25. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Beau
The snow falls harder as I storm through Sienna's driveway, rage burning through my veins like molten steel.
Every step I take away from that house, away from the knowledge that my brother used an innocent six-year-old to gather intelligence on the woman I love, feeds the fury building in my chest.
I'm going to find him. I'm going to wrap my hands around his throat and—
"Beau, stop!" Molly's voice cuts through the wind behind me, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down.
Not when that piece of shit is out there somewhere, probably planning his next move. Not when he's violated everything sacred about this town, this community that's become my sanctuary.
"BEAU!"
Footsteps crunch rapidly through the snow behind me, but I'm already at my truck, yanking open the door with enough force to rattle the hinges.
"Get away from the truck, Molly."
"Like hell I will!" She appears at my side, grabbing my arm with both hands. "You can't just—"
"Can't what?" I whirl on her, and the look in my eyes makes her take a step back. "Can't protect what's mine? Can't make sure that bastard never touches another hair on anyone I care about?"
"Beau, please—"
"He used Maisie!" The words explode out of me like artillery fire. "A six-year-old child! He manipulated an innocent little girl to get information about you , about us , about everything we've built here!"
Before I can climb into the truck, Sheriff Cooper comes barreling out of the house, his boots sliding in the snow as he rushes to intercept me. His hand clamps down on my shoulder with the grip of a man who's dealt with plenty of hotheads before.
"Now, son," he says in that calm voice he probably uses on belligerent drunks at the tavern. "Where exactly do you think you're headed?"
"To find my brother."
"And where might that be?" Cooper's eyebrows rise. "Because last I checked, his hotel room was empty. Man could be anywhere by now."
The simple logic of his words worm their way into my brain, but the rage is still there, still burning, still demanding action.
"I don't give a shit where he is. I'll tear this entire mountain apart until—"
"Beau." Molly's voice is soft now, pleading. "Didn't you hear the Sheriff? Riley's not even at the motel. Where would you even go to find him?"
More figures emerge from the house behind us.
Charlie, Frank Barrett, even Betty with her flour-dusted apron thrown over her coat. They form a loose circle around my truck, not quite blocking me in, but making it clear I'm not leaving without a conversation.
"Look around you, dear," Betty says gently, gesturing to the rescue lights still sweeping through the neighborhood. "Half this town just spent hours searching for one little girl. You think we're going to let you go off half-cocked into a blizzard to hunt down some city asshole?"
"This isn't your fight," I growl.
"The hell it isn't," Charlie interrupts, his bartender's authority cutting through the night air. "That man came into our town. Threatened our people. Used our kid. That makes it everybody's fight."
Frank Barrett steps forward. "But it doesn't make it a one-man war, son. We do things together here."
Their words swirl around me, logical and caring and completely fucking reasonable. But the soldier in me, the part that's been trained to eliminate threats with extreme prejudice, isn't interested in reason right now.
Especially when it comes to the person I loathe the most.
"Please," Molly whispers, stepping closer. "Let's just go home and think about this. Come up with a plan that doesn't involve you getting arrested for assault. Or worse."
Home.
The word cuts through the rage like a blade, reminding me of what I actually have to lose here. Not just Molly, but this life we've built. This community that's accepted a broken ex-soldier and somehow made him feel human again.
"Fine," I say finally, the word scraping out of my throat like gravel. "We go home. But if he shows his face anywhere near—"
"We'll handle it," Sheriff Cooper promises. "Together. Like family does."
The drive back up the mountain is tense silence punctuated by the sound of snow hitting the windshield and my hands gripping the wheel so damn hard enough to leave permanent impressions.
Molly sits beside me, radiating concern and love and all the things I don't deserve but somehow get to keep anyway.
Every few minutes, she reaches over to touch my arm, my thigh, my hand, like she's anchoring me to the present instead of letting me drift back to darker places.
I glance at her hand on mine and something breaks loose in my chest. Here she is, comforting me when it's her battle, her nightmare, her ex. She's the one Riley stalked across state lines, manipulated a child to find, and yet she's steadying me.
"I'm sorry," I murmur.
Her eyes find mine, questioning.
"For almost losing it back there. This isn't just about me."
She squeezes my fingers, and Christ, I love her so much it physically hurts. Like my heart's grown too big for the cage I built around it.
