Chapter 5
Chapter five
Blake
I wasn’t used to having someone else in my house. Even with Biscuit, the place was always quiet. Predictable. I liked it that way—wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. No surprises.
Then came Holly.
Now there were crumbs on the counter, flour on the stove, and the smell of something warm and sweet that didn’t belong to me.
There were two mugs in the sink instead of one.
I told myself it didn’t matter. She was just passing through.
But the part of me that liked order was twitching anyway.
I needed to know what I was dealing with. Who I was dealing with.
Standing by the window, watching fat flakes of snow drift past the glass, I repeated the lie I’d been telling myself since she’d arrived: she couldn’t stay.
Then I turned and saw her sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing one of my old shirts, sleeves hanging past her hands, feeding Biscuit crumbs like it was a full-time job.
She smiled at him—a tiny, unguarded thing—and I stopped believing my own lie all over again. I cleared my throat. “We need to talk, Holly.”
Her smile vanished. She straightened fast, like a soldier at attention. “I—I’m sorry if I made a mess—”
“You didn’t,” I said quickly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I just need to know what’s going on. You were hiding in a condemned building. That doesn’t just happen for no reason.”
She went still.
I sat down across from her, careful to keep my voice low. “You said you were locked in the dark, but then you said you didn’t have anyone. I need to understand what that means.” Because it sounded like trafficking.
Her fingers tightened around the mug she was holding. “I just had a bad dream,” she whispered.
“You don’t have family missing you? Friends?”
She shook her head. “No.” But she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Amanda had lied. Lied to me for four years, until I’d caught her promising her boyfriend that once she had a ring on her finger she’d start sending money to him.
“Someone must be looking for you.”
“No one,” she said again. "I don't have anyone." Too quick. Too firm. Another lie.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her. “Look,” I said quietly. “I’m not trying to trap you. But if you’re in trouble, I can’t help unless I know what kind of trouble it is. You can tell me.”
Her knuckles went white around the mug. “I’m not in trouble.”
I exhaled slowly. “You’re a shitty liar, baby. But you have to understand something—I can’t protect you from shadows. If someone’s looking for you—”
“They’re not,” she interrupted.
I frowned. “You sure about that?”
Her head dropped. “Please,” she said softly. “Don’t ask me that. I just… I just want to stay here for a little while. I’ll find somewhere else after.”
“Why here?”
She blinked, startled. “What?”
“Why me?” I asked. “I could have taken you anywhere. Called someone. Taken you into a shelter. Why stay with a man you don’t know?”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. For a moment, I thought she’d answer. But she just shook her head, eyes wide, voice small. “Because you didn’t ask me to leave.”
I didn’t know whether to be angry or sorry. Maybe both. “Okay,” I said after a moment. “You can stay a little while. But you need to understand — if someone comes looking, I have to know what I’m up against.”
She nodded too fast, relief and fear tangled together. “No one’s coming,” she whispered.
I wanted to believe her. God help me, I did. But something about the way she said it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I stood, because sitting too close was starting to feel dangerous. “I’ve got work tomorrow,” I said. “You’ll be safe here with Biscuit. Lock the door if you need to.”
She nodded again, biting her lip. “Thank you.”
I gave her a tight smile and walked out before I could start asking more questions.
Outside, the snow was coming down harder. The kind that muffles everything.
I told myself I was just being cautious. Just making sure she wasn’t lying about something that might get us both hurt.
But deep down, another thought was already gnawing its way through.
If she was lying—even a little—I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why.
Because the truth would mean she wasn’t the lost, broken girl I’d started to care about.
And I wasn’t ready to lose her yet.
After I’d finally dealt with the pay and Christmas bonuses in the small study/office that would have been a fourth bedroom if I ever needed it and palmed my phone, scrolling for Clem’s number.
We’d been at school together, and both enlisted right after high school.
I’d wanted the army engineers, and she didn’t care so long as she got away from home.
I’d had to come home after five years when Dad got sick, but Clem had been doing something secretive.
Probably Black Ops. Wouldn’t have surprised me.
I knew she worked for a guy—ex-marine that owned some fancy nightclub in Tampa—but she’d know or could find out what I needed.
