Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
VALEN
One week after the Harrington invasion—as Roman has taken to calling it—and I’m finally settling into a new wave of chaos.
Sort of.
The familiarity of their relationships has always made me uncomfortable. The feelings don’t align with my mind, and it’s fucked me up ever since I woke up in that hospital room.
It’s why I moved out of the Harrington estate as soon as I was well enough to take care of myself on my own. And it’s why they’re still here now—Clover is someone who once mattered to me, which means she matters to them.
But their pushiness is probably also why I’m able to cope with Chief, who’s staring at me as if I’m the outsider here. In my tank.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re still here?” I ask, removing my shirt and tossing it toward the laundry bag in the corner before pulling on a clean one. “Or are we just going to keep pretending that you need to review the security footage at midnight?”
Chief doesn’t look away from the monitor. He’s been planted in my gaming chair… Command chair? Whatever it is, for three hours now, watching the feed from Clover’s cameras with the intensity of a man guarding the queen.
“Just makin’ sure everything’s secure,” he says. “I was training with Clover earlier, but she was too distracted to follow my directions.”
I don’t know how I feel about Clover taking self-defense lessons from her geriatric father figure. Liar. I hate that she’s taking self-defense lessons from her geriatric father figure.
“Want me to try and…help her?”
Chief scans me suspiciously. What does he think I’m going to do? Steal the woman’s secret chocolate stash, for fuck’s sake?
“No, son, I don’t.” He narrows his eyes. “It took me six years to get Clover to agree to self-defense lessons with me. I’m not about to muck up that trust with the flavor of the month.”
“Flavor of the—” Seriously, who is this man?
Rip, who’s sitting in the chair next to him, lifts his gaze to mine, perfectly showcasing a smirk that irritates me. This fucking RV is too small for all of us.
“He’s watching the monitors,” I grind out, pointing at Rip. “It’s literally his job.”
Rip slouches in the copilot seat with an energy drink and a bag of chips before tossing me a thumbs-up. The kid’s twenty-three and treats overnight shifts like they’re Netflix binges.
“He’s good,” Chief admits, although begrudgingly. “But I’m better.”
Rip snorts, then chokes on his chips, but says nothing.
“You’re also supposed to be home. Sleeping. Like a normal person,” I say.
“Sleep’s overrated.” Chief finally glances in my direction.
There’s a sadness in his expression that instantly makes me feel like a prick for trying to kick him out.
“Besides, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Abbie passed away five years ago.
Clover’s been like a daughter to me. Bein’ here…
” He lowers his gaze. “It gives me a way to protect her even when my body’s fighting me to act my age. ”
Ah. There it is.
Chief’s lonely.
His house is empty, and I know how that kind of emptiness can fester. He’d rather sit in a cramped RV, watching security feeds where he at least feels useful, than go home to the silence.
I can relate, but as I take in his form, hunched over in that chair, I already know I’ll be replacing the gaming chair with a recliner, so when he eventually nods off, at least he won’t wake up with a crick in his neck.
“You want coffee?” I offer because I’m out of my element here.
“Already had three cups. Any more and I’ll be up till dawn.”
I huff. “Pretty sure that’s the plan anyway.”
He grins. “You know me too well, son.”
I don’t point out that I’ve only known him for a few weeks. Somehow, Chief has the ability to make you feel like family in the span of a single conversation.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce, climbing into the Murphy bed that Roman insisted was “premium comfort.” It’s like sleeping on a slightly padded board. “Try not to wake me up unless the house is on fire.”
“What about intruders?” Chief teases.
“Rip will handle it.”
“And if we see suspicious vehicles?”
“Rip.”
“What about—”
“Chief.” I pull the blanket up to my chest and close my eyes. “Unless Clover is in immediate danger, let me sleep.”
“Fine. Fine.”
Cracking one eye, I find him waving a dismissive hand in my direction.
“Kids these days. No appreciation for proper vigilance.”
I’m thirty years old, but I don’t bother correcting him. I don’t remember what childhood felt like, but if this is it? It’s not so bad.
The RV settles into a comfortable quiet—the hum of electronics, Rip’s occasional crunching, the distant sound of Chief’s chair creaking as he shifts. It’s oddly peaceful. Like having roommates who don’t respect your space but probably won’t suffocate you in your sleep.
I’m just beginning to drift off when Rip swears under his breath. “Camera three just flickered. And—shit, camera two is down.” My blood runs cold.
