Chapter Seventeen
Something was off.
Shane knew it in his bones when consciousness staggered in like a drunk, but the why remained on the outer edges of his memory. The feeling differed from the morning he’d awoken after having been roofied. A mental image of the stomach-turning black-hoodied stalker in his hotel room bed morphed into him and Wes driving. Snow was falling. Right. They were heading into town, to a safe house under the added protection of Havenridge’s sheriff and his deputies. That much he remembered, and maybe that was why he didn’t feel right. He wasn’t waking up in Wes’s bed, which was a scary thought.
He took a deep breath, dragging in a mouthful of dust, and coughed. Air hissed through his clenched teeth at the sharp stab of pain in his shoulder. What the hell happened last night ?
He opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings, growing even more puzzled as his blurry vision cleared. He had to be in the throes of a lucid dream, because what he was looking at couldn’t be real. Wes sat slumped on a wooden floor across from him, propped up against the wall, his chin on his chest and his long legs straight out. His hands were behind his back at an awkward angle, zip-tied to an old cast-iron radiator with flaking, cream-colored paint. Dried blood caked Wes’s forehead, and a frozen trickle zigzagged down the side of his cheek.
The veil of sleep lifted, and the night came crashing back in a blinding flash: The photos from his stalker, the target drawn on Wes’s face, leaving the ranch as snow began to fall, the vehicle that had come up behind them and forced them off the road into a ditch. The deafening sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal. The hiss and ping of the truck’s dying engine. The crunch-and-squeak sound of boots on fresh snow and the ambiguous shape of a person approaching. He remembered fragments of being pulled from the truck, of reaching back for Wes, of a calm male voice that was anything but soothing, and then nothing.
Now that he was awake, every ache and pain made itself known, not only from the accident but from the position he was in. He was also on the floor, leaning against a wall shedding swaths of decades old wallpaper, his hands also zip-tied behind his back.
A chill scraped down his spine.
Whoever had run them off the road hadn’t done it by accident, and whoever had pulled them from the truck hadn’t been a Good Samaritan. The chill grew into a full body tremor, his pulse spiking.
The stalker had him.
“Wes,” he whisper-shouted, testing his binds. Unlike Wes, he wasn’t secured to anything—there was nothing to tie him to. The room was empty but for them and a single chair near the closed door. “Wes, please wake up.”
Wes woke with a start, his eyes wild and distant as they shot around the room. He met Shane’s gaze and looked right through him.
“Wes,” Shane pleaded.
Wes squeezed his eyes shut for a second and when he reopened them, Shane exhaled a sigh of relief. Wes was there, and somehow, Shane knew he was going to get them out of this. Whatever and wherever this was.
Wes struggled against the binds keeping him locked to the radiator and cursed under his breath. Shane could at least move from his position, but he had nothing that could cut the ties.
“Are you okay?” Wes’s voice was ragged and raspy.
Shane nodded. He was cold, his body ached from the accident and from being tied up, but all things considered, he was good. They were alive.
“Sore but okay. You?” He tipped his chin toward Wes. “You have a pretty good gash on your forehead.”
Wes furrowed his brows and winced, but his expression was serious when he vowed, “I’m getting you out of this.”
Of that, Shane was certain Wes would give everything he had to make that happen. How, exactly, Shane wasn’t sure. Maybe this was it for them, but he shoved that thought down and scanned the room again, this time with clearer vision and his wits coming back to him. A thick layer of dust covered both the old, farmhouse-style chair and the uneven wooden floor. The only window was boarded up on the outside. Soft light filtered through the boards, casting a ray of sunlight on dust motes floating lazily in the stale air. Wherever they were was clearly abandoned, which meant the chances of anyone finding them were slim to none.
“Where are we?”
Wes shook his head.
“Can you—”
Footsteps echoed beyond the room, growing louder as they grew closer. The stalker. Panic prickled in Shane’s veins and his body tensed for who was about to come through the door. The big reveal.
“Pretend you’re still out,” Wes whispered. “We need to buy time to get out of this.”
Shane lowered his head and closed his eyes, but keeping his breathing slow and regulated was no easy feat. He tried to shove the fear aside and focus on the last couple of weeks on the ranch with Wes and his family, of making love with Wes, of helping to bring Nahawi back to good health and spirits, of how the ranch inspired a constant flow of music in him, of wanting Wes to be a permanent part of his life, but an icy finger of panic scratched over every image.