I sent the text and waited, but it only took about thirty seconds for her to call me back, not even bothering with hello. “What’s up, Viking?”
I snorted. “Got a situation. Sensitive. I need to know if you can run a background and do a trace for me.”
“I can do better. You want the guy to disappear?”
Jesus. Clem never changed. “No. Not yet, and not a guy.”
“Text me the name.”
“Will do.” I hesitated. “It’s urgent, but all I have is a name and a first name of a possible douchebag.”
“Everything you do is urgent, Weston.”
I rolled my eyes and left it at that. “Thanks, Clem.”
I hung up and stared at the phone, texting her quickly.
My hands were tight around it, like I was ready to crush the damn thing.
For a second, I just stood there, breathing.
The house was quiet. I could hear Biscuit’s claws click on the floor, and Holly’s voice, soft, like she was reading to him in the next room.
It made something in me settle. I didn’t want her to know I was making calls.
I didn’t want her to worry. I doubt she even remembered she’d let her last name slip.
If I could fix it without her even knowing, that was what I was going to do.
I had to find out if this was gonna bite me on the ass because I knew I was developing feelings for her.
There was another time I'd done that for a woman.
I’d spent half the drive home rehearsing what I was going to say.Not the fancy part, the real part.
Amanda and I had been together over a year. Long enough for her toothbrush to live next to mine, for me to fall headlong and quickly.
I’d been waiting for the right time, but I’d finally stopped overthinking it. I’d bought the ring that morning. Small, simple, elegant—she wasn’t the flashy kind. At least, I thought she wasn’t.
It was early afternoon when I walked soundlessly into the apartment we were living in.
I remember that detail because the sun was slanting through the blinds just right, catching the ring box in my pocket every time I moved.
I could already see it: her hands over her mouth, her eyes wet, her saying yes.
The house was quiet except for her voice.
I smiled at first—I’d missed that sound. Then I stopped.
Her tone was different. Lower. Sharper. A kind of edge I hadn’t heard before. She was in the den, phone pressed to her ear, pacing slow. She hadn’t heard me come in.
“…as soon as he proposes,” she was saying, her voice bright with laughter. “We’ll make it official, and then you and I can get what we deserve.”
Silence. Then a man’s voice through the phone—low, amused. I couldn’t make out the words, but whatever he said made her laugh again.
“Of course,” she said. “As soon as there’s a ring on my finger, we’ll take him to the cleaners. He’s too trusting to see it coming.”
My heart didn’t break. Not right then. It just… stopped. I didn’t move. Didn’t say a thing. Just stood there listening to the woman I’d planned a life with talk about me like I was a mark in a con.
She walked past the doorway, still smiling, and froze when she saw me.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t throw anything. I didn’t ask why. I just took the ring box out of my pocket and set it on the counter between us. She could have it. I wanted nothing to do with it.
Her mouth opened—maybe to explain, maybe to lie—but I didn’t wait to find out. I walked back out the door with Biscuit at my heel and never looked back.
The reply from Clem was instant: “Give me a few hours. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”
I didn’t bother answering. I wasn’t planning on being stupid.
But if anyone came for Holly, I wasn’t promising I’d be smart about it, either.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and went back out to the kitchen.
Holly was at the table, hunched over a pad of paper.
Biscuit lay with his chin on her foot, tail thumping every time she moved.
She looked up, startled, like she’d been caught doing something wrong. “I was just…” She trailed off, eyes dropping to her hands.
I kept my voice even. “Just what?”
A flush crept up her cheeks. “Making a list. Things you might need from the store. If I’m going to bake more…” She twisted the ribbon, knuckles white. “You’re probably low on sugar now.”
The urge to smile hit hard and fast. “You’re making a grocery list?”
She nodded, so small I almost missed it. “I thought it would be helpful. So I wasn’t wasting anything.”
I sat across from her and reached for the list. She didn’t pull it away. The handwriting was neat, careful, but the list was tiny. Sugar, eggs, butter, more chocolate chips. There was a note at the bottom: “Only if it’s not too expensive.”
God. I wanted to shake someone for teaching her to apologize for breathing.
“That’s a good list,” I said. “How about we do an online order?”