I’m out of bed, slipping my feet into my open boots as I reach for my phone while my brain catalogs what I know.
Chief’s voice cuts through my mental checklist. “No visual from camera four. The feed’s showing static—could be interference or…someone’s tampering with the—”
I hear it through the audio feed.
Screaming.
“Wait,” Chief says. “That’s Clover, but she’s still in her room.”
I barely hear him because I’m already on the move. The heart-wrenchingly painful sound coming from Clover is not the sharp scream of someone startled or scared. It’s the desperate, breathless screaming of someone trapped by something they can’t escape.
“Call for backup if you see anything,” I bark at Rip, who’s now wide awake and focused.
I’m out the door before I process anything else, and on her front porch with her key in my hand—the one we had made for emergencies, and I slip it into the first lock. I can’t get my fingers to move fast enough.
One lock turns into two, then three. I take the extra seconds to reengage the deadbolts once I’m in.
The screaming is louder now. Desperate. Broken.
I fly up the stairs two at a time and find her bedroom door wide open. She never closes it, instead allowing as much light from the hallway in as she can. And she probably needs to know she has an escape route.
Clover’s tangled in her sheets, thrashing like she’s fighting off an invisible attack, with one foot planted firmly on the floor while Wrecks whines and cries. His attempts at nudging her awake have failed and are obviously causing him distress.
“No—please. I’ll be good.” A sob breaks through her trembling lips. “I’ll be quiet. Please don’t…”
“Clover.” Fuck. Should I touch her? Or will that make it worse? My hands hover near her shoulders. Wrecks howls beside me. “Clover, you’re safe. You’re home. It’s Valen.”
She doesn’t hear me. She’s somewhere else. Somewhere terrible.
“I’ll tell him. I promise. Please…”
It’s so real for her, even now. Her fear causes a visceral reaction in my stomach.
Glancing at Wrecks, I silently ask him what the hell I should do, but I only get a loud whine in response.
Fuck it. I go with my gut.
Kicking off my untied boots, I climb onto the bed, carefully gathering her in my arms. She fights me off for half a second—small fists battering my chest, that broken pleading continuing—then she gives up the fight with a long sigh.
“Valen.” It’s a barely audible sound. She’s still asleep, but some part of her recognizes me.
A memory takes shape—vivid, violent, real.
A young Clover curled in the corner of a dark room. Me, pressing my back against the cold wall, whispering that I’m here. Count with me. One, two, three…
The memory fractures and slips away, but the echo of it stays. The certainty that I’ve held her through her nightmares before. That my body knows exactly what to do, even when my mind doesn’t.
“I’m here.” I pull her closer, tucking her head under my chin. “I’ve got you.”
Wrecks jumps onto the bed, walking in circles at the foot of it.
Clover’s shaking. Full-body tremors that make me want to hunt down everyone who ever hurt her and make them pay for every single nightmare.
“Don’t leave,” she mumbles against my chest as I attempt to lift her foot onto the bed.
“Never.” I think I even mean it.
She thrashes again, and I realize it’s because I keep moving her foot. Even fully asleep, in the throes of a nightmare, she needs one foot on the floor.
Why?
I fear I know the answer, and burning rage infiltrates my mind.
There’s only one reason someone would sleep that way—so they’re ready to run.
This tiny woman is ready to flee, even when unconscious, and that makes me hold on to her even more tightly because though she escaped the cult, the cult hasn’t escaped her.
It takes twenty minutes for her breathing to even out. For the tremors to stop. For her body to relax into a dreamless sleep instead of fighting it.
Only then does Wrecks settle around our feet.
“Good boy,” I say. “You tried.” And I fucking appreciate that he did.
My phone buzzes on the bed next to me.
Rip: Camera two is back online.
Rip: Checked the hardware. Line’s frayed. Could be sun damage.
Rip: Roman’s sending a guy tomorrow to sweep the whole system.
I stare at the message. Could be sun damage. Or more likely, it’s something, someone else.
So I stay.
Because leaving isn’t an option.
Because the monitor on the RV showed her home, but it didn’t show this—the way she curls into me like I’m the only solid thing in her world. The way her hand fists my T-shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. The way she’s still counting under her breath, even in sleep.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
My heart breaks and rebuilds in the span of those five seconds.
I should go. Every protocol I’ve ever learned says so.
But then she sighs, soft and content, and burrows closer.
So I stay.