Chapter 9
Nine
Just past noon. Not ideal for a hike into hostile territory, but they’d rest once he got Nimue away from that bus.
Away from whoever wanted her dead.
Liam’s boots found purchase on the rocky outcrop, midday sun slicing harsh shadows across the sandstone.
The wall fell away beneath him—two hundred yards of sheer drop that bled rust-colored stains down the pale surface.
Handholds jutted from the rock like ancient doorknobs, worn smooth by wind and rain.
A crack ran diagonally across the face, just wide enough for his fingers, while loose scree shifted that would clatter into the void below with the wrong step.
His hands moved—muscle memory taking over—setting up the anchor system.
Cams wedged tight into bomber cracks. Sling looped around a boulder the size of his Bronco.
Focus. Check the knots. Double-check.
He clipped the dynamic rope through quickdraws, tested the figure-eight. Clean. Tight.
No room for error today.
Emberly’s voice still echoed in his skull—brisk, urgent, cutting through sat-phone static like a blade. The Bratva don’t mess around, Liam. Last time, they burned down her house, blew up an inn, and put a gun to Nimue’s head.
His chest squeezed. The image of cold metal pressed against Nimue’s temple burned behind his eyes.
You need to get her away from there, now. Off-grid. Tell no one.
When he’d walked into her bus, he’d heard “Bratva.” “Russian mob.” “Files.” “Money.” Something about backup and…cocoa? Half of it made zero sense, but that didn’t matter. The picture was crystal clear—someone wanted Nimue dead, and Liam would die before he let that happen.
He’d left Noah a short text. Going off grid for a few days. Can’t explain. Sorry.
He’d grabbed his red personal pack, since it was already stocked, and then changed from ranger gear to hiking gear.
The fastest route deep into the canyon stretched below—sixty meters of sheer sandstone wall.
They’d hiked a mile from her bus before starting their descent.
The ropes would stay behind when they reached the bottom.
“Harness on.” His voice came out rougher than intended, but all he could think was Move.
After she’d stepped into the climbing harness, he checked her gear, fingers brushing nylon straps, making sure everything locked tight. “Leg loops good?”
Nimue nodded, her gaze flicking toward the edge. “Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “Let’s just do this.”
“Have you ever rappelled before?”
“Once. In a climbing gym, with one of my foster brothers.”
One rappel in a gym. Perfect.
He adjusted her belay loop, carabiner clicking into place. “Lean back, feet wide. Keep your good hand on the rope always.”
She stepped to the edge.
Trust. That’s what this required—complete, absolute trust.
She looked at him, her eyes meeting his, so much in it.
You can trust me, Nimue.
“Don’t look down.”
She leaned into the harness and began walking down the wall.
Liam belayed her from the top, feeding rope through his ATC, stance solid as granite.
She fixed her hand on the rope like instructed, boots scraping rock as she started down.
He kept his eyes locked on her—rope taut, movements smooth, every fiber of his being focused on keeping her safe.
When her boots hit solid ground, his knees nearly buckled.
His turn.
The descent felt like flying backward—push off, feed rope, plant feet. Rhythm and precision. The canyon walls blurred past until his boots touched earth beside hers.
“You okay?”
She nodded but looked a little white.
He couldn’t stop himself from stepping up to her, his hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes. “Trust me. I won’t let them find you.”
She looked at him. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Yes, yes, he did.
He stepped away. “Let’s get moving.”
She began loosening the harness.
Liam unclipped fast, hands working to coil rope and ditch gear. Every ounce of extra weight would slow them down. He stuffed harnesses and slings behind a boulder, covered them with rocks and dirt.
Nimue’s movements jerked as she unclipped her own gear. She was clearly rattled. The fear in her eyes made his gut clench.
He couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t make the Bratva disappear with good intentions and ranger training.
But he could run.
“Ready?”
She nodded, reaching for her pack.
He shouldered his own pack and led them into the canyon’s narrow throat. Walls closed around them, but they’d hide them too.
Distance. That was all that mattered now.
Put miles between Nimue and her hunters.
The first hour burned away at a brutal pace.
He pushed them hard, his boots kicking up dust clouds that coated his throat and left grit between his teeth.
Sweat stung his eyes despite the canyon’s cool shadows, his shirt plastering to his back.
The air hung thick with the metallic tang of iron-rich stone and the earthy scent of hidden seeps.
