Chapter 6
6
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N ight falls. Moonlight spills across the ocean, illuminating the dark landscape just enough for me to see. As I park near the Cliff Walk trailhead entrance, my mind replays the unsettling conversation I overheard at breakfast between Micah and Harper.
He wants to marry Harper this week, which can’t happen. It won’t fucking happen as long as my heart beats and I have breath left in my lungs. She will be out of his reach within the next hour. The thought of that makes me smirk.
As I continue down the paved trail, I picture Harper with him, touching him, kissing him. It makes anger boil under my skin, and it twists deep in my gut like a knife. I shouldn’t give a single fuck who she chooses to be with, but I do. I just want the best for her because that’s what she deserves—even if she refuses to see it.
Harper’s charm is undeniable. She’s a beautiful woman, wrapped up in a fiery-spirit package. Her sassiness and stubbornness drive at my nerves, but underneath that is pure sunshine. When she smiles, it lights up an entire room. When she laughs, it’s contagious. Harper spreads happiness effortlessly and can find the silver lining in any situation, even a shitty one. It’s both endearing and annoying. I just selfishly hope she can still find something good in this mess she’s gotten herself tangled in. The one I’m rescuing her from.
Right now, I personally find it hard to be positive. There’s no bright side to Micah Rhodes or to Harper being with him.
Fuck.
I should’ve forced her to come with me when I confronted her at the restaurant, consequences be damned. Yet I know Harper or Micah would’ve made a scene, drawing more attention than either of us needed. Micah’s father has influence in this town that can ruin lives. Had he seen me today, he might have tightened his grip on her even more, put me in jail, and then my rescue mission would’ve been severely delayed.
I grit my teeth, remembering the possessive way he secured her seat belt earlier. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to rip him from the car right then and bash his face into the pavement in broad daylight. I imagined taking her and leaving him to bleed out on the concrete.
My phone buzzes, pulling me from the spiral of my thoughts. Billie texted me a picture.
I click on it, lowering the brightness of my screen so I don’t draw any unnecessary attention.
It’s Harper at the grocery store, Micah behind her, whispering something sinister in her ear while she clutches a pregnancy test in her hand. My chest tightens painfully as I recall seeing her carrying it when they left the grocery store. I hoped no one recognized her.
Billie
WTAF IS THIS? Did you know about this?
She immediately sends several links to articles about Harper and Micah expecting a child. My jaw clenches so tight that it aches. I’d have said it was an AI-generated hoax if I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes. Unfortunately, it’s real. The thought of Harper carrying that man’s baby brings me to a level of disgust I’ve never experienced.
Billie
This is an actual nightmare! How can it get any worse than this?
I didn’t tell her earlier when I watched it through binoculars because I wanted to discuss it with Harper first. This doesn’t involve me. It’s not my business.
Billie
Well? You have nothing to say?
Brody
No.
Billie
I’m freaking out.
Brody
She’ll be with me tonight.
When the phone vibrates again, Billie’s name flashes on the screen, and I silence the call. I’m not ready to talk. Right now, I need my full attention on what’s to come. My mind needs to be right because I have no idea what situation I’ll be walking into when I enter that house. I have to expect the unexpected.
Brody
I’ll text you later.
I exhale, forcing out the distractions. I close my eyes, mentally reviewing every detail of Micah’s house from the virtual tour I studied earlier today. Every hallway, room, and entrance are imprinted in my memory, along with the expensive art he proudly flaunted for the cameras.
The crisp night air surrounds me as I continue forward.
Billie
You’re SO rude!
It’s not the first time I’ve been told that, and I’m sure it won’t be the damn last.
Brody
That emoji is enough to set her off—I know it.
Billie
I HATE THAT REPLY!
Billie
I can’t suppress the faint smirk that forms on my lips. I know my cousin better than she knows herself.
The trail winds and curves. Shadows dance through the branches before the path straightens out, revealing the obnoxious fountain in Micah’s perfectly manicured backyard. Earlier today, when confirming Harper’s location, I scoped out this exact spot. Now, cloaked by darkness, I move with quiet determination, heart pounding in anticipation, ready to rescue Harper and end our nightmare once and for all.
I just hope she’s learned her lesson.
When I passed his house earlier, the ten-foot brick walls and iron gate guarding his property in front stood out. It was designed to keep out unwanted visitors—or perhaps more accurately, to keep them trapped inside.
