Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
LINC
“Linc, where are you going?”
Her voice came sharp, slicing through the dim hotel room like the crack of a whip.
The curtains were half-closed, allowing city lights to bleed in through the slit.
The glow turned everything a dirty orange: her skin, the sheets, the half-empty bottle on the nightstand.
The bed still smelled like perfume, sweat, and something cheap I couldn’t name.
She was propped up on her elbows, the sheet sliding down her body, her hair tangled from the hours we’d spent trying to forget ourselves.
I didn’t even bother to look back.
“Out.” My tone was flat, final. I hated the ritual of answering to anyone who thought a warm body in bed bought them a say in my life.
“You’re going to her, aren’t you?”
There it was. The edge of jealousy, the sour bite of a woman who already knew the answer but needed to bleed herself on the words anyway.
“If you mean Kristin,” I said, pulling my jeans up one leg at a time, “yes.”
The sound of the zipper cut through the silence. Her breathing went sharp.
“Don’t you dare walk out that door.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Her eyes were wide, hard, but I could see the panic curling underneath. She’d never admit it, but she already knew I wasn’t hers. Never had been. She was just a layover on the way to where I was meant to be.
“What’s going to happen if I do?” My voice was low, sharp. I yanked my belt through the loops and cinched it, every tug deliberate, final.
“I might not be here when you get back.” She lifted her chin like she was delivering some great threat.
“Make sure you’re not,” I said coldly. “Get your shit and get out.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. I grabbed my duffel off the chair and started tossing in anything I recognized as mine: T-shirts, the old hoodie, my razor, phone charger, and my boots from under the bed. I wasn’t planning on coming back. No sense leaving anything behind.
“You can’t do this.” Her voice pitched up, shrill now. She’d gone from smug to desperate in seconds.
“Yep. Pretty sure I can.”
She scrambled upright, clutching the sheet to her chest, and her lips twisted around the line she’d been saving. “What if I’m pregnant?”
I froze mid-motion. Time hung for a heartbeat. I turned. She sat there, smug again, chin tilted like she thought she’d cornered me. She thought that word would chain me to her.
“We’ve been fucking on and off for two months,” I said slowly, deliberately. “I’ve used a condom every single time. You had your period last month, and you just finished it yesterday again.”
Her expression faltered, eyes darting side to side, searching for a foothold.
I shook my head. “If you’re trying to trap someone, you should find someone dumber than me. Get the fuck out.”
The words came out ice-cold, sharper than I intended, but I didn’t regret them.
If there was one thing I hated, it was someone using the pregnancy card as a means to manipulate.
It made me cruel. Maybe she deserved better words, but the moment Kristin’s name lit my phone, she was already gone from my world.
The call had been quick, but it left my chest aching. Three years of silence, and then her voice breaking through, raw with tears and fear. That was all it took. One call, and I knew this would be the last time I ever let her sound like that.
I zipped the bag, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out without another glance.
The hallway was narrow and silent except for the hum of the vending machine at the far end.
I moved fast, boots heavy against the carpet, heart hammering like I was already halfway to her.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.
My reflection stared back at me in the polished steel, jaw tight, eyes hard, face drawn with something between rage and dread.
The elevator hummed on the way down. Each floor light blinked too slowly. When the doors opened, I cut across the lobby, ignoring the bored glances from the night staff. The place smelled like stale air freshener and spilled liquor.
I stopped at the front desk and leaned in just enough for the receptionist to hear me over the click of her keyboard.
“I’m checking out. Woman in my room can stay the night, but the bill ends tonight. After that, she’s on her own.”
The receptionist blinked, startled, then nodded. I didn’t wait for a reply.
Outside, the air was cold and wet, city neon bleeding into puddles along the curb. The valet already had my rental pulled up front. Maybe they’d been warned. Maybe I just looked like a man who needed his truck ready before he burned the place down. I tossed the kid a tip and slid behind the wheel.
The city was a blur of light and shadow.
The hour was deep enough that traffic was thin, the streets mostly empty.
Perfect. I gripped the steering wheel tight, leather biting into my palms. The hum of the tires filled the cab, steady and fast. My pulse thudded in my throat, my body already coiled for whatever waited.
