Chapter 7 Courtney
COURTNEY
Silence usually weighs on the house like the rotting velvet drapes in the parlor. Today, it wraps around me like a cocoon.
I sit at the scarred oak kitchen table, wrapping my hands around a steaming mug of coffee, staring into the liquid.
My body hums. A physical, unavoidable sensation pulses—a deep, rhythmic throb between my thighs and a bruising tenderness along the curve of my hips where Austin’s thumbs dug in deep last night.
I shift in the wooden chair, wincing as a flush heats my cheeks. Walking around with the physical evidence of a man's possession stamped into my skin feels foreign. Every movement pulls at a muscle he overextended or brushes against a patch of skin he bit.
He is gone. For now.
He left before dawn, pressing a rough kiss to my forehead and growling something about checking in with Logan and securing the structural timber needed to finish reinforcing the roof.
A shotgun stands propped by the back door, and a massive handgun rests on the nightstand, along with a sticky note: Stay inside. Locked. I’ll be back by noon.
His tone is commanding and overbearing, a weight that should feel like a cage.
It is stifling, pressing in on me until I have no choice but to listen.
It is the kind of authority that usually makes me want to run.
But that one sharp order makes me feel safer than I have in ten years.
The frantic pulse in my throat finally begins to steady.
For the first time since the night it all went wrong, I am not the one who has to be strong.
A sharp rap on the front door shatters the morning peace.
My heart slams against my ribs. Austin doesn't knock. Austin has a key, or he’d just kick the door in. This sounds polite. Hesitant.
I tighten the belt of my silk robe, which I’ve thrown on over Austin's oversized flannel shirt to hide the evidence of our night. The layers of fabric cling to the marks he left—a secret friction against my breasts as I pad barefoot down the hallway. I check the peephole.
James. My attorney.
I undo the deadbolt and crack the door. The morning air bites at my exposed skin, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. James stands on the porch, clutching a leather briefcase to his chest like a shield. He looks pale, eyes darting toward the tree line before snapping back to me.
"Courtney," he breathes, shoulders sagging. "Thank God. I wanted to call, but I decided it would be better to talk in person."
"James? What are you doing here? Is everything okay with the title?"
He licks his lips, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "Can I come in? Just for a minute. I shouldn't be here, but I couldn't sit on this."
I step back, opening the door wider. "Sure. Come in."
He practically scrambles over the threshold, locking the door behind him immediately. He follows me into the kitchen, refusing my offer of coffee.
"I don't have much time," he says, placing his briefcase on the table. He doesn't sit. He vibrates with nervous energy. "I heard talk in town. About you and the Gunnars."
My spine stiffens. "Austin is helping me with repairs. We’re old friends, James."
"Friends." He says the word like a diagnosis. He pulls out a thick manila folder. "Correspondence. From the Broken Halos Motorcycle Club to your late father. Dating back five years."
I frown, reaching for the folder. "My dad hated the club."
"He ignored them. But they didn't ignore him." James lowers his voice. "This land, Courtney. The Wade Estate. Look at the map."
I open the folder. On top lies a topographical map of the Grizzly Peak District. A thick red line marks the eastern ridge—the cliffs. My property sits right at the choke point.
"The Gunnars need this land, Courtney. If the Costas get it, the MC loses their flank. They lose the mountain." James looks at me with pity. "Austin Gunnar is a protector, but he lives in a world of wolves. If you stay, you aren't just a neighbor—you’re a target."
My hands start to tremble. "No. Austin and I have history."
"Ten years ago," James counters softly. "He’s the Vice President, Courtney. His first loyalty is to the patch. Always. I found a buyer from the city, an LLC that has no ties to either group. We can sign the papers at my office today. You can be back in your condo by tonight."
I stare at the letters. Strategic acquisition.
The memories of last night crash into me, tainted now. Was it passion? Or just colonization? Was I the easiest way to get the deed?
"Courtney?" James prompts.
"I..." My voice cracks. "I need to think."
"Don't take too long. If Austin finds out I was here..." James shudders. "I'll be at my office until five. Please."
He lets himself out.
I stand in the silence of the kitchen. I look down at my body. I am still wearing his shirt, the scent of him clinging to the fibers and taunting me. I smelled like him. I am sore from him.