I continue along the trail, the cool ocean breeze grazing my skin and mingling with the faintly bitter scent of saltwater. On any other night, I’d pause, soaking in the moonlight, shimmering like diamonds across the inky waves. But right now, urgency hums in my blood. Each heartbeat echoes with a need to save her.
If Harper still had her phone, this rescue would be simpler. But knowing Micah, I’d guess he’s either destroyed it or hidden it from her. My jaw clenches, frustration mixing with protective fury as I move even closer to the property’s edge.
From my position in the shadows, I study the large house. A muted glow from the TV flashes from the downstairs living room. Upstairs, the primary bedroom’s light spills onto the balcony. Harper sits on the edge of the bed, her head hanging slightly forward, shoulders slumped, as if she’s struggling to stay upright. My pulse spikes as unease knots my stomach. She looks unsteady and vulnerable.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, urgency tightening its grip on me.
With silent precision, I scale the chain-link fence, boots landing with a thump on the soft grass. I hug the perimeter, and my gaze remains locked on her silhouette as I reach the ivy-covered lattice work that stretches upward to the balcony.
The lattice groans but holds firm beneath my grip as I test it. I don’t have time to find an alternate route and go for it. My muscles are tight as I climb upward, and my heart pounds hard.
“Hold on, Harper,” I whisper, determination driving me forward.
Once on the balcony, I pause, my breathing steady as I listen for any sounds inside. The night around me is eerily quiet, filled only with distant waves and wind. I ease the balcony door open and step into the room, immediately seeing Harper more clearly. Her face is pale, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She turns toward me slowly, confusion and relief warring openly in her expression.
“Brody?” Her voice trembles, barely audible. “You promis?—”
“Later,” I interrupt, moving to her side.
Up close, she looks dazed, her pupils dilated, and the faint tremors in her hands ignites a fury deep within me.
“Harper, what did he do?”
“I don’t …” she mumbles, voice trailing off weakly. Her eyes flutter, lids heavy as she struggles to keep them open.
On the bedside table is a mug with a tea bag hanging from it.
I grasp her shoulders carefully, forcing her to focus on me. “Did he give you something?” My words are edged with a control that scares me.
I’m fucking feral. I will fucking kill him tonight.
She nods—a slow, uncertain movement—and points. “Tea.”
My jaw locks tight, anger flaring hot beneath my skin.
“Fuck,” I mutter harshly, quickly gathering her limp form into my arms. “We need to get out of here now.”
Harper doesn’t resist, melting into my hold, her breathing shallow and uneven. As I carefully move toward the balcony, my heart races, as I’m hyperaware of every subtle sound beneath my feet.
“Close your eyes,” I whisper, voice gentle despite the turmoil raging inside me. “I won’t let you go. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
With Harper secured against my chest, I descend the lattice carefully, each movement precise. It creaks under our combined weight, tension knotting my shoulders, but the wood holds.
When my boots finally hit solid ground, adrenaline surges in a wave of relief.
“You’re safe now,” I assure her, moving toward the fence, holding her protectively close. “I’ve got you.”
I carry her the half a mile back to the car, and as we approach, Harper stirs faintly, murmuring, “Brody.” Her fingers weakly grab my shirt, her fragile body trembling against mine.
The white-hot anger nearly takes me over, but it’s extinguished by my desire to shield her from harm.
I carefully place her in the passenger seat and buckle her in. She reaches out blindly, grabbing my hand, and her eyes flicker open, cloudy but pleading.
I’m going back, and I’m going to fucking kill him.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers, the words heavy with fear and vulnerability. It’s like she can read my thoughts.
My breath huffs out roughly. The need for vengeance outweighs my responsibility to protect her, but her quiet plea pierces me directly in the goddamn heart, forcing clarity through my intense anger.
“ Please ,” she begs, her voice breaking.
“Fine. But this isn’t over. He will fucking pay,” I promise her firmly, gripping her hand briefly before shutting the door, the sound echoing across the empty parking lot, mixing with the rushing waves.
Every muscle in my body screams to turn back, to make Micah suffer for fucking drugging her, but Harper’s safety comes first.
This time, that bastard gets a free pass. Next time, he won’t.