The door opened, a slow creak that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his skin prickle with goosebumps.
There was a pause in the heavy silence while Shane held his breath. Floorboards groaned as someone entered the room, each footstep closer until they stopped in front of him. Tension filled the air, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders, constricting his lungs. He squeezed his eyes tighter, grateful for the shield of his long bangs that hid his face.
Their captor sighed. The kind of sigh he and Wes made after making love, or an especially amazing kiss—contented, full of love. Love ? What a shitty time to realize it, but Shane knew now just how much his feelings for his cowboy bodyguard had grown since that first meeting back in Toronto. If someone had told him back then that he would end up caring for Wes, he’d have laughed in their face, but he couldn’t deny what he was feeling now: he was in love with Wesley Stonebraker.
But that beautiful feeling, that blissful sigh, had no right coming from anyone other than Wes.
Fabric rustled, movement. A hand rested on the side of his head. Gentle. Lovingly. Ten thousand ants fled from the point of contact, crawling over his skin. The flinch was immediate and instinctive. He couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried—and he had.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Shane’s eyes snapped open. He gasped as his stomach flipped, and he literally felt the blood draining from his face. “ Max . . .”
How the hell could Max be his stalker? Max was Max . Sonia’s boyfriend. Harmless. A kitten.
Kittens have claws , Wes’s voice echoed in his memory.
“Oh, don’t play coy.” Max pushed the fall of Shane’s bangs aside, exposing his face, making Shane feel as though he were naked in front of this madman. “We’ve had enough of that these past months. The courting has been fun, but I’m tired of you teasing me with other men.”
Max cupped his hand under Shane’s chin, forcing him to look up, to make eye contact. Max’s gray eyes were too bright, his gaze too vacant, his grin too . . . Hungry. Maybe he really is a vampire . Shane’s throat tightened at the complete lack of warmth emanating from the sweet Max he thought he’d known.
A growl emanated from the other side of the room, drawing Max’s attention. He dropped his hand from Shane’s face and turned.
“Keep your filthy hands off him,” Wes ground out.
Max laughed, but there wasn’t anything pleasant about it. A tremor rumbled through Shane, constricting his muscles.
“Or what?”
“Try me.” Wes’s voice was so low, so threatening, that if it had been directed at Shane, he’d have been shaking in his boots. Maybe even pissing himself.
Max snorted, not comprehending the danger he was in. That Shane and Wes were the ones tied up and Max had the upper hand, wasn’t lost on Shane, but something deep inside him was confident that Wes was the one in control .
“I think you’ve read the situation wrong.” Max slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re tied up. No one knows where you are, and I’m the one with the weapons.”
“My brothers will come looking,” Wes replied coolly, and tipped his chin up in defiance. “They’re already on their way.”
Shane saw through the bluff. How could his brothers find them in time if they didn’t know he and Wes were missing yet? Let alone knew where they were located.
“Really?” Max laughed, a brittle shattering sound that didn’t fit the person it came from. He pulled a hand from his pocket and revealed Wes’s phone in his palm. He wiggled the phone and held it in front of Wes. “What’s that text say? Oh, look. You told your brothers you’re just fine.”
Wes glared at Max for a beat before looking at whatever was on the screen. His eyes widened. The movement miniscule. So quick it almost didn’t register, but Shane had been watching him closely, knew him, and knew the look for what it was. Surprise. But Wes covered it so fast Shane doubted Max had caught it.
“Do you really think that’s going to hold them off?” Wes’s voice was strong, confident.
Max shrugged and pocketed the phone. “It’ll hold them off long enough.”
“Long enough for what?”
“For you to die, of course.”
Every single molecule in Shane’s body froze. The world flipped upside down. Shane was aware of his mouth opening, but not a single sound emanated from his throat.
Max turned back to Shane, a maniacal grin stretching too wide across his narrow face and exposing his sharp, vampire-like eye teeth.
“Nothing is stronger than our love,” Max spoke softly. Shane stared at him in disbelief. “I know you love me, but he has clouded your mind. As soon as you realize that and do what needs to be done, nothing will ever keep us apart again.”
“You’re a psychopath,” Shane breathed, and Max furrowed his brows .
“And what about Sonia?” Wes cut in, drawing Max’s attention away from Shane.
“Sonia?” Max’s face pinched, as though he had no idea who she was.
“Is she part of this? Did she tell you where Shane was?”
