CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Quiet Mustang
WHEN I THOUGHT about finding a girl for myself, I thought about taking her to meet my ma and daddy, Lynnie too.
Giving her a chance to see where I came from, my roots, the people I loved.
The people who made me who I was. In addition to the security concerns, maybe that’s why I brought her here, Peyton.
The girl I love.
It’s not a mystery to me. I’ve known it for a while.
It took me a bit, but when everything happened at the warehouse and I almost lost her, I caught on.
I thought I’d struggle with it, with falling in love with the daughter of the man who took everything from me, but to my surprise, there was no struggle.
Once I accepted that she was my Princess, mine, her being a Turner wasn’t even an issue.
The struggle was how to reconcile that I loved her; yet I treated her the way I did, punished her for something that was never her fault.
And then the struggle was how to not tell her.
How to keep it inside every time I had her in my arms. Every time I watched her smile and laugh and talk.
Every time I had her in my lap and watched the world go by on Tulip, her face in my neck and her hair in my face.
Every time I gave her mouth my tongue and fed her pussy my cock.
Every time she shattered around me and then sang for me like my own personal angel so I could finally sleep after over a decade of nightmares.
I’ve never had trouble keeping things inside, but these words didn’t want to stay in. I kept them to myself, though. What if I told her and she got scared? What if she thought I’d break my promise to her and wouldn’t let her go? Sentence her to a life with an outcast, a monster.
She doesn’t think you’re a monster, though. She loves you.
Sitting at the lake, her favorite spot, my heart fucking pounds in my chest as I think of that.
As I think of her sweet words. Her sweet, soft, life-giving, gut-wrenching words.
Because nothing has changed, has it? I’m still the man with scars and a bloody past. I’m still the man who’s too angry and violent, too much in pain.
Who hasn’t moved on from his past, like she said.
I’m still the man who abandoned his sister.
Who did horrible things to the girl he loves.
Even though she doesn’t blame me for those things, a man—a man who is worthy of her love—still has responsibilities.
So this is better. A broken heart is better than a broken spirit.
Which is what was in store for her if I kept her, if I told her I loved her too.
If I told her that, she’d fight the world for me.
And she’d do it happily. Isn’t that what she’s willing to do now too?
She is willing to put herself in danger for me. For me. Because she loves me.
You make me feel alive. You make me feel safe…
Safe.
I go still. I go absolutely fucking still. As I run her words over and over in my head. I’ve been doing the same thing for the past however many hours I’ve been sitting out here, but for some reason, this part never hit me the way it is hitting now.
I do keep her safe. The thought of someone hurting her, someone scaring her or even looking at her wrong, makes me break out in a sweat, makes my blood boil, my gut clench so hard that I can’t breathe.
I can’t exist another second without destroying that threat against her.
And it’s always been this way, since the first moment I saw her.
Since the first moment I realized I had to become the biggest threat against her.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand the connection I have with her except that it’s fate.
And it still is.
Nothing has changed then, has it?
So what the fuck am I thinking sending her out in the world that’s only ever harmed her?
That will harm her because that’s what the world is.
I know that firsthand. That’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it, when this ends.
Isn’t that why I’ve been trying to cram in every single second of every day with her?
Isn’t that why I’ve been soaking up every inch of her light, her warmth, her sweetnes—because one day I’ll have to let her go into the world?
Why would I put her through that? Why would I leave her unprotected?
Just because I’ll eliminate all the present threats against her doesn’t mean new threats won’t crop up. Doesn’t mean she’ll stay protected.
And why the fuck do I care what the world thinks of me if she is with me?
If she looks at me as a man, her man, and not a monster.
If she loves me in spite of all my flaws.
If our life could be the way it’s been these past few days.
Full of love and safety and Jesus, laughter.
Something I’ve never had before, not even before the accident.
And if she has to fight the world for me, I’ll fight beside her.
Or better yet, if someone judges her for being with me, I’ll just have to destroy them first so she doesn’t have to.
I’ll be her man even if I’m a monster to the rest of the world.
Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot. She was right about that too.
I spring to my feet as the world spins around me.
I jog over to Tulip, climb on, and take off.
I get back to the barn and the first indication that something is wrong when I find the door ajar because I remember closing it.
I run over and throw the door open only to find the space empty.
Standing in the middle of the room, I look around, my breaths too fast and noisy, my gut rebelling.
I tell myself she could be in the main house, but something tells me she isn’t.
Just as I’m about to turn around and go look anyway, I hear a ping coming from my back pocket.
Dread, pure and bone-chilling, runs through me as I fish out the GPS device that sends me alerts if the perimeter is breached and tap it awake.
My fingers almost crack the screen from how tight I’m holding it when I see her.
Right there, in black-and-white, looking into the camera.
Her gaze is defiant, rebellious. Like she won’t let anyone win, least of all, me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, darlin’, what the—”
I’m turning around, ready to go back out there on Tulip, when I see the two men jump her. They come out of the woods wearing masks, and she panics. Holy Christ. My girl gets scared and she fights. She scratches the mask off one of those men before they carry her away.
No, no, no. Jesus, fuck.
But I will myself to breathe. To calm down.
To not fucking tear everything apart. I can’t help her if I lose control.
If I let emotions and violence guide me.
The time for that will be later. For now, I pat my jeans for my phone but realize I don’t have it.
I run to the dresser and throw it open. I grab the other burner I have and dial Arsen’s number.
He picks up on the second ring, but I don’t let him speak. “Find Hank Turner.”
“What, why?”
“He’s the missin’ piece.”
“I don’t—”
“Find him,” I growl. “Now. I’m goin’ after her.”
“What the fuck do you mean? Did she—”
“She’s been taken.”
And as she was willingly walking into danger, she gave me a clue I’ve been fucking missing all this time.
It’s Hank Turner. He’s the monster, isn’t he?
She told me. She kept telling me it was her father.
She said she wouldn’t let him win. But I didn’t listen.
Not until she looked into the camera, all defiant, and it clicked.
Hank Turner has been behind every tragedy, both mine and hers.
And my gut says he’s behind this too. Not his enemy; not anyone else.
But him.