We leave this godforsaken town, and the night is endless. Headlights carve through the darkness as I push the Charger harder, every mile creating more distance between her and the nightmare she’s leaving behind. Harper sits curled in the passenger seat, head resting against the window, eyes closed. She’s pale, breathing shallow, forehead damp from whatever Micah gave her.
My knuckles whiten against the steering wheel every time I glance at her. I’m careful to watch for signs of distress, but the steady rise and fall of her chest reassures me she’s stable—at least for now.
After nine gruesome hours of driving, my eyelids grow heavy, the adrenaline finally slipping away. I spot a neon vacancy sign flickering weakly in the distance, and when I’m closer, I pull into the parking lot of a small roadside motel.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires, the noise barely stirring Harper. Her head wobbles slightly, eyes cracking open.
“Where … are we?” she mumbles, then clears her throat as she struggles to focus.
“Somewhere safe,” I promise, my voice gentle. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I watch her from the window inside the tiny lobby as I secure a room. The manager slides me the keys, and I quickly return to the car. As I drive over to the room across the parking lot, I see the tobacco-stained mini blinds dip down, knowing we’re being watched. I offered her $2,000 to pretend like she never saw us. Just in case anyone is searching. She haggled me for double.
When I open Harper’s door, she tries to move on her own, but nearly falls. I catch her easily, lifting her into my arms. Her head nestles against my shoulder, and I ignore the unsettling longing that fills my chest.
The motel room is small and simple, decorated in shades of beige and pale blue, faintly smelling of tobacco and disinfectant. It’s the type of place people rent for a few hours to rest because it’s in the middle of nowhere.
I set Harper on the bed, and the mattress barely flexes. She opens her eyes and coughs.
“Oh God,” she whispers, panicked, and I know she’s about to puke.
I scoop her back into my arms and rush her to the bathroom. I set her down, allowing her to grip the edge of the porcelain sink just in time. She trembles violently as her stomach empties itself.
I rub slow circles against her back, whispering, “It’s okay. Get it out of your system, Harp. Just breathe.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
After several long moments, she sinks against me, exhausted. Without thinking, I reach for a washcloth, wetting it under the cool water. I carefully wipe her face, cleaning away tears and lingering sweat. She looks up at me, eyes glassy, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she says weakly. “Looks like I’m still Little Miss Disaster.”
I don’t say anything—because it’s not the time. Instead, I help her back to the bed. She sits, eyes half closed, swaying.
“My body is on fire,” she says, tugging weakly at her clothes, clearly uncomfortable.
My heart constricts because I know she can’t manage alone. I swallow, carefully removing her clothes, fingers light and respectful. Her skin is damp, and I notice how her hair sticks to her forehead. Her eyes droop heavily as exhaustion threatens to claim her.
“My hero,” she breathes, barely audible.
I keep my eyes averted, fighting to control my breathing. This isn’t the way I ever imagined touching her for the first time—with her vulnerable, scared, trusting me to take care of her.
My anger pulses again, fierce and protective.
I guide her under the blankets, covering her with just the sheet. “I want to go back tonight and fuck him up.”
“Stay,” she whispers, reaching out weakly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I brush gentle fingers over her forehead until her breathing evens and she drifts away. We’re seven hours away from my cabin in the Smoky Mountains, and then we’ll be safe. There’s only one way up the mountain and one way down it. If Micah comes, I have a bullet with his name on it.
As I watch her rest, every protective instinct I have blazes to life. Her face softens in sleep, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her so vulnerable.
How the hell did we end up here?
I’ve kept Harper at arm’s length for so long, knowing I had no right to complicate her life or mine. Eden’s memory always served as a reminder that loving someone puts them in danger. But Harper … Harper makes me forget all the reasons I should stay away.
She’s been hurt, betrayed by someone she trusted, and somehow, I’ve become her only safe haven. My chest tightens painfully, as I’m caught between fear of something terrible happening to her and the need to fuck up Micah Rhodes.
I lean back in the chair near the bed, unwilling to sleep, too vigilant to relax.
Tomorrow will come with its own complications, but for tonight, she’s safe. And for the first time in years, I feel a sense of clarity.
Whatever comes next, I’ll handle it. Because protecting Harper Alexander isn’t just my job; it’s something deeper, something I’m finally ready to admit, even if only to myself.