Max waved a hand, the action careless, like batting at an annoying fly.
“She’s nothing but a means to an end. Stupid girl, really. She left her phone and laptop lying about the house, open and easy for me to access and clone,” his voice harsh and tone disdainful, so unlike the voice Shane knew. Was this Max’s real voice? Cold and devoid of emotion?
Wes shifted his gaze to Shane with an understanding in his stormy eyes that felt like home. Shane was grateful Sonia hadn’t been the one stalking him or aiding his stalker, but his heart squeezed at the knowledge that this was going to crush her.
Max snarled, the sound like that of a rabid dog. “You don’t look at him.”
He lunged toward Wes, pulling a gun from inside his jacket as he stood over him. Max pressed the muzzle against Wes’s head. Wes didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from Shane, but his expression hardened, mouth flattened.
“Stop!” Shane struggled against his binds again, for all the good it would do. Fear screaming through him like a hurricane. He didn’t care what happened to him, but Wes had to live. If nothing else, he needed to know that Wes was living in this world.
“I—we can leave.” Shane kept his gaze on Wes as he spoke, but his words were for Max. “You and me. Just leave Wes behind. No one knows where he is, right? He’ll freeze to death here before anyone finds him, and we’ll be far away.” Shane gulped dust-laden air and croaked, “Together.”
Max grinned, lowering the gun. “Yes, together.”
Max sighed that disturbingly contented sigh again and crossed the room in three quick strides. He leaned down and kissed Shane on the side of his mouth. Shane fought the desperate need to recoil and the nausea that twisted his guts inside out. The keening growl from Wes tore at his heart. But he needed to play along. To make sure Wes came out of this alive. At least then they’d both still have a fighting chance. He knew without a doubt that Wes would never rest until he found Shane.
Max stood. His eyes were bright with madness, but it was Max’s next words that were like a dagger to the chest. “And you’re going to prove your love for me by killing him .”
The room spun. The floor lurched, tilting, and Shane felt like he was tumbling. Except, impossibly, he still sat upright.
“I’ll let you think about how you want to do it for a few minutes.” Max sounded like he was deciding on which restaurant to order takeout from. He stepped away from Shane and to Wes, he said, “But don’t think I’ll let him make it quick.”
A board creaked outside the room and Max spun around. He turned to glare at Shane.
“Say a word and you both die.” With that, Max left the room, closing the door with a soft snick that may as well have been a hundred roman candles exploding at once.
Shane’s shoulders dropped. How were they ever going to get out of this? Were they going to get out of it? They weren’t supposed to end like this.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. The words were a struggle to push through his bone-dry throat. “This is all my fault.”
“How on earth could you think that?” Wes’s voice was soft but firm. “This is one hundred percent on Max.”
Shane lowered his head, breaking eye contact, and sighed. “I don’t want to leave this world afraid.”
“You’re not leaving this world at all,” Wes growled with a conviction that Shane wished he shared. “Do you hear me? We are getting out of this.”
Shane sniffed. He wanted to believe him. Before Max had put a gun to Wes’s head, he’d believed it too, but now? Now he felt like the doom clock was half a second from striking midnight.
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re tied up by a madman in an abandoned house. Who knows where. Which means no one else knows where we are. If they’re even aware we’re missing, thanks to Max using your phone. Odds are stacked too high against us.”
“About that,” Wes said. “Shimmy over here. ”
“What?”
“You’re not secured to anything, right?”
Shane shook his head, and Wes tilted his, motioning Shane over. He didn’t know what good it would do, other than piss off Max more, but at least he’d be able to feel the press of Wes’s body against his before their worlds ended.
Shane glanced at the door as he shimmed across the filthy floor, certain he was getting slivers in his ass. But that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to Wes.
When he reached the other side of the room, reached Wes, the heat of Wes’s body felt like the sun breaking through the clouds after a severe thunderstorm, its warm rays kissing his skin.
Wes leaned into him, pressing his face into Shane’s shoulder, as if to reassure himself that Shane was okay, and Shane breathed him in. Spice and suede filled his senses, scents he would forever associate with Wes.
“I can’t reach my watch,” Wes whispered.
His watch? They were tied up and about to be killed, or worse, and Wes was concerned about his watch ?
“The big red button at two o’clock,” Wes said, and as though he’d read Shane’s thoughts, he added, “It’s a panic button. My brothers and I all have the same watches just in case anything ever happened where we needed help. They’re GPS-enabled.”
