Chapter 18 Sterling
Sterling
I slip my jacket off, feeling too damn warm. The leather drops. I don’t care. My head’s swimming with too many thoughts. A lot of it’s regret. All of it’s guilt.
Elle must not be remembering everything. She’s been looking at me like I’m not the masked man who dragged her through the vineyard. Like I’m not the one who almost stashed her in the shed and locked the door.
She smiled at me today. Thanked me, even. Gave a whole speech that made me want to take her in my arms and keep her in bed with me until she asks me to stop. Would she even want me in there with her? After everything I’ve done? Does she even remember all of it?
Fuck. If she remembered all of it, she wouldn’t be smiling. She wouldn’t be wearing my shirt, fumbling her fingers into the hem like it’s a comfort instead of a mistake. She wouldn’t be letting me in this close.
And I… I wouldn’t be aching like this.
I lied about the firewood. Said I was going to grab some. But I left without an axe, without a purpose, because I need air. I need space. Because I couldn’t stand there and look at her a second longer without wanting things I don’t deserve.
And she’s fine now. She can take care of herself. For a little bit, she’ll be alright. So I walk. Deeper into the woods, farther from her and the dangerous softness she keeps offering me.
It’s my fault she ever went through the horrors that she did. I should’ve stopped it. Should’ve never left the estate. I should’ve stayed and burned everything to the ground the second I saw Clo’s reach toward Elle.
But I ran. I disappeared into the smoke of my own bitterness and guilt, thinking I could sever myself from it all. And because of it, I left her behind. Left her to Clo. To Kys. To nightmares Elle should’ve never experienced.
Now she’s here. In my cabin. In my shirt. Wrapped in a scarf I pulled over her shoulders. And she looks at me like I’m something good.
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to banish the heat rising in my face. My fingers shake. I can’t tell if it’s from guilt or the fact that she said those things to me—me—like I was someone worth caring about.
I want her. God, I want her. But it’s not just that. I want to be the person she thinks I am.
But then a sharp crack breaks through the silence. I swiftly move without thinking. A bullet’s hit the bark of tree in front of me, a breath off from my head. I drop into a crouch, pulse hammering, instincts slicing clean into my mind. I’m being hunted. No, not hunted. Warned.
I walk quietly into the underbrush, breathing slow and even, letting muscle memory take over. I’ve survived worse. I’ve been tracked before. But I’m not letting this asshole get close to Elle.
I grab a dead branch and push it forward as a decoy. Another bullet slams through the leaves, just ahead of where I baited it.
It’s a sniper. And they’re missing on purpose. I crease my brows, frowning. This sniper’s target was too close. The way he’s taking his shots, too familiar. I grit my teeth as it clicks into place. The angle. The arrogance.
Then another shot rings out. This one embeds itself in the dirt near my knee. He’s not trying to kill me. Just trying to piss me off. And he’s succeeding.
There’s only one asshole who’d pull shit like this out here. One person who would track me all the way to the middle of nowhere, with his stupid sniper rifle, just to prove he could.
Stanley. Of fucking course. Because the second things start to feel like they’re finally settling for once—when I could almost have something for myself—he shows up. Always did have shit timing.
I let out a breath, slow and controlled. But the rage is there, simmering under the surface, sharpening every breath, thundering every beat of my heart. If it’s him—if this is Stanley—then this isn’t a warning. It’s a challenge. And I don’t back down from those.
My vision narrows. The ache of restraint coils tight in my chest. If Stanley wanted me dead, he’d have done it.
But this is him playing games. Trying to remind me that she was his before I brought her here.
That he had her before I could. That he got to hold her, to soothe her, to hear her laugh when I couldn’t even get near her.
He’s not just trying to get my attention. He’s taunting me.
My jaw clenches as I duck low, moving like a shadow through the trees. The terrain is rough, but I know how to use it. I’ve lived in worse, fought in worse. And right now, I want to make him pay. Make him bleed for even thinking for a second that he was worthy of Elle.
I strip off my shirt, tying it over my nose and mouth. From my belt, I pull two smoke grenades. I flick the pins with practiced ease. They hiss to life in my palms, and I hurl them in opposite arcs, the canisters landing deep in the woods.
Smoke explodes, thick and blinding, choking the tree line. I move fast, cutting low across the ground. He’ll be repositioning now, trying to get a better view. It’ll be too fucking late. I spot imprints, leaving a trail of fresh and half-dug soleprints into the mud.
