11. Hudson
HUDSON
She’s still out cold, curled on her side in my old flannel sheets, her breathing slow and even.
The sun’s barely up, pale light sneaking in through the old, cracked blinds.
I haven’t slept. And I don’t think I could if I wanted to.
Adrenaline is still burning in my veins.
I keep playing the whole incident over and over—kidnapping her, dragging her here.
Every line I swore I’d never cross… gone.
All I’ve done is sit here and watch her sleep.
Taking in the way her lashes are long and dark against her cheek, how her mouth parts as she breathes.
Her face holds so much innocence that makes my gut twist. She has no idea that it was me who took her from the gala, that I’m the one who crossed that line.
My chest aches. I trace the lines of her face with my eyes like I’ve done so many times these past few days. Re-memorizing every curve, every freckle, every tiny scar her family’s world was supposed to keep hidden. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her cheek.
But I don’t. I keep my hands to myself.
She should be waking up soon, and when she does, she’s probably going to hate me for this. And maybe she should.
The old clock on the wall keeps ticking away the time with its steady rhythm.
I check my watch for the hundredth time, counting the minutes since we arrived.
The sedative should be wearing off any minute now.
I can still feel the way her body went limp in my arms in that hallway, the sick feeling at what I’ve done.
My phone vibrates again, the screen lighting up with another string of messages from Vance at HPG.
“Where the fuck are you, Reed?”
“Why isn’t Miss Ashford answering her phone? Call me or you’re done.”
The words, threats, demands all blur together in my head.
Fuck all of them.
I turn the phone off and toss it onto the old kitchen table.
No one’s coming for us here, not unless I want them to.
I’d burn the world down before I let them take Ivory back to that prison they call ‘a life,’ before I hand her over to Crest or her father or anyone else who ever looked at her like she was a piece of property.
The silence in the cabin is thick. I move to the window, check the tree line for the hundredth time. Finding nothing but birds and the wind. I know nobody followed us last night, the whole time keeping my eyes peeled for unwanted headlights tailing us, suspicious vehicles. I made damn sure of that.
Still, I can’t relax. I’m wound so tight I could snap at any moment.
I come back to the bedroom door and watch her sleep.
I wonder how much she’ll remember when she wakes up.
If she’ll recall being pulled into that side corridor, how I saw the needle in that bastard’s hand, the nervous sweat that was beaded on his brow.
Or how I took him down, fast and brutal, before he could drag her out a side exit and make her disappear for good.
How I carried her through the museum, out of the party, keeping her head tucked against my chest, hoping no one noticed. Especially Ashford.
I’m not a hero. I’m not even sure I’m a good man.
But I know what I saw in Andrew Ashford's eyes when he handed her off to Crest. It was ownership, calculation, and pure fucking indifference.
I know what I felt the second I saw her being groped by that asshole, touching what is mine.
And then the disgusting words he thought no one heard.
But I did. Making something primal and ugly stir inside me.
Right then, I knew I had to do something. I promised her.
So I did.
It didn’t exactly go how I saw it in my head. I wasn’t planning to burn it all down. But then Damien pulled his shit, and I made my choice.
She begins to stir, mumbling. I pour a glass of water, setting it on the nightstand, then sit on the edge of the bed. She’s not fully awake just yet, but close. The mattress creaks under my weight as I reach for her hand, then change my mind, balling my fists in my lap instead.
She’s going to hate me. She’s going to be scared. But I’d rather she be mad and yell at me than vanish without a trace.
I’ll take her anger. I’ll take every ounce of blame if it means she’s safe and gets a chance to choose her own life, even if it doesn’t have me in it.
I wait and watch. Noticing the way her breathing changes, pulling herself back to reality. She’s coming back to me, whether she wants to or not. And I hope to hell that when she does, she understands why I did what I did. Why I’d do it all again, fuck the consequences.
Ivory’s lips part as she tries to swallow past the taste of whatever she was dosed with. Her eyes finally find me, wide and glassy, trying to focus.
I brace myself for the yelling, the tears, the accusations…anything. Hell, I’d welcome her screaming at me. At least I’d know where I stood. Instead, she just looks scared. Wrecked.