“So . . .” Shane leaned back to look at him and grinned, remembering a conversation he’d had with Wes that seemed like ages ago now, about his fancy watch. A tendril of hope rose in his chest. “It really is a bat signal.”
Amusement flickered in Wes’s eyes, but he only tipped his head.
Shane blew his bangs out of his eyes as he shifted around so he was back-to-back with Wes. Trying to maneuver his hands and fingers enough to even reach the button, let alone press it, was harder than he expected.
“Take your time,” Wes whispered. “Breathe, and picture looking at the watch in a mirror, backward.”
That made sense, given the angles. Shane paused, but only for a second. He didn’t want to chance Max coming back before he was done. He slid his finger along the side of the watch until he reached a button that was larger and higher than the others, nearest the wrist strap.
“Got it.”
“Good. Press down and hold for three seconds.”
Shane pressed down and counted to three before releasing it as the watch beeped once. He slumped against Wes, letting his head fall back onto Wes’s shoulder, and Wes did the same. He released a long breath of relief. Help was on the way, but how long until they arrived?
“I don’t know where we are, but we can’t just sit here and wait for my brothers to get to us,” Wes said. “First, you need to get out of your zip ties. Then you can help get mine off.”
“I’m not the trained bodyguard here,” Shane balked, his eyes going wide. “I’m just a musician. I don’t know how to do that.”
“You can do this.” The faith in Wes’s eyes and the confidence in his deep voice made Shane think that, yes, maybe he could.
“Okay.” Shane lifted his shoulders. “Tell me exactly how I get out of these ties?”
“Easy.” Wes grinned at Shane’s frown. “First, stand up.”
It took Shane a minute to get up to his feet without his arms for balance, and he took a full breath once he was upright. “Now what?”
“Now, bend at the knees and slide your hands down behind them. Then step out.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”
Wes nodded. “Just like that.”
Shane did as Wes described, but getting his first foot through the loop of his arms was awkward and took a couple of tries. Getting his second foot out was easy. Within seconds, his hands were in front of his body. His shoulders ached at the change in position but were already feeling better at a more natural angle.
“Easy, right?” Wes smiled up at him and his heart swelled at the pride in Wes’s voice. With Wes at his side, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. “The next part won’t feel good, but you’re going to break your zip ties.”
Except that.
Shane raised his eyebrows as doubt gripped him and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. He wasn’t strong like Wes. He tugged at the ties, but the thick plastic dug into his wrists and didn’t budge .
“There’s a trick,” Wes rumbled quietly, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I promise you can do it.”
Shane inhaled deep, exhaling slowly as he nodded. “What do I do?”
“Grab the tie with your teeth and try to move it so the lock is in the middle of your wrists facing you. Then pull the ties as tight as possible.”
“What?” Shane barked a bit too loud and shot a glance at the door. Only silence came back to him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tightening them sounds like the opposite of what I should be doing.”
“I know it sounds counterintuitive.” Wes nodded. “But trust me on this.”
Shane kept his gaze trained on Wes, drawing from his experience and strength, and tugged the tie around. Luckily, he didn’t have to maneuver it far because his teeth felt like they were being wrenched from his mouth with a pair of pliers and no anesthesia. Then he pulled the ties tight.
“Tighter,” Wes whispered.
With another fortifying breath, Shane tugged them so tight his eyes watered and his hands tingled from the compromised circulation.
“Now raise your arms above your head,” Wes explained. “Until your elbows reach your ears and then slam your hands down toward your stomach. Your elbows need to shoot out like you’re elbowing someone behind you in the gut.”
Still not sold on this, but trusting Wes, Shane raised his arms and paused. He closed his eyes and slammed his hands down. With force.
The ties snapped off and his eyes popped open.
He stood there for a second, staring at his freed hands. There were deep impressions in the skin around his wrists from the ties, but that was it. He was free. A surprised laugh-gasp escaped his mouth.
“Holy shit!” He looked at Wes, who was beaming up at him. “I did it!”
“Like there was any question.”
Shane dropped to his knees, took Wes’s face in his hands, and kissed him .
“Okay, now you’re going to break the lock on mine.” Wes tipped his chin. “Pick up the broken pieces of your ties and use the end of one to jimmy into the lip of the lock. It might take a little wiggling and pressure, but once the lip is disrupted, the tie will fall off.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Shane said as he gathered the pieces of his broken zip tie.