Each footfall echoed off the narrow walls, while loose pebbles skittered over the edge to their right.
His pack straps bit into his shoulders, the weight of their survival gear a constant reminder of how far they had to go.
Nimue kept up, but he could hear her breathing getting ragged, each exhale sharp in the confined space.
The sound pushed a knife into his chest. Maybe he should slow down—
A high-pitched yelp shattered his thoughts. He whirled around.
Nimue went down hard behind him, foot catching a hidden root. Her knees scraped against jagged rock, blood blooming through torn fabric.
She rolled, cradling her bandaged hand.
He dropped to his knees in the dirt beside her.
“You okay?” Hands already checking her knee—shallow cut, nothing major. Her hand though…Fresh blood spotted the gauze. “Sorry. I was pushing too hard.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice shook, contradicting her words. Tears filled her eyes, and she wouldn’t look at him.
“Nimue?”
“Are you mad at me?”
The question hit him in the sternum, full punch.
“Mad?” He shook his head, incredulous. “Why would I be mad?”
Her gaze dropped, fingers twisting her shirt hem. “For dragging you into this. Whatever this is.” Her voice cracked. “You don’t even know what you’re running from.”
Mad.
At her?
His hands curled into fists. Yeah, he was mad—furious at whatever scum wanted to hurt her. Terrified he might not move fast enough. But mad at Nimue?
“I’m mad at whoever’s doing this to you.” The words came out rougher than intended. He forced his breathing to slow. “And I’m worried.”
Everything she was carrying—the fear, the weight of secrets, the bone-deep exhaustion—it was all there in her eyes. Raw and exposed.
Something inside him released, and without thinking, he pulled her against himself. Hands firm on her back, holding her as if she might dissolve if he let go. She went rigid for a heartbeat, then melted into him, breath warm against his neck.
Safe. For just this moment, she was safe.
He pulled back—not far, just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “We’re gonna be okay.” His whispered words might have been more for himself than for her.
“How do you know that?” Nimue’s breath dusted across his lips. Voice soft, trembling. Those dark eyes searched his face, amber flecks catching afternoon light.
Close. Too close. Every nerve in his body hummed with awareness of her—the way she fit against him, the slight part of her lips, the trust shining in her eyes despite everything.
“Do you trust me?”
She blinked. Weighing. Deciding.
The world narrowed to this—her and him and the space between heartbeats. Not the Bratva or his job or the canyon walls pressing in around them. Just…this.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
His chest ached with wanting—wanting to kiss her, protect her, and when she was finally safe, a reason to stay. But he wouldn’t push. Wouldn’t take what she wasn’t ready to give.
“Do you trust me?” The question came out rougher this time.
Nimue tilted her head. The barest brush of her lips against his—soft, hesitant. More question than answer, but he’d take it for what it was, a test. She was reaching out and he was right here, all in for it.
He kissed her back. Deliberate. Gentle. Just a promise—I’m here; you can count on me. But the warmth of her mouth, the way she leaned into him…It undid every good intention he’d ever had.
He lingered, savoring the connection, the trust she offered him.
Her fingers found the hair at his nape. Tentative at first, then firmer, pulling him closer. The touch sent a sudden, deep longing through him, and he fought to keep his kiss gentle and not dive in with the sudden rush of feelings.
Then her breath caught—tiny moan escaping, barely audible but a sound that nearly drove him to his knees. He deepened the kiss, a quiet plea for her to stay, to choose him, to trust him when her world was crumbling.
She responded as if she’d been waiting for permission. Fingers tightening in his hair, body shifting closer, matching his hunger with her own.
He pulled her fully into his arms—careful but sure. One hand sliding to her back, the other cradling her neck. The kiss grew urgent, desperate. A release of every fear and hope they’d both been carrying.
Her running from the Bratva. Him chasing a future he hadn’t dared dream of since Christiana.
Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of mint ChapStick and something uniquely her. He lost himself in the way she fit against him—like she’d always belonged there.
Each moment stretched, heavy with the promise of something real, something worth fighting for.
They parted slowly, breaths mingling, foreheads touching. His heart hammered against his ribs. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his, and he saw in them the same longing. Same vulnerability.
“Whether you trust me or not—I’m here.” The words scraped his throat raw. “You can count on me.”
He stood before he did something stupid. Like forget they were running for their lives and lose himself in round two.
She needed safety first.