“What… What happened?” Her voice is raw.
I’m still sitting at the edge of the bed, my fingertips digging into my knees to keep from reaching for her. “You were drugged at the gala. Damien gave you something and tried to take you out a side door. I stopped him and got you out of there, bringing you here.”
She blinks slow and swallows hard. Her arms shake as she pushes herself up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “You…you took me? My dad…Hudson, my dad is going to kill you.” Her voice cracks. “He’ll come after you. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
I can’t help myself. I move closer, resting my hand on top of hers. She’s cold. “Let him come,” I say. “He’ll have to go through me.”
That’s when she breaks. Tears running down her cheeks. It’s not anger, but fear. “You don’t understand,” she whispers. “He’ll ruin you. He ruins everyone who gets in his way.”
I pull her into my arms. She doesn’t fight it, letting her body melt against me.
Her shoulders shake as she sobs into my chest. I hold her tight, resting my chin in her hair, breathing in her scent, trying to ground us both.
“You’re safe, baby,” I tell her. “No one’s going to touch you, Ivory.
Not your father, not Crest, not anyone.”
She lets go of one last sob before taking in a few shallow breaths, trying to pull herself together. I stroke her back, slow and steady, waiting her out. It kills me to see her this way, so fucking scared, blaming herself for what I chose to do.
When her breathing slows, and her mind becomes a little clearer, I loosen my hold just enough so she can see my face. Her eyes search mine, all red and wet. “Hudson, promise me you won’t let him hurt you,” she pleads.
I almost smile. After everything that’s happened, all she’s worried about is me.
“I promise. No one’s going to lay a hand on me. Not as long as I’ve got you to fight for.”
She nods, sniffling, and settles back into my chest. But it doesn’t go unnoticed that there’s a fight burning in her, under all that fear.
We stay like that for I don’t know how long, me holding her close. The whole time, I’m silently promising myself I’ll fight the whole fucking world if I have to. Do whatever needs to be done to keep her safe.
I loosen my grip, and she sits up, swiping at her mascara-streaked face. “Can I take a shower?”
She acts hesitant, her voice so quiet I barely register what she says.
I nod. “Of course.”
She gradually stands to her feet, pointing in either direction till I indicate the correct one.
“That way.”
Before leaving, she bends down, placing a soft kiss against my lips. I close my eyes, letting myself drink her in.
She pulls back, her tiny hand finding my cheek. “Thank you, Hudson. For saving my life,” she says, resting her forehead against mine.
Fuck me.
I grunt. I know this is not the time, but my dick has a mind of its own, rising to the occasion.
“You’d better go, before I throw you on this bed and fuck you senseless.”
She giggles. “Promise?”
“Go.” I swat her ass as she turns to leave, disappearing down the hall.
The bathroom door clicks shut, and the cabin settles around me, all the memories. I scrub my hands over my face, suddenly aware of how bad I stink.
But instead of following her, like I so badly want to do, I give her the space she needs and head for the kitchen to see if there’s anything in these dusty cabinets that’s edible.
There’s a rhythm to cracking open a can, rinsing a bowl, and heating water on the stove.
It’s mindless and grounding. But it keeps my hands busy and gives my brain something to do besides thinking about Ivory naked in the next room.
That tight little body of hers all wet and slick, covered in suds.
The dish I’m holding slips out of my hand, clattering to the floor.
“Shit!”
“Hudson? Are you okay? What was that?” I hear Ivory yell from the shower.
“All good. Just dropped something.”
Motherfucker. I bend down to pick up the broken pieces.
This place is old as hell and was never meant to be comfortable.
My old man built half the furniture himself, resulting in crooked chairs and a table that wobbles if you lean on it too hard.
There's been a dent in the fridge door from the time my brother Hardin threw a beer bottle at me when we were kids.
Thankfully, he missed, but my dad spent the next hour lecturing us while bitching about “cheap appliances.” The memories sting more than I want to admit.
I line up a couple of cans on the counter.
There’s soup, beans, and…well, that’s pretty much it.
The kind of survival food that lasts forever.
My mind starts to wander back to Ivory, picturing her under the hot spray, water running over her bare skin, when the floorboard creaks. I turn and nearly drop something else.