Wes shrugged. “Surprisingly, it is.”
And Wes was right. It only took Shane a second to disrupt the lip, and the ties popped off.
“He’s coming,” Wes whispered in Shane’s ear. “Get back where you were, hands behind you. Do whatever you can to keep his focus on you.”
Shane rushed back to the other side of the room and sat, arms behind his back, just as the door swung open. The creaky groan of rusted hinges scraped like nails on chalkboard. Max entered the room and paused, studying first Shane and then Wes through narrowed eyes. His mouth downturned.
But it was what was in his hands that made Shane’s stomach flip and his body tremble from the inside: a gun in one and a knife in the other.
“Time’s up.” Max turned back to Shane, lifting the items in his hands as though presenting a gift. Fresh fear spiked in Shane’s chest at the eagerness in Max’s voice when he said, “Which weapon are you going to kill him with?”
Shane’s heart pounded so hard he couldn’t hear himself think over it, but he kept his gaze steady on Max. Willed himself to be strong like Wes. To fight back. Even though Max had weapons, he and Wes were free of their zip ties. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, but he wasn’t going to let Max think he could get away with this.
Shane straightened his spine and lifted his chin. “No.”
Max narrowed his eyes. Their usual light gray seemed to darken. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, I won’t kill him.”
The color rose in Max’s long neck and spread into his cheeks. Not the soft blush of a lover’s desire, but the dark, mottled purple of rage. His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the handles of the knife and gun. He spun and crossed the room back to Wes, tossed a maniacal grin over his shoulder at Shane, and kicked Wes in the ribs.
“Wes!”
Panic blasted through Shane. Pain reverberated in his own ribs, but the only sign Wes gave that the kick had hurt was a quick wince. Gone so fast he questioned whether he’d seen it at all.
“I’m okay.” The edge in Wes’s voice betrayed the words, but he was strong.
Shane glared daggers at Max. “You won’t get away with this,” he warned.
Max returned and kneeled in front of Shane. He reached out, the hand with the knife in it, and Shane jerked his head away, fear and revulsion roiling in his guts at the thought of Max touching him again.
“You can’t fight destiny, my love. We’re fated,” Max said softly, using the tip of the knife to push Shane’s bangs out of the way. “You know it. Just as you know the only way out, the only way to prove that, is to kill the bodyguard.”
Shane caught movement behind Max, but kept his gaze locked on him.
Keep his attention on you .
“I’d rather die,” Shane ground out.
Max shrugged. “Then you’ll both die.”
No way in hell was Wes going to let that happen.
With Max’s focus on Shane, Wes carefully released himself from the zip ties, his shoulders complaining at the movement. He rose from the floor, slow and steady, and keeping low so as not to attract attention. His head swam, threatening to blur his vision. He shook it away as he crept up behind Max, cautious of making any noise while gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs. A floorboard creaked, and the breath froze in his lungs. For a fleeting second, he’d hoped the sound wasn’t loud enough to distract Max from his delusional professions to Shane, but Max glanced over his shoulder. His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise before rage contorted his face .
Wes lunged from his semi-crouched position as Max spun around, raising the hand holding the gun. Wes slammed into him, and the force of his body sent them both crashing to the floor with a heavy thud. Their grunts from the impact echoed off the walls of the empty room. Dust plumed, irritating Wes’s eyes and clogging his throat, but he didn’t have time to dwell. He punched Max in the jaw, and, taking advantage of Max’s brief disorientation, tried to shake the knife and gun from Max’s hands. After a couple of good slams to his wrists, both weapons fell from Max’s weakened grips and skittered out of reach.
Max struggled, contorting his body as he tried to reach for the gun. He was stronger than someone his size should be, but then, Wes knew desperation had a way of making otherwise average people extremely dangerous. Subduing him was like trying to wrangle a raging bull. Max leveled a knee-kick to Wes’s already bruised ribs, knocking the breath from him. Max pulled out of Wes’s grip, inch by inch, getting closer to the gun.
“Get the gun,” Wes shouted at Shane. But Shane sat frozen, staring at them with horror etched on his face and a bruise rising on his cheek. “Shane! The gun!”
Shane jerked into action and lunged for the weapon, but he was too late. Max got ahold of it first. He raised it, swinging his arm to aim at Wes, but Shane jumped into the line of fire. A horrifying scenario of what might happen next played through Wes’s mind in a millisecond that felt like hours—Max pulling the trigger as Shane rushed to protect Wes, Shane’s body flying backward, blood blooming from his chest, the light fading out of his beautiful eyes.
