’re here, you’re surrounded by an entire pack of people I trust who will keep you in their care. ”
I wanted to stomp my foot. Rage at him. But I understood what he was saying.
I also understood that this would give me the opportunity to take matters into my own hands if they didn’t locate my mother within a day or two.
I couldn’t let their search go on for days and days.
My mother didn’t have that kind of time. “Fine.”
The sideways glance I got in return for my response told me Bronc was suspicious as hell. “Juliet, we will find your mother. Don’t get any ideas about trying to interfere.”
Bronc’s hand lingered on my shoulder, warm and steady. “Once my team’s boots hit the ground in Honduras, I’ll check in daily,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We will track that lab. Harrison can’t keep hiding forever.”
I nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “I know you’ll do everything you can.”
And I did know he would.
Daily updates.
Progress reports.
Trust the plan.
He took me in his arms and led me to the large leather sofa.
Bronc’s rough palms framed my face like sacred relics or cradling cracked porcelain.
His breath smelled of coffee and cinnamon from Pearl’s kitchen.
Comfort layered over danger, and for a heartbeat, I let myself drown in it.
The wall sconces carved shadows across his stubbled jaw where tension pulsed, primal and electric, as if his wolf paced just beneath his skin.
“Look at me.” His voice scraped low, alpha resonance thrumming through my bones despite its gentleness. My pulse hammered against his thumbs pressed to my throat—not restraint, but connection. “You think I’d let that bastard breathe near you again? After what he’s done?”
The confession tore from him like claws unsheathed: “I’ll burn cities for you, Little Wolf. Drain oceans. Tear every lab he’s built stone from stone until I find your mother.” His lips brushed my temple—promise and prayer fused into heat. “But I need you here. Anchored to me.”
Outside, cicadas screamed in the cedars lining the compound grounds, a symphony of wilderness mirroring the chaos in my veins. Harrison’s face flickered behind my eyelids: cold champagne eyes, knuckles glinting as he’d backhanded me last winter for burning his steak.
Bronc’s growl rumbled against my collarbone as though he could scent the memory roiling in my blood.
“He doesn’t get to touch you.” Calloused fingers slid beneath my shirt, branding my waist where bruises once bloomed purple-gold under Harrison’s rage, now barely scarred skin singing under Bronc’s possession.
“Not your body.” His mouth trailed fire up my neck, teeth grazing the claiming scar still tender from yesterday’s moonlight frenzy between our wolves’ teeth and claws. “Not your fear.”
I arched into him instinctively—flames licking where terror had frosted my spine—but faltered when twin truths warred: His loyalty could get him killed. My love might be his slaughter.
The whimper tore free before I could cage it. Part plea, part shattered confession. And Bronc stilled like prey caught mid-hunt. When he pulled back, the light fractured in his blue irises into something feral, yet unbearably human.
“You doubt me?” No anger, just a raw ache lay bare between us.
“I doubt him,” I whispered through salt-stung lips. “What he’ll do when cornered.”
His laugh was a dark hymn against my mouth. “Let him come.” Fangs glinted faintly as he grinned—predator’s grace threaded with devotion that scalded worse than any threat. “All the better if he does. Saves me tracking him through whatever hellhole he’s infesting.”
Wind howled suddenly through the canyon beyond our window—a phantom wail that raised gooseflesh along my arms. But Bronc’s hands were heat incarnate, kneading the chill from my flesh as his words sank talons deep:
“Harrison dies screaming for what he took from you.” A vow etched in blood and bone. “And when I bring your mother out safely?” His thumb swept the tear I hadn’t felt fall. “You’ll finally believe you were made for more than survival.”
The kiss crashed through me then—wilderness given teeth and tongue—as if he could rewrite every lie Harrison branded into me with nothing but fear and need for acceptance:
Mine.
Worthy.
Unbroken.
I closed my eyes. And let him hold the shattered pieces together just a little longer.
“Now, sleep, my mate. I need for you to rest.” He kissed my forehead and walked out the front door.
His words looped in my head, but all I could see was my mother’s face. My dad read Harrison’s demand. I knew Harrison. He was angry. Finished waiting.
Even though my eyelids were heavy, I still thought about the backpack I had stored upstairs in my closet.
The envelope filled with cash from when I fled New York was still there.
My getaway money I’d called it then. I’d held onto it just in case Dairyville didn’t work out.
But oh, how it worked out. I loved it here.
I never had any intention of ever leaving.
Give them another two weeks, I decided, counting the bills in my mind.
Two weeks of Bronc’s optimism, his cables and codes and covert sweeps.
If Mom wasn’t blinking into a video feed by dawn on day fourteen, I’d vanish before breakfast. I’d take Bronc’s King Ranch at 5 a.m. and stop at the closest truck stop.
There, I’d purchase a burner phone and a Visa gift card and use it to order an Uber to Amarillo International.
I’d board a plane to somewhere far away. Then I’d call Harrison.
“You want me?” I’d say when he answered, cool as winter steel. “Then let her go first.” He’d have me, but wouldn’t be close to the Iron Valor Pack.