Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
BANKS
The cabin feels smaller tonight. Every creak of the floorboards and rustle of the trees outside seems louder than usual.
I sit at the table finishing the last of the notes from Wyatt Rivers' apartment while Anniston moves quietly around the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.
She has been different since we got back.
More reserved. Quieter. No flirty comments, no playful smiles, no teasing about how grumpy I look.
Just careful politeness that puts me on edge.
I watch her rinse a plate and set it in the drying rack. Her shoulders are tense. She keeps her eyes down. I’m turned on by her even now, but I stay professional. I have to. After what happened last night I can’t let myself slip again. Not when everything is this raw.
"You okay?" I ask.
She glances over her shoulder and gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah. Just tired. Long day."
I don’t push. Of course things are getting to her. She’s not built for this life. Running, hiding, watching her back every second. Most people would have broken by now. Anniston’s holding it together better than I expected, but I can see the cracks forming.
"We should get some sleep," I say, closing the laptop. "Big day tomorrow. I want to run more searches on Wyatt first thing."
She nods. "Okay. Um… I can sleep on the couch."
"Absolutely not." I stand up and stretch my arms over my head. "You take the bed. It's more comfortable. I'll be fine here."
"Banks, you don't have to—"
"I know." My voice comes out gruffer than I intend. "But you're sleeping in the bed. End of discussion."
She hesitates for a second, then heads down the narrow hallway without another word. I watch her go, the sway of her ass catching the majority of my attention. I force my eyes away and grab a blanket from the closet. The couch is too short for me, but it’ll have to do.
I lie down and stare at the wooden beams above me.
The cabin is quiet except for the soft sounds of Anniston moving around in the back room.
I hear the mattress shift as she climbs in.
Then nothing. I close my eyes and try to shut my brain off, but all I can think about is her.
The way she tasted last night. The little gasps she made when I was inside her.
How perfectly she fit against me. My body reacts immediately and I curse under my breath, adjusting the blanket.
I need to stay professional. She needs protection, not another complication.
Sleep finally pulls me under sometime after midnight.
A scream rips through the cabin.
I’m on my feet before my eyes are fully open, pistol in hand, heart slamming against my ribs. Another scream comes from the master bedroom, raw and terrified. I rush down the hall, gun lowered but ready.
Anniston’s thrashing in the bed, sheets tangled around her legs, face twisted in fear. "No... please... Sadie... don't—"
I set the pistol on the nightstand and climb onto the mattress beside her. "Anniston. Hey. It's me. You're safe."
She jerks awake with a gasp, eyes wide and wild. For a second she doesn’t seem to recognize me. Then her whole body sags with relief.
"Banks," she whispers, voice breaking.
I pull her into my arms without thinking. She buries her face in my chest, trembling. I wrap one arm around her back and stroke her hair with the other hand, slow and steady.
"You're okay," I murmur against the top of her head. "It was just a dream. I've got you. Nothing’s going to touch you while I'm here."
She clings to me tighter, her fingers digging into my bare shoulders. "I saw them take Sadie. They had knives like the one in the boutique. They were hurting her because of me. I couldn't stop them."
My chest tightens. I hold her closer, rocking her gently.
"Your sister is safe. Mack called her, remember? I’ll text Mack right now to pick her up.
Get her protected. She'll be fine. This is just your mind playing tricks after everything you've been through.
" I grab my phone from my sweats pocket and shoot off a quick text to Mack. He replies in seconds and says they’re on their way now.
She nods against me but doesn’t let go. Her breathing’s still ragged.
I keep talking, low and calm, telling her about the perimeter alarms, about how no one can find this cabin, about how I won’t let anything happen to her or the people she loves.
Slowly her body relaxes against mine. The trembling stops.
I should move back to the couch. I should put distance between us. But I don’t. I can’t. Not when she feels this fragile in my arms.
Anniston lifts her head. Our faces are inches apart in the moonlight coming through the window. Her green eyes are shiny with leftover tears, but there’s something else there too. Trust. Need. The same pull I’ve been fighting since the moment she spilled coffee on me.
"Banks," she whispers.
I shouldn’t. I know I fucking shouldn’t.
But when she leans in the last inch, I meet her halfway.
The kiss is soft at first. Gentle. A careful press of lips that says more than words ever could.
Then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat and I lose the last thread of control I have left.
I cup the back of her neck and deepen the kiss, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness that is purely her.
She melts into me, hands sliding up my chest, fingers threading into my hair.
We kiss like we have all the time in the world and none at all.
Slow and deep and aching. My hand runs down her side, over the curve of her hip, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.
She sighs into my mouth, body arching against mine, and heat floods through me so strong it makes my head spin.
I break the kiss just enough to rest my forehead against hers. Our breaths mingle in the dark.
"I shouldn't want you this much," I murmur, voice rough. "But I do. God, Anniston, I do."
She brushes her lips against mine again, soft and lingering. "Then don't fight it tonight. Just hold me."
I roll us so she’s tucked against my chest, my arms wrapped securely around her. She fits there like she was made for it. I kiss her once more, slower this time, savoring the way her mouth moves with mine. The kiss is warm and sweet and full of everything we’re not saying out loud.
She settles deeper into my arms, head on my shoulder, one leg tangled with mine. I stroke her back in long, soothing strokes until her breathing evens out again. The nightmare is gone. For now, she’s safe. She’s mine to protect.
And as I lie there in the quiet bed with Anniston wrapped around me, kissing her softly between whispered reassurances, I realize something I’m not ready to say out loud.
I’m not sure I can let her go when this is over.