Never !
A roar tore through Wes’s throat. He jumped to his feet and launched himself forward, knocking Shane out of the way. Wes fell toward Max as he tipped over his center of gravity, his balance lost.
Max pulled the trigger.
The boom of the gun sounded like a bomb detonating, and the pressure wave it cast knocked Wes to the floor. His eardrums rattled so hard he felt the vibrations all the way to his toes. He couldn’t hear anything but a high-pitched ringing in his ears .
Disorientation and pain were the only things he registered. Movement flashed beside him. The floor shook beneath him. He turned his head but couldn’t focus. His left biceps hurt like hell.
Shane . He had to save Shane.
He tried to sit up, but his limbs didn’t know which way to go, like a newborn colt trying to get his long legs under him to stand for the first time. And then Shane was hovering above him, fluttering over him with uncertainty before settling on cupping Wes’s face with shaky hands. His lips were moving, but Wes couldn’t hear his words. He squinted and stared at Shane’s mouth. “Stay awake,” he was saying, “Don’t die on me.”
“Max?” Wes croaked. His voice was faint, as though a gale force wind had stolen it.
Shane tipped his head, and Wes followed the direction. Max lay supine a couple of feet away. Unseeing eyes looking straight up, legs sprawled. Max’s knife protruded from his chest, buried to the hilt.
Max was dead. Shane was safe.
“Come on.” Shane’s voice sounded faint and far away, and Wes was sure he missed half of what Shane had said. “We need to get out of here.”
Wes nodded. His stomach flipping from the movement. He swallowed back a wave of nausea. He probably had a concussion from the accident, when Max had rear-ended them off the road, and his ribs and arm screamed in pain.
Shane helped Wes to his feet and held him steady until the world stopped spinning. Wes threw an arm over Shane’s shoulder, and Shane snaked an arm around Wes’s waist. Even with Shane’s help, he staggered from the room. Or maybe Shane was staggering, too. Each step drew a groan or a grunt against the pain that riddled his body, each sound Shane echoed. Shane led him through the abandoned house and out onto the front porch.
Clear blue sky and freshly fallen snow greeted them—a smooth, crisp-white blanket covering the earth in a gentle quiet that was at odds with what had happened inside. Wes surveyed their surroundings, but still didn’t know where they were. He noted corrals and an old barn with a sagging roof. They were on an old farmstead. That much was clear, but where? His eye caught on something sticking out of the snow.
“What’s that?” He pointed to the object near the foot of the stairs.
Shane propped him against the railing for support and stepped off the deck. He pulled an iron rod from the snow. A brand. Wes squinted at it.
“We’re at the Circle B Ranch,” Wes rasped, recognizing the symbol. His voice still sounded a million miles away, but the ringing in his ears was lessening a little. Shane looked at him with a question in his eyes. Wes elaborated, “Gus Bristow owned this ranch. He’s the one who threatened Mason and made his life hell before abducting and nearly killing him.”
The authorities seized the property after they sent Gus and his oldest son, Gentry, to prison. The youngest son, Grayson, had packed up and left town, cleared of wrongdoing for cooperating with the police to testify against his father and brother.
Wes didn’t know how Max had found out about the property, but he’d clearly done his research.
“We’re about a thirty-minute drive from home.”
Shane nodded, and a tremor rattled his body. “I don’t know if I’m freezing or in shock.”
“Both, I’m sure.” Wes looked around and spotted a single chair on the deck, protected from the snow. He motioned toward it. “Let’s sit.”
Shane helped him to the chair, and he lowered himself slowly. He reached up to tug Shane down onto his lap, and a sharp pain lanced through his leaden left arm. He hissed through his teeth.
“Let me look,” Shane said, motioning at the arm Wes couldn’t raise.
Shane helped Wes out of his jacket, revealing a bloom of blood that discolored his shirt. Shane cursed, but Wes grabbed his hand and squeezed.
“I’m okay,” Wes assured. “It’s just a graze.”
Sure, the bullet had only grazed his biceps, but it still burned like hell.
Shane stared at him for a long beat, as though considering if Wes was telling the truth or not. Lips firmed with a decision made, Shane shrugged out of his jacket, unbuttoned his flannel shirt, and pulled his T-shirt off over his head.
“What are you doing?” Wes frowned. His breath was a misty cloud in the cold air.