But the letters on the table tell a story of war and strategy.
"You stupid, stupid girl," I hiss at the empty room.
I refuse to sit here and wait for him to come back and pat me on the head. I march to the bedroom. I pull on jeans and a sweater. I grab my keys. The note beside the heavy handgun on the nightstand stares up at me, the bold ink of his handwriting a physical weight in the room. Stay inside.
"Go to hell, Austin."
I grab my purse and storm out the door.
The drive into town passes in a blur. I ignore the charm of Main Street. I drive past the bakery and pull my rental sedan into the alley behind Peak Wilderness Outfitters. I know the code to the back door. 1-9-9-8. Our birth year.
At the time, I thought it was romantic. Now, it stinks of manipulation.
The keypad beeps green. I step into the stockroom. Voices drift from the office down the hall—the "War Room."
"...James was seen heading up the mountain road this morning," a deep voice rumbles. Logan.
"I'll handle him," Austin’s voice replies, lower and darker. "He knows better than to interfere with my business."
"You need to lock that property down, Austin," Logan says. "If we don't control that access point, we're exposed."
"I'm not playing," Austin says, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I'm claiming. The land is secure because she is secure. No one touches that deed but me. By the time I'm done, she won't even remember she had a life before this."
Air leaves my lungs in a rush. I shove the office door open so hard it slams against the wall. Both men spin around.
"Securing your perimeter," I spat, stepping into the room. "That's what I am, right? A strategic acquisition?"
Austin roars my name. He moves toward me, looking frantic. "Courtney, stop. You shouldn't be here. Unsafe."
"Don't you dare tell me about safety!" I shout. I pull out the letter and throw it at his chest. "Five years, Austin! You've been trying to buy my inheritance for five years! You seduced me just to get your name on the deed!"
"I blocked the sale to keep you alive!" he shouts back.
"And fucking me?" I challenge. "For protection too?"
Austin freezes. Behind him, Logan quietly steps out and closes the door.
"You think I touched you for land?" Austin takes a slow step forward. "Because you are mine! Not the land. You. I wanted the house because it brought you back. I blocked the sale because if you sold it, you’d leave again. And I couldn't survive that."
He invades my space. He smells of coffee and danger.
"I told you—I’m sick, Courtney. I am fucking diseased with the need for you.
I patrolled that property, not for the dirt, but because it smelled like the last place your pussy was pressed against me.
I guarded it like a shrine so I could have a place to bury myself inside you when you finally came home. "
I stare at him. His eyes are raw. "Home? Is that what you call that house?"
“I watched the shrine, now I’m remaking it into a home," he corrects bitterly.
"I need to leave," I whisper, stepping back.
"No." Austin blocks the door. "You walked into the lion's den. You don't get to walk out until I say it's clear."
"Let go!"
"Stop fighting me!" he roars.
Suddenly, the back door creaks. Austin’s head snaps up. He shoves me behind him and draws a knife. Dress shoes click-clack on the concrete.
"Hello?" a smooth voice calls out. "I'm looking for a Ms. Wade. We saw her rental car in the alley. I'm with the Costa Group."
Austin steps out. "She's not here. But I am."
I hear a scuffle. I run to the doorway. Austin has a man in a gray suit pinned against a shelf. Two other men stand by the exit, hands inside their jackets.
"You followed my woman," Austin snarls. "The Wade Estate is closed. And if I see any of you near her again, I won't use my hands."
He throws the man toward his friends. The man in the suit smiles at me—an assessing, terrifying smile—before they disappear into the alley.
Austin turns to face me. "You," he growls. "Car. Now."
He scoops me up over his shoulder. He dumps me into the passenger seat of his truck and peels out.
"Home," he says, his grip straining the wheel. "And this time, I'm nailing the windows shut if I have to."
We pull up to the estate. Austin sits there, as still as stone. "You scared the shit out of me," Austin growls, his voice a jagged edge of unspent terror as he finally looks at me.
"I thought... I thought you played me," I admit.
"I don't play, Courtney. Not with you." He glances sideways at me. "You’re staying."
"I'm staying," I whisper.
"Good. Because I'm not done with you."