If I’d needed to, I would’ve called Ryder and had him hack every traffic light green just to keep me moving, but luck was on my side tonight.
Kristin’s trailer showed up on the tracker still parked at the boarding center. Yeah, maybe it was obsessive, keeping tabs on her even after three years. But I’d known, deep down, that one day she’d need me. One day she’d call. And I wasn’t about to be caught flat-footed when that day came.
“Call Kristin,” I ordered, my voice rough.
The line clicked, static cutting in, and then her voice came through, soft and trembling. “Linc?”
The way she said my name nearly buckled me.
“Are you okay?” I asked, knuckles white on the wheel.
“Yeah,” she sniffled. A lie.
“Where is he?”
“Still in the living quarters, I think.” Her voice wavered like she was turning her head, listening.
“Where are you?”
“I thought you always knew where I was.” Her voice cracked, and for a second, despite the fear, there was that same playful edge she used to cut me with.
I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my mouth. “Kristin,” I growled, low.
“In the stock trailer,” she admitted.
“Good. Stay there. Are you carrying?”
“No,” she said, small and guilty, like she hated admitting it.
My foot slammed the accelerator to the floor. The truck roared, engine straining. I didn’t give a damn about the speed limit. Hell, part of me wanted flashing lights behind me. Let them try to stop me. It’d be safer for him if they did.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I promised.
“Hurry, Linc.”
That plea shredded something inside me. I should’ve chased her three years ago. Should’ve fought harder. Instead, I let her go, told myself it was for her good, that she deserved better. But all I’d done was leave her to fend for herself against men like him.
I pressed harder on the gas, the truck eating up the highway.
The lights of the city fell away, replaced by open road, dark fields flashing by on either side.
The night smelled of wet asphalt and pine.
My pulse synced with the rhythm of the tires.
Every minute stretched too long. Every shadow looked like it might be him.
Her rig appeared ahead, silver under the floodlights. My stomach knotted so tight it hurt. I slammed the brakes; the truck skidded sideways before coming to a stop. Gravel spat out under the tires in a storm of dust.
I was already out, boots pounding across the lot before the engine even cut off.
The trailer door loomed ahead, a thin slice of light showing through. My hand closed around the latch, the metal cold and slick under my fingers.
I yanked it open and came face-to-face with him. The roper. Big, broad, the same guy I’d seen hanging around her, too comfortable by half. His expression flickered from surprise to irritation.
“What the fu—”
My fist connected with his face before he finished the word.
The sound was ugly, bone against bone. His nose exploded under my knuckles, blood spraying hot across my hand.
“How dare you touch my woman?” I roared, the words tearing out of me before I could think. I wanted her to hear me. I wanted her to know she was mine, that she wasn’t alone anymore.
He reeled back with a snarl, one hand over his face, blood seeping between his fingers. “You got no claim on her,” he spat, voice muffled.
I hit him again. Harder.
The impact jarred up through my arm, sharp and satisfying. He staggered, but this time he swung back. His fist slammed into my gut, air rushing out of me. Pain bloomed sharp and deep, but it only fed the fire. I didn’t back up. I didn’t give him the space to breathe.
He swung again, wild, missing by inches.
I caught his wrist, twisted, and drove my knee into his ribs.
The crack that followed was sickening, but I didn’t stop.
My world had narrowed to the sound of her voice on the phone, the tremor in it, the thought of what could’ve happened if I’d been one minute later.
He tried to grab my shirt, but I shoved him into the counter, his back slamming hard against the edge. The crash of metal against metal echoed through the trailer. Something fell and shattered, glass scattering across the floor.
He lunged again, desperate, throwing a punch that glanced off my jaw. I tasted blood, felt it drip down my chin, and I saw red. I swung once, twice, again. The sound of skin splitting filled the air. His face was unrecognizable, his eyes rolling back in his head.
When he went down, I followed, pinning him with my knee, my fists still moving, slamming into the blur of his features until my arms burned.
Then I stopped.
For a second, all I could hear was the rush of my own breathing, ragged and uneven. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it was shaking the trailer.
