Chapter 4
Denver
Aknock of pain climbs across my temple. Again. And again. And again.
The back of my mouth throbs, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I feel hands around my arms, my wrists, someone grabbing me in the bathroom, dragging me through a door as I scream and fight—
I bolt upright, and it does nothing to calm my head.
I’m home. I’m in our bed. The bed we shared even before we were married.
The sound of the shower from the en suite has me kicking back the comforter and clambering out of bed. Ranger’s back is to me when I open the bathroom door, the open-ended shower revealing his muscular back. He turns to me, and I rush to him.
Water soaks my dress, my hair, and he wraps his arms around me. He holds the back of my head, my cheek pressed to his chest, and I feel safe.
I always feel safe with him.
The sob that escapes my lips has him holding me tighter, and I wish I could wash away my memories. I wish the tough muscle of a tongue between my teeth could be forgotten; I wish the rich, thick taste of blood filling my mouth could be torn from my mind.
“I’m here.” Ranger’s voice is low against the sound of the running water. “I’m here, little bird.”
I pull back but only to tear off the dress, the material holding memories like smoke in the silk.
Once I’m naked, Ranger cleans me. He washes my hair, whispering words of comfort in my ear as he tells me what happened in that room, filling gaps in my memory that both soothe and tear at me.
There’s nothing sexual in how he runs his fingers through my hair, or how he wraps his arm around my waist and holds me in silence, or how he dries me and walks me back to bed.
It’s then that I notice his nightstand. The coffee cup, laptop, and both phones on charge.
“You stayed with me?” I ask as he tugs one of his T-shirts over my head.
“Where else would I go?”
I climb into bed, and he folds the thick covers over me. “What about work?”
“I can work from anywhere.”
With the covers pulled up to my chin, I watch him round the bed and climb in beside me.
He sits with his back against the headboard and places his laptop on his knee, and he keeps his eyes on his screen as rests his hand out, palm up, for me to take.
I trace my finger across the bracelet on his wrist.
“How did you find me in time?”
He grunts. “That’s something I’ve been debating lying to you about.”
I frown. “Do not lie to me.”
“It’s the easier than the truth, believe me,” he mumbles, then exhales. “Colt Harland was the one who made sure you were safe until I got there.”
All words are stolen from me. I stare at my hand in Ranger’s, at the bracelet I made for him years ago, and try to absorb his words.
I’ve spent almost every waking hour searching for the Harland brothers since Wilder killed Ethan, but they’re ghosts.
Whispers of Wilder being spotted had me on flights to New York, Arizona, Mexico, even Germany.
Each time, I missed him, and even if I’d been within touching distance of Colt, I would never have known.
I’ve hired the best PIs, ex-military, ex-CIA, ex-fucking-everything, and no one can get a photograph of him.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
Ranger tips his head in agreement. “Me neither.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, certain I can feel phantom muscle stuck in my molars. “You saw Colt.”
“So did you. The guy flirting with you at the bar? That, my love, was Colt Harland.”
The man’s image comes to my mind, but it’s blurry, fogged by sleep and whatever knocked me out.
“Why now? Why did he let us see him?”
He places the laptop on the nightstand and takes my hand to pull me to straddle his lap. “I don’t know. But I’m dealing with the Eddards.”
“You mean starting a war with them.”
“Yes, I’m starting a war. Someone tried to take my wife.”
I rest my hands on his shoulders. Years ago, I might have attempted to reason with him, to explain that countless people dying to avenge one is pointless.
But since putting this ring on my finger, Ranger’s protectiveness has increased.
And even if I had the ability to pull his leash, I wouldn’t. Spider’s men dying is no loss.
Ranger cups the side of my neck, his thumb gliding softly across my jaw.
“I almost lost you,” he says quietly, the deep brown of his eyes aglow in the soft light. “I’ve never felt fear like that.”
I’m not childish enough to think Ranger and I are perfect.
We’ve barely been married a year and the tensions between us at times feel buried too deep to pull free.
In the hours before I’d been introduced to Dorian, I’d sat in the office in Pulse and wondered whether Ranger could ever let go of the past. He would always be angry with me over Axel.
I would always resent him for his lies over Wyatt and my father.
Some days I can ignore what we’ve done to each other, but that night … I’d been close to leaving him.
But there are times like this, when he’s the Ranger I fell in love with, and the thought of leaving seems as easy as tearing out my heart.
“Maybe we should see what’s happened as a sign,” Ranger says, kissing me softly. “Less work. More time together.”
“Is … is that what you want?”
“I think it could be good for you. For us. You could turn your phone off for a few days. Take a break.” He lifts his chin to examine my expression, and I suddenly feel exposed. “Isn’t that what you’d like?”
A year ago, yes. But now …
“Yeah,” I say. “We can spend more time together.”
“Good. And there’s something else. I got you a gift.”
Usually, that’d brighten my mood, but I find it difficult to smile—until I see what it is. The small flick knife with ND carved into the ivory handle is familiar—my father’s.
“You found it,” I breathe quietly, taking it from him.
Ranger nods. “And he’d want you to have it.
” He touches my chin again. “Next time someone puts a hand on you, you use this without hesitation. Understood?” I turn the weapon in my hand, examining the polished blade before folding it back into the handle again.
