Chapter 4
Riley
Some guys would’ve been snarling. Smacking at the cell door. Bellowing or swearing or threatening to rip little Billy apart.
Dungar just smiled ruefully at the door, his expression making my heart do a strange little flip. The gentle way he’d interacted with Billy stirred emotions in me I hadn’t felt for anyone before.
“You’d make an incredible father,” I said, then realized how that sounded. He might not want kids.
Dungar’s dark eyes widened as he turned toward me. “Thank you. I’ve always hoped to have younglings someday.”
The word “younglings” made me smile. So charmingly orcish. I immediately tried to picture small, green-skinned children with Dungar’s careful movements and thoughtful eyes. His tusks and thick, dark hair.
Wait. Why was I imagining Dungar’s children?
I shoved the thought away. This was my first day in Lonesome Creek.
My first day of what was supposed to be a fresh start, hiding from people who wanted me silenced permanently.
Getting starry-eyed over the town sheriff, even if he was seven feet of muscled protection with surprising gentleness, was not part of the plan.
“Someone will realize we’re missing soon,” I said, changing the subject. I stood up from the narrow bunk and approached the bars again. “Hellooo!” I called out, wrapping my hands around the cool metal. “Anyone out there? Sheriff and deputy locked in their own jail! Could you help?”
Dungar joined me at the bars, his big frame making the cell feel even smaller. “Hello!” His deep voice boomed through the office and out onto the street, but the bangs and pretend shrieks of the fake staged robbery outside were still drowning us out.
We took turns calling for help as the sun slanted lower and lower through the front windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. My voice grew hoarse, and the same raspiness crept into Dungar’s smooth baritone.
“Maybe we should conserve our energy,” he said after another fruitless ten minutes of shouting.
I nodded, sinking back onto the bunk. My throat hurt, and a dull headache pounded behind my eyes. With the bathroom window open, Dungar had probably turned off the heat. Outside, the temperature had started to drop. Mountain nights got cold, even in summer.
“It’s getting dark.” I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Yes.” Dungar’s expression remained calm, but I caught the furrow between his brows. “The tourist activities usually wrap up around dusk. My brothers should realize I’m missing by then.”
“Should,” I said, the word sticking in my throat.
“Exactly.”
As shadows deepened around us, the jail cell began to feel smaller. I swore the walls inched closer, the ceiling lowering along with it. I stood up again, pacing the tiny space in three steps before turning back.
“Are you alright?” Dungar asked, tracking my movements.
“Fine. Just…stretching my legs.”
But I wasn’t fine. As darkness fell outside and the temperature continued to drop, memories I’d fought to keep buried began crawling up from where I thought I’d locked them inside.
The walls of the cell turned into the storage closet of Blainsworth Industries’ executive floor, the place I’d hidden when I realized what the accounting discrepancies I’d discovered actually meant.
The place where I’d crouched behind boxes of printer paper, hardly daring to breathe while Edgar Blainsworth himself stalked the hallway outside, bellowing for security to find “that nosy bitch” who’d peeked at his private files.
The click of the lock echoed in my ears again like it had back then. Not Billy’s innocent prank, but the deliberate sound of the security guard locking the closet from the outside while he went to report to Blainsworth that the floor was clear.
I was trapped in that closet for six hours before the night cleaning crew unlocked it, giving me enough time to slip out of the building before Blainsworth’s men returned.
My breathing quickened as the memories sharpened. The walls weren’t just nearer, they were closing in. The air grew thinner, harder to pull into my lungs. I could almost smell the sharp scent of toner and cleaning supplies, hear Blainsworth promising what he’d do to me when he found me.
“Riley.” Dungar’s voice came from far away. “Riley, what’s wrong?”
I couldn’t answer. My chest constricted as if steel bands were tightening around it. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I pressed my back against the cold wall, trying to ground myself in the present, but the past had its claws in me and would not let go.
“Can’t…breathe,” I gasped.
Suddenly, Dungar was there, his large frame blocking out everything else. His hands, so big they could easily crush me, gently cupped my shoulders. He didn’t grab or restrain me, just provided a steady anchor as my world tilted on its axis.
