Chapter 7 Calder
Calder
The silence in the cabin isn’t silence at all—it’s a noose tightening around my neck, one shallow breath at a time.
Saint lies on the bed with her back to me.
Her breathing’s too shallow, too careful, for her to be asleep.
She’s pretending, reaching for the escape of unconsciousness even though we both know it won’t come.
Not for her. Not for me.
In my head, all I see is her face. The fear.
Her tearstained cheeks. The silent plea in her eyes.
I can’t let this end with her in a shallow grave, but every plan I consider fractures, leaving me with the same result.
She’s gone. I’m gone, or both of us are gone.
No solution that doesn’t take a piece of us with it.
No salvation. Just blood in different shapes.
Fuck. I may have finally gotten myself into a mess that I can’t get out of.
There’s a frigid bite to the air that smells like a blizzard. Montana’s weather, especially in the mountains, can be unpredictable at best. The cabin will freeze by nightfall if I don’t get a fire going. I stand, causing the chair to scrape against the floor, and Saint’s entire body tenses.
She doesn’t turn around, though. I pause mid-step and am hit in the chest by a wave of guilt. She didn’t ask for this. To be cuffed to the bed, to piss in a bucket. Even if it is her fault that she opened that door, she didn’t ask for any of this.
Dammit. Moments like these make me wish I had no heart at all. No conscience. I have no weaknesses, or at least I didn’t, until Saint came into my life. Fuck.
I told her I wouldn’t uncuff her, but I should. It would give her wrist some time to heal, and maybe then she’ll warm up to me.
Not likely, asshole. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I decide before I can stop myself. This is a mistake. I know it.
The thought comes sharp and clear, but I ignore it against my better judgment and pull the keys for the cuffs out of my pocket. Keeping her chained up indefinitely isn’t sustainable.
If she tries to make a run for it, I’ll catch her.
No one is going to see her out here in these woods.
I know I’m doing this for more than the reasons I’m feeding myself.
Because the guilt is a clawing thing in my chest, and I’m praying releasing her wrist will allow it to sheath its claws enough so I can think.
I can handle her if she tries anything. I’m twice her size, trained in ways she can’t imagine. She’s nothing. Hell, I bet she hasn’t even thrown a real punch before.
I’ve got this.
I walk to the bedside, key in hand. “Saint.”
She doesn’t respond.
“I know you’re awake.”
After a few seconds, she slowly rolls over to face me.
Her blue eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s a trail of tears on her cheeks.
The sight of them feels like someone is jabbing a hot branding iron into my chest. I swallow the pain and push the fantasies of what that might have been a little bit further down.
“I’m going to uncuff you,” I tell her.
Surprise flickers across her face. “Why? Don’t tell me you had a change of heart?”
“No change of heart. I just know keeping you cuffed permanently isn’t an option, and I think it would be good to give your wrist a break.” It’s not a lie. Holding the key out in front of her, I continue. “But if you try anything, if you run, if you fight me, it’s going to end badly. Understand?”
She nods slowly, suspicion etched on her features.
“I mean it, Saint. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to.”
“I won’t.”
I don’t believe her. Saint is tougher than she looks, a true fighter. I expect her to fight. I’d be shocked if she didn’t. I unlock the cuff, and the metal clicks open. She immediately pulls her wrist to her chest, cradling it with her other hand even though I already bandaged it.
That fucking guilt digs itself in a little deeper. All of this is a necessary evil, at the expense of keeping her safe.
I don’t like it, but I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Try explaining that to my brain. Rational thought doesn’t make the ache in my chest go away. I crush the thoughts and focus my attention on building a fire to keep us warm.
“Stay on the bed,” I order, taking a step back to give her some space. “Don’t move.”
She watches me with caution as I turn toward the wood stove. I keep her in my peripheral vision. I’m not stupid enough to turn my back on her completely.
Desperation makes people dangerous, even little women who are half my size.
Crouching down in front of the hearth, I inspect the remains of last night’s fire. There’s old ash there, so I’ll need to clear it out before I can build a proper fire. The bed creaks as Saint shifts positions. She might just be trying to adjust herself, or worse, trying to escape.
Either way, I don’t like it.
“Saint! I told you to stay put.” I growl without looking back at her.