“Making a tourniquet.”
Shane put his flannel and jacket back on and then ripped his T-shirt in half. Getting a corner of it wet with snow, he carefully opened Wes’s shirt and dabbed at the drying blood. Then wrapped the material tight around Wes’s biceps and pulled his shirt back into place.
“Sit,” Wes whispered as fatigue settled in. “Please.”
Shane gently lowered himself onto his lap and Wes wrapped his good arm around Shane’s waist, ignoring the spike of pain in his side as he pulled him closer. He dropped his head to Shane’s chest so he could hear Shane’s heart beating. Steady and strong. Alive. He’d come too close to losing Shane. His chest squeezed and throat tightened at the thought. Wes closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of orange and juniper, of wind and sunshine, that he would forever associate with Shane Castle.
“What do we do now?” Shane whispered.
“Wait for the cavalry.”
Wes closed his eyes and tugged Shane tighter to him, grateful for the weight and warmth of his body. Shane’s tremors eased, but every few minutes he’d shudder. Time passed. Slow or fast, Wes had trouble gauging, but he didn’t want to move to check his watch. Shane had pressed the panic button. His brothers would arrive as soon as they humanly could.
The rev of engines and the crunch of tires on thick, fresh snow reached his eardrums. He cracked his eyes open—or tried to—one had swollen shut from his fight with Max.
Shane shifted, pulling away to look over his shoulder, and cold air snaked between them, stealing the warmth he’d been sharing. Wes shivered.
“Someone’s coming,” Shane whispered.
The vision in Wes’s one working eye was blurry, but he could make out Colt’s dark blue Dodge pickup barreling down the drive, followed by three Havenridge Sheriff’s Department vehicles, snow fanning in their wake like waves .
The vehicles slid to a stop one after the other. Doors flung open. Colt, Levi, and Mason raced up the steps toward them. Lines of worry etched into their faces softened in relief at finding them alive and safe.
“It was Max,” Wes said as Shane stood, and Colt helped him to his feet. “Shane’s personal assistant’s boyfriend. He’s inside. Dead.”
Nick came up behind Wes’s brothers, and soon-to-be brother-in-law, his expression hard and sharp, gaze taking everything in.
“Where is he?” Nick pulled his gun free from his holster.
“Back bedroom,” Shane answered. He swallowed, his complexion pale. “I-I stabbed him.”
“Hey.” Wes reached for Shane’s hand and gave a squeeze. “You had no choice. He would have killed us both.”
Shane nodded, a grin tipped at the edges of his mouth, there and gone in a blink.
Nick placed a comforting hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Are you two okay? Any injuries?”
“Wes was shot,” Shane said, and all eyes zeroed in on Wes.
“Just a graze,” Wes said.
Nick frowned as he pressed the talk button on his radio. “Maeve, it’s Nick. Send the paramedics out to the old Circle B Ranch, asap.”
“You got it boss,” Maeve’s voice crackled in reply.
“Stay here,” Nick ordered, his gaze bouncing from Wes to Shane. With a nod, he and his deputies Matt Spearman and Essie Santiago entered the house, guns drawn.
“What happened?” Colt asked, his hands clenching. Wes knew the feeling. If it had been the other way around, he’d have been busting down doors and asking questions later while searching for his brother. “We saw your truck on its side in the ditch on the way here.”
Wes stared at him for a second. His head was too fuzzy, and his recall was slow.
“He ran us off the road,” Shane replied, thankfully. “H-he wanted me to k-kill Wes.”
“Hey. You’re safe now.” Wes tugged Shane closer to him. “It’s over.”
It’s over echoed in his head. Max was dead. He was no longer a threat to Shane, or anyone else. Shane was safe.
And Wes was no longer needed .
A deeper pain than all the physical injuries he’d sustained in the last twelve hours gouged at his heart. Shane would go back to his regular rock star life, traveling the world, and leave Wes behind, living his quiet life on the ranch.
Except he wasn’t done with Shane. He wanted to keep him in his life always, but he didn’t know how to make it work. He closed his one working eye. His head hurt and thinking only made it hurt more.
He registered the heavy thuds of police-issue boots on wooden floors growing closer. Of Nick and his deputies exiting the house. Of Nick on the radio, calling for the coroner. Of someone settling a blanket over his and Shane’s shoulders.
And through it all, a different kind of cold seeped under his skin and spread around his heart.
It was over.