I nod. He switches out the light, and despite me likely having slept for hours, exhaustion grips me the moment he lays me down and pulls my back to his chest.
My dreams are darkness, thick and cloying at the edges of my brain. I’m restless, sweating, and several times Ranger wakes me from nightmares I can’t remember. He insists I drink, and then he strokes my hair until sleep takes me again.
My body feels heavy. My brain foggy. I feel as though I’m dipping into heavy oil, but soon the sensation becomes comforting, and I can breathe while submerged, taking mouthfuls of the liquid like honey poured down my throat.
Something hot breathes against me, and I open an eye. A large, dark, damp nose presses to my chin.
“Morning, pup.”
Wesson wags his tail, taking the sound of my voice as permission to climb onto the bed. I grin as he stands over me, the soft folds of his golden face gazing down at me.
It’s morning, and I’m alone, but I can smell fresh coffee so Ranger must still be here.
“You’re pretty,” I say. Wesson responds by dropping his weight onto me, and I let out a pained exhale. “You’re too big to keep doing this.”
He sniffles me.
“Put her on the bed.”
Memories rush back to me, and a kernel of panic takes root in my chest. It’s tight, sharp, and I close my eyes, holding tightly onto Wesson as I breathe in and out, counting in my mind.
After everything that happened at the wedding, I decided therapy wouldn’t be a bad idea.
After three sessions, I cancelled once, then again, and again … I felt better. I feel better.
But now, I wish I’d stayed. I can feel the acidic wash of fear in my blood, and tears sting my eyes.
“I’m safe,” I whisper, nuzzling Wesson’s fur. “I’m home, I’m safe, I’m in control. I’m safe—” My phone rings and I grapple for the device, answering it without checking the screen. “Denver Luxe.”
“Good morning, Deluxe.”
If Wesson wasn’t on me, I’d likely bolt upright, but he remains heavy on my chest. I can’t speak for a moment, and the voice … his voice is familiar.
“I guess life is about taking risks.”
“Have I dialed the right number?” Colt asks.
I swallow the dryness in my throat. “I can’t fucking believe you.”
He laughs, hearty and deep. “Can you blame me? You walked over to the bar all bright eyed, beautiful, and hungry. How could I not have spoken to you?”
“Why did you help me?” I don’t hide the accusation in my tone. “Why not just let Dorian take me?”
“I’m a lot of things, Denver, but I’m not a monster.”
“Not what I’ve heard. In fact”—Wesson clambers off me as I sit up—“from my experience with the Harlands, you’re pretty fucking monstrous.
” Anger becomes heat that climbs over my skin, and exhaustion has more tears forming in my eyes.
“Or do you not class shooting innocent women in the head as monstrous?”
Colt’s silence is permeated only by the sound of passing traffic.
“I won’t excuse what my brother did, Denver,” he says.
“I’ve made it very clear to him that he fucked up.
I know I can never fully put that across to you, and that’s fine, but I won’t let you label me as the kind of man who would do that.
Because I’m not.” A strange kind of shame curls around my heart, one I try to banish with images of Ethan and Harley’s faces.
“I love my brother, but I’m far from fucking proud of him right now. ”
The tiredness is in my bones, and that’s the only explanation I’ll give for the tear that rolls down my cheek before I brush it away. “What do you want, Colt? I’m tired.”
“I called to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, and it’d be fucking strange if you were.”
I squeeze my hand into a fist. “You don’t know me.”
“I’ve been following Spider’s activities for years. I know the kind of trauma he leaves behind, Denver. It’s like oil on your skin. It doesn’t come off first time.”
I climb out of bed and go to the en suite, splashing water on my face. My face is pink, cheeks flushed. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why have you been following Spider?”
He clears his throat. “I have a vested interest in him dying. Slowly.”
I scoop cool water into my mouth before speaking again. “Then I guess we have something in common.”
Colt’s laugh is filled with anything but amusement. “The enemy of my enemy.”
My eyes shine, a wave of emotion washing over me so quickly that I press the back of my hand to my mouth to hold back a sob. “I have to go.”
“Before you do … I heard what happened with the casino. Ronan and Finn McEwan have some land they’re not using, and it could be a good place to build another if you’re ever looking to branch out here.”
The words have me straightening. Colt’s behavior makes no sense and the suggestion is not an option. Ranger hates the McEwans. He always has. If I were to even entertain the idea of buying from them, he would be beyond furious.
I frown. “Why … why would you even tell me that? Why are you being so nice to me?”
His silence hurts more than his kindness. I don’t know how to handle either.
“Consider it an olive branch,” he says. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“Wait.” I scrunch up my nose, hating myself for the words that have danced on my tongue since I answered the phone.
But despite the time I’ve spent delving deep into the role of Deluxe, despite the things I’ve done and the lies I’ve told, it’ll keep me up at night if I don’t say it.
Because while Colt may be hiding his brother, and I’ll likely have to kill them both, he still wasn’t the one who killed Ethan or Harley. “Thank you for not walking away.”
I don’t know where I’d be if he’d left me. Dead, or … somewhere far worse.
“I would never walk away from that.”
For some reason, I believe him.
“I’m still going to kill you,” I remind him.
“Counting on it.”