“I’m just trying to get comfortable.”
Sure, you are.
I reach for the kindling I stacked beside the stove one of the other times I stayed out here, keeping my attention split between the task and Saint’s presence behind me. It’s stupid. I should’ve started the fire first, then uncuffed her. Good thing I thought of that now, huh?
The metal frame of the bed creaks again.
“Saint.” My voice carries a warning.
“I’m just—”
The rush of movement comes faster than I expect and catches me off guard.
I turn around just in time to witness her launch off the bed and bolt for the front door.
Fuck. Surging to my feet, my body is already moving before my brain can fully catch up.
Damn, she’s fast, faster than I expected her to be.
Her bare feet are silent as they move across the floor.
Her hand hits the doorknob.
“Saint, don’t—”
The door flies open, and she’s through it, disappearing into the twilight. Cold air rushes in, bringing the scent of pine and the approaching night.
Goddammit.
I’m out the door in a flash, my boots pounding against the porch boards.
She’s already off the porch, running for the tree line.
The girl can move when she’s motivated. I’ll give her that.
But she’s wearing nothing but my shirt and her underwear, her feet are bare, and she has no idea where she is or where she’s going.
She won’t make it far, not that I’m going to let her try.
I close the distance in long, powerful strides. She glances back at me over her shoulder. Her honey-blond hair blows in the wind, and her blue eyes widen with terror when she sees how close I am. She stumbles, tripping over a root, and I’m on her before she can recover.
I wrap my arms around her waist from behind and haul her off her feet. A scream rips from her throat. Her sound of pure panic and rage tears through the quiet forest. My ears are ringing from the noise, and then she starts to fight.
“Stop!” I growl, trying to control her thrashing body. “Stop fighting me!”
She doesn’t listen. Her elbow connects with my ribs, a lucky shot that actually hurts.
Maybe I had been mistaken. She isn’t as meek or innocent as I thought.
She interrupts my thoughts by sinking her nails into my forearm and raking them across the skin.
Blood beads against the scratches. She’s all wild desperation, fighting like her life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
I hook a leg around hers and send us both toward the ground. At the last second, I twist my body to take the brunt of the fall. We hit the ground hard, pine needles and dirt cushioning the impact. She writhes in my grip, trying to claw her way free.
“Saint—fuck—stop!”
“Let me go!” She bucks against me, her heel connecting with my shin. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”
I roll, pinning her beneath me, using my weight to immobilize her. Her chest heaves against mine, and we’re both breathing hard now. Tears are falling from her eyes steadily, and they mix with the dirt smudged on her cheeks.
“There’s nowhere to go,” I tell her, my voice rough. “We’re miles from anyone that could help you, and even if you got away, you’ll likely die before you reach someone.”
“I don’t care!” She tries to knee me, but I shift my hips to block it. “I’d rather die out there than stay here with you!”
The words shouldn’t sting, but fuck me, they do.
“Well, you don’t get that choice.” I catch both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head.
She’s so small like this, so breakable beneath me.
It’s hard to stay angry with her when her reaction is relatable.
She’s afraid and confused. I get that, but I also told her to do something, and she didn’t listen.
“I told you not to run. I fucking told you. That’s all you had to do, Saint. Stay put.”
“You’re a monster!” She spits the words at me literally—saliva hits my cheek. “A murderer! I hate you! I hate you!” Her voice cracks on the last word before dissolving into a sob. Beneath me, her body goes rigid, every muscle locked tight with terror and rage and despair.
And despite everything, despite the situation, despite knowing I should haul her back to the cabin right now, I’m frozen, looking down at her face, flushed with exertion and emotion. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and her lips are parted in a gasp for air.
Those are the same lips that kissed me a year ago.
The memory slams into me with physical force.
Her climbing into my lap in the truck—so sweet and innocent and wanting.
The way she tasted like strawberry lip gloss and beer.
How every part of me had screamed to drag her closer, to claim her mouth properly, to give her what she was asking for even though she didn’t understand what that meant.
I’d stopped myself then. Pushed her away because it was the right thing to do. She deserved better than a man like me.
Little good that did us, huh?
“Get off me,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “Please.”
I should. I need to. Yet I don’t move.