“Hey, breathe,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
The word penetrated the fog of panic. I focused on his face, on the genuine concern in his eyes. He was real. This was real. Not the closet. Not Blainsworth.
“That’s it. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Dungar said, demonstrating the breathing pattern himself. “You’re in Lonesome Creek. You’re with me. Nothing can hurt you here.”
The absolute certainty in his voice made me want to believe him. I followed his breathing, matching the steady rhythm until the vise around my chest began to loosen.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered once I could speak again.
“Don’t apologize.” His thumbs made small, soothing circles on my shoulders. “Confined spaces can be difficult, especially when—” He stopped himself.
“When what?” I asked, my voice still shaky.
His expression softened further. “Especially when you’ve been through something that makes you feel trapped. I don’t know what happened to you, Riley, and you don’t have to tell me. Just know that as long as I’m here, you’re safe.”
The simple promise nearly undid me. I’d been alone for so long, carrying my fear like a second skin, that the thought of sharing the burden, even for a moment, felt overwhelming.
“Thank you,” I said.
He hesitated, then opened his arms. “Want a hug?”
I nodded, and he drew me against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my ear, and his arms created a fortress around me that wasn’t pressing or confining.
We stood like that until my breathing evened out completely and the worst of the panic receded. When I finally stepped back, the cell felt less like a trap and more like a simple space. A small, inconvenient space, but one I could handle.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Darkness had fallen outside and despite staring out the window for minutes, no one passed.
“We’re going to be stuck here tonight, aren’t we?” I mumbled.
“Hopefully not.”
Dungar moved back to give me room, which I appreciated. His gaze swept the cell, taking in the fading light outside and the dropping temperature with the assessment of someone trained to evaluate tense situations.
“I think we need to accept that we might not be found until morning,” he said, his tone carefully controlled. “This is…problematic.”
The understatement made me laugh despite everything. “Problematic. That’s one word for it.”
My gaze fell on the single narrow bunk, barely large enough for one person of average size, let alone a seven-foot orc and a human who’d need to share. I looked from the bunk up to Dungar’s massive frame, and heat crept into my cheeks that had nothing to do with panic.
“I’ll sit on the floor,” he said, reading my thoughts. “You take the bunk.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s going to get cold tonight. The floor will be freezing.”
“Orcs run hotter than humans. I’ll be fine.”
I shook my head. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe we can take turns.”
He didn’t argue, but I could see he had no intention of letting me sleep on the floor. Something protective and gallant lived in Dungar Bronish, something that made him put others’ comfort before his own without question.
As the cell grew darker, I found myself studying him. His size, his strength, those tusks that could probably rip through flesh if he wanted them to. He was the most physically dangerous being I’d ever been alone with.
But…
I’d spent months running from dangerous men, ones wearing expensive suits and charming smiles who’d order my death without blinking. Men who used power and money as weapons. Men who saw others as stepping stones or obstacles to be kicked out of the way.
So why did being trapped with the most dangerous-looking one of all feel like the safest I’d been in years?
As if sensing my scrutiny, Dungar’s eyes met mine across the small space. Something passed between us, but I couldn’t name what it was. I only knew it made my heart beat faster in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
“We’ll be alright,” he said. “I promise.”
Strangely enough, I believed him.
The temperature continued to drop as night settled over Lonesome Creek. No one walked past, and despite us calling out periodically, no one came to the jail to let us out.
Sitting on the edge of the bunk, I rubbed my arms, trying to generate some warmth as my breath began to fog in the air.
“Here, take this.” Dungar shook out the wool blanket lying at the foot of the bed. “It’s for looks, but I bet it’ll be warm.”
It was scratchy but it beat back the chill, especially with the wind sweeping through the room from the open window.
“I shut the thermostat off this morning,” Dungar said, waving to the dial mounted on the wall beside his desk. “It was so nice outside.”
“Real Old West jails wouldn’t have central heating, so this makes it authentic.”
“I don’t want you to be cold.”
Neither did I, but there didn’t seem to be much we could do about it. I tightened the blanket around my body.
Dungar noticed. “You’re still cold.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re shivering.”
I couldn’t deny it. The walls seemed to radiate coldness, and my thin shirt offered little protection against the mountain night chill.