"We'll figure this out," she says softly as we turn onto the final stretch of road leading to the cabin. "Whatever Riley's planning, whatever he wants, we'll handle it. Together."
Together . There's that word again.
For most of my life, 'together' meant watching someone else's back while they failed to watch yours. It meant depending on people who let you down when it mattered most. It meant—
"Beau?" Molly's voice is sharp with concern. "What's wrong?"
I slam on the brakes so hard the truck fishtails in the snow, coming to a stop twenty feet from where we usually park outside my cabin.
Because Molly's car is gone.
The parking spot beside my workshop, where her perfectly restored blue sedan has sat last night like a symbol of everything good I've ever accomplished, is empty. Nothing but undisturbed snow and tire tracks leading back toward the main road.
"Where's my car?" Molly's voice is small, confused.
The rage that I'd managed to contain during the drive up explodes back to life with the force of a mortar round. This isn't just theft. This is violation. This is Riley taking something precious that doesn't belong to him, something I created for the woman I love.
Just like he's always done.
"That fucking bastard." The words come out low and dangerous. "That manipulative piece of shit."
I'm out of the truck before Molly can respond, boots hitting the snow as I stalk toward the empty space where her car should be. The tracks are fresh, maybe an hour old, leading down the mountain toward town.
"Beau, it's okay," Molly says, following me. "It's just a car. We can call the sheriff, file a report—"
"It's not just a car!"
The words explode out of me with enough force to make her flinch again. Dammit . I'm tired of seeing her do that, but fuck me.
"It's a message, Molly. Don't you see? He's telling us that he can take whatever he wants, whenever he wants."
My chest is getting tight, a sudden panic that feels dangerously familiar creeping in at the edges of my vision.
Because this is the pattern. This is what Riley has always done.
"I should have told you," I say, my voice getting more raspy as the oxygen feels lighter. "I opened that package, Molly. The one delivered to Johnson's Auto. I opened it after you went to sleep."
"Y-you did?" Her face goes pale. "What was in it?"
"Claims that you violated some bullshit engagement contract by leaving without 'proper notification.
'" The words taste like poison in my mouth.
"He's not just here to get you back, baby.
He wants everything. Your money, your independence, your fucking life .
And if he can't have that, he'll destroy it all so no one else can either. "
The snow is coming down harder now, fat flakes that blur my vision and make Molly's face seem distant, dreamlike. Molly's voice reaches me as if from the far end of a tunnel, and fuck… I know where this is going.
I've been here before. One too many times.
"Beau, you're scaring me. Please, just breathe—"
But I can't breathe.
"Just like Maisie," I continue, my breathing getting shallow. "He used a six-year-old child to send a message that nowhere is safe. No one is off limits. He can manipulate anyone, take anything, hurt anyone to get what he wants."
"Beau—"
"This is what he does!" My voice cracks with the weight of years of buried rage. "He takes everything good and destroys it! Our whole childhood, anything I cared about, anyone who mattered to me—he'd find a way to poison it, ruin it, make sure I lost it!"
The memories are flooding back now, not just from Afghanistan, but from years before.
Riley breaking my model planes. Riley convincing my parents I was lying when I told the truth. Riley stealing girlfriends, achievements, moments of pride.
Always taking, always destroying.
"And now he's doing it to you," I whisper, but my voice sounds like it's coming from underwater.
I fall to one knee, grasping my chest, unable to hold myself up any longer.
"Because you chose me instead of him, and he can't stand that someone finally saw through his bullshit."
Molly's moving toward me, her lips forming words I can't quite hear over the roaring in my ears.
The snow feels like ash falling, the sharpness of the freezing cold air like the heat of an explosion. My hands are shaking, and I can't tell if it's rage or terror or the phantom tremors of memories I've spent years trying to bury.
"He's never going to stop," I say, the realization hitting me like shrapnel. "No matter how far we run, how perfect we make this life, he'll keep coming. Keep taking. Keep destroying everything we build until there's nothing left."
Suddenly I'm not standing in the snow anymore.
I'm back in that valley in Afghanistan, watching Riley—no, not Riley, but it feels like Riley—take everything that mattered. Take the three men in my unit who didn't make it home. Good men who had families waiting, futures planned.