The bastard didn’t even try to mask his trail. Typical. I slip through the trees, silent and invisible. I’m coming for you, Stanley. You wanna play? Let’s play, you son of a bitch.
***
Smoke burns in my lungs when I slip my shirt back on, and vault over a fallen tree, my feet pounding the earth like war drums. I move low, fast, weaving through the deep woods.
Another shot cuts through, skimming bark feet away from me. He’d gamble shooting through smoke? Fucking dickhead.
I grit my teeth, speeding up, rage sharpening my focus. I crest the ridge in a dead sprint, dirt flying beneath my feet, and then I see him. His frame stands out through the thinning smoke.
Stanley. Dumb, cocky, smirking as he adjusts his scope like he hasn’t just lit the fuse on a fucking bomb. I don’t give him the chance to gloat. I slam into him with full force, knocking him off his perch and sending us both hurtling down the slope in a tangled mess of fists, limbs, and fury.
We hit the ground hard. I land on top and throw the first punch, knuckles cracking against his jaw. He grunts, laughs, and brings his knee up barely grazing my ribs.
I dodge. We roll. I come out on top.
My knee digs into his ribs as I grab him by the collar, slamming him hard against the ground. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me why you’re here before I break your jaw.”
Stanley grins. “Aw, big brother. Good to see you too. How long has it been? Years?”
I slam his head into the dirt, not enough to crack bone, but enough to make him feel it.
He grunts, shifts his weight, and I’m pinned beneath him in seconds. “Easy, Silver,” Stanley rasps. His arm’s braced across my throat while I glare up at him. “Can’t I check on my brother? Or are you just upset that I had to make such a dramatic entrance?”
I fucking hate how he looks like me. Same eyes. Same jaw. But where I’ve spent years becoming a ghost, Stanley has stayed bright, reckless, smug. The idiot would walk into danger like it’s a fucking dance. His smile is the same as always too, infuriating, full of teeth.
I twist, using my knee to throw him off balance. He rolls, and I take the upper hand, my fist driving hard into his ribs. He laughs as he takes it, coughing out the impact like it’s a joke. “Missed you too,” he gasps, blood on his teeth.
I grip his shirt in both hands and drag him closer, my voice rough and furious. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
His blood-red grin widens. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Elle. The name doesn’t leave his mouth, but it’s there. In the smug tilt of his chin. I slam him back against the dirt. “You don’t get to say her name,” I snarl.
His grin falters for half a second. “You shouldn’t be pissed at me, Silver. You should be thanking me.”
“For what?”
“For taking care of her,” he spits. “While you fucking left, to go play little hero who takes down the drug operation.”
He coughs, choking on a laugh.
“Seriously, Sterling, what the hell were you thinking? You’ve burned down every goddamn supplier that kept me functioning. The only shit that kept me from breaking down day after day.”
I tighten my grip. “You mean the shit that made you a liability? What Clo gave you to keep you compliant?”
“I needed that,” he spits again. “You think you’re saving anyone? You’re not. You’re just cleaning up your guilt, one fire at a time.”
“You’re sick.”
“I was coping.”
My fist crashes into his face again, clean and brutal. I feel the cartilage shift beneath my knuckles. His forearm presses against my throat, trying to push me off.
“You look like shit, Sterling,” he taunts, dragging the back of his hand across his bloody lip. “Didn’t think our face could look like that, but damn, your brooding’s aged you.”
“Keep talking. I’ll rearrange your face to match the inside.”
Stanley catches my fist this time, twisting my arm. My shoulder flares white-hot with pain.
“Still full of that Song-Smith superiority complex,” he breathes near my ear. “Daddy’s favorite boy playing merc with a big heart in the backwoods. Meanwhile, I kept the estate from falling apart while Damon’s been away. I kept Elle safe.”
The moment he says her name, something inside me snaps.
I twist out of the hold and drive my elbow into his gut.
He coughs, doubling over. I grab the front of his shirt, nearly ripping it, and slam him against a tree trunk.
“You think you kept Elle safe while you helped Clo feed Elle lies and drugs?”
“Elle came to me!”
I punch him hard. He staggers back, blood spraying from his nose, but he doesn’t relent, still smirking like an arrogant asshole. “You don’t know what she needs,” I growl.
“Oh?” His voice drips with venom. “And you do, Sterling? When all you do is disappear like a ghost when shit gets real? You think showing up late with a guilty conscience makes you her savior?”
He laughs, even as blood trails down his chin.
“She was mine first,” he says. “You’re just the replacement.”