He groaned once, barely conscious.
I grabbed his collar and shoved him back down. “If you ever breathe her name again, I’ll finish what I started,” I snarled.
I stood, chest heaving, blood slick on my hands, dripping down to the floor. The metallic scent filled my nose. The world around me steadied by slow degrees, the blur giving way to sound again, the hum of the floodlights outside, the wind rattling the panels, my own pulse in my ears.
“Kristin!” I shouted. “It’s safe.”
The door to the tack room creaked open, and she stumbled out. Her eyes were red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears and old mascara. Her hair was tangled, sticking to her face.
Her gaze darted to the man on the floor, and her whole body shuddered.
“Don’t look,” I murmured, moving to her fast, tucking her head into my neck. “Keep your eyes closed.”
She trembled against me, but she obeyed. One leg wrapped around my waist as I lifted her, her weight featherlight. Her hands fisted in my shirt like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go.
Her heartbeat thudded against my chest, fast and uneven. I could feel every tremor in her shoulders, every shuddering breath.
“I’ve got you,” I said against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
I carried her out of the trailer, past the mess I’d left behind, and into the night air. The floodlights above hummed, throwing everything into harsh contrast: the silver of her rig, the red streaks on my hands, her pale face against my chest.
The night smelled like dust and gasoline. Her tears soaked through my shirt, warm and steady.
I set her gently on the passenger seat of her truck. Her boots hit the running board with a slight thud, and she winced when the motion pulled at her ribs.
“There are some calls I have to make,” I told her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. Her skin was cold and damp. “Can I leave you?”
Her lips wobbled into a brave smile. “I’m fine.”
But her eyes gave her away. She wasn’t fine. She was shaking, her fingers knotted in her lap, her breath short and sharp.
I leaned closer, my hand still cupping her cheek. She leaned into it, just a fraction, but enough. The trust there hit me harder than any punch tonight.
“Only be a minute.”
I kissed her cheek, the gesture instinctive, grounding. Her skin was salty from tears, soft against my mouth.
I reached for my phone and sent a text.
Me: Call me
Then I turned toward the trailer again, jaw set. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, Gideon’s name lighting the screen. I answered without looking away from the mess.
“Where are you?” The voice on the other end of the line demanded.
“Boarding lot,” I said, voice rough. “We’ve got a problem, I need a clean-up and bring the truck, you’ll be taking a drive.
“On the way.” He wasn’t a talker, but when I’d made a mess, I needed help fixing, it was always him.
I hung up and stared down at the man on the floor. He was still breathing, shallow and ugly. I crouched, grabbed a rag from the counter, and wiped my hands. The blood didn’t want to come off.
Behind me, I heard Kristin’s quiet sob, the sound so small it nearly broke me in two.
When I turned back, she was watching me from the open truck door. Her face looked fragile in the light, her eyes wide but clearer now.
“Linc,” she whispered.
I walked back to her, slow this time, careful not to startle her. I rested a hand on the doorframe, close enough that she could see me but not feel cornered.
“It’s over,” I said softly.
She nodded, her chin trembling. “I was so scared.”
“I know.” My voice cracked, the words rough. “You’re safe now. I swear to God you’re safe.” I took her by the hand and led her back to the truck.
Her breath shuddered out, her eyes closing. I climbed into the driver’s seat beside her and sat for a long minute, letting the silence settle. The hum of the engine from my truck carried faintly across the lot. Somewhere in the distance, I heard sirens, maybe from the call Kipp had already made.
I looked at her again. The faint bruise on her temple, the tear tracks, the trembling hands, every mark would fade, but I’d never forget.
“You’re with me from now on,” I said quietly. “I’m not letting you go again.”
She looked at me, the fight still somewhere deep in her eyes, but softer now. “You say that like I have a choice.”
A laugh broke out of me, low and tired. “You don’t.”
Her hand found mine on the console, small and cold. Our fingers locked, her pulse racing against my thumb.
When the others arrived, headlights sweeping the lot, I didn’t move. I just sat there with her hand in mine, both of us breathing the same bruised air, both of us alive.
And for the first time in three years, that was enough.