CHAPTER 31
Anna
When we finally made it back to Connor's house, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn.
Denny was waiting at the door. His weathered face had gone ashen, the color draining as he took in the sight of us.
My bruised and swollen face, Jaxon's cuts and exhaustion, both of us moving like we'd aged twenty years overnight.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. "I heard what happened. Miss Anna, your face—"
"I'm okay," I lied automatically, even though every word sent pain radiating through my jaw.
Denny's hands clenched into fists at his sides, but his voice stayed gentle. "You two get inside. Rest. Me and the guys will handle everything today. The horses, the chores, all of it. You focus on recovering, you hear?"
Jaxon's arm tightened around my waist, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Thanks, Denny. That… means a lot."
A look of silent understanding passed between them, years of friendship and loyalty communicated in a single glance. Denny nodded once, squeezed Jaxon's shoulder, and headed back toward the barns.
Inside, the house felt too quiet, too normal after everything. The familiar surroundings seemed wrong somehow, like they belonged to a different life, a different version of us that existed before last night.
Jaxon guided me to the couch, and we sat in heavy silence. His jaw worked, his hands flexing and unflexing like he was trying to summon the courage to speak.
"We need to call Connor," he said finally, his voice rough. "Tell him what happened."
My stomach churned at the thought of reliving the nightmare. "Can't we wait? Until morning, or—"
"It's almost morning now," Jaxon said gently. "And he deserves to know. But…" He took my hand, thumb tracing small circles on my palm. "It's your choice, Anna. If you need more time—"
"No." I cut him off, the word sharper than I intended. "You're right. We should tell him. Get it over with."
I wanted to rip off the bandage quickly.
Jaxon pulled out his phone, and I watched his hand tremble slightly as he found Connor's contact. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Jax? Everything okay?" Connor's voice came through, alert despite the early hour. There was an edge to his tone, as if he already suspected something was wrong.
"Connor, I—" Jaxon's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Something happened. Anna and I are okay, but—"
"What happened?" Connor's voice sharpened. "Is Anna hurt?"
I reached for the phone, and Jaxon handed it over, eyes full of gratitude.
"Connor, it's me." My voice was thick, slurred from the swelling. "I'm okay. We both are. But last night, Jared and a drug dealer broke into the house and took me."
The silence on the other end was deafening until he finally spoke.
"They what?"
I told him. About waking up tied to the woodstove in Jaxon's cabin, about overhearing their talk of Nikki's murder, about Jaxon bursting in and fighting Isaac for the gun. Jaxon filled in the gaps I couldn't—calling the police, riding Choco through the woods.
Connor's voice shook with barely suppressed fury. "I'm coming home. Right now. I'll pack up and—"
"Connor, no," I interrupted. "You only have a few days left of the show. We're okay, I promise. The police have both of them in custody. Isaac's being charged with Nikki's murder, and Jared's going to prison too."
"Anna, you were kidnapped. Drugged. Tied up. That son of a bitch hurt you, and you want me to stay here and show horses?"
A wave of dread washed over me, knowing he was going to blame himself and think he should have been here.
"I want you to finish what you started," I said firmly, even as tears streamed down my face again. "Jaxon and I are safe now. And you being here won't change what happened. Please, Connor. Just a few more days. Then come home."
The silence stretched so long I thought he'd hung up until he spoke again.
"Put Jaxon back on."
I handed the phone back. Jaxon paced to the window as he talked. I couldn't hear Connor, but I watched Jaxon's shoulders tense, watched him scrub his free hand over his face.
"I know," Jaxon said quietly. "I know. But she's right, we're safe now… Yeah, I promise. If anything changes, if she gets worse, I'll call you immediately… Okay. See you soon."
He hung up and returned to sit beside me, pulling me into his arms. "He's staying through the weekend, but then he's coming straight home. And he made me promise to take care of you."
"You already are," I whispered against his chest.
After the draining call, I couldn't stand my own skin anymore. I retreated to the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the phantom sensation of ropes cutting into my flesh, of Isaac's rough hands on my limp, drugged body as he carried me to the truck and tied me up.
I needed to get it all off.
I turned the water as hot as I could stand it, scalding spray beating down on my skin as I frantically lathered soap over every inch of my body. Once. Twice. Three times. But the crawling feeling of violation lingered, no matter how hard I scrubbed.
My hands moved almost frantically, trying to erase the memory of being touched while unconscious, of being helpless and at their mercy. The water turned my skin red, but I couldn't stop. The feeling persisted: Not clean enough. Still not clean enough.
Then the weight of everything—the terror, the violence, the horrible things I'd learned about Nikki's death, the sound of that gunshot—crashed over me all at once under the punishing spray.
A sob tore from my throat, raw and broken. Then another. And another.
My knees buckled, and I sank down onto the tiles. The water pounded over me as violent sobs racked my body. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but cry and shake and feel like I was falling apart.
The bathroom door burst open, and then Jaxon was there, still fully clothed, climbing into the shower without hesitation. He pulled my trembling form against his chest, cradling me as the water poured over us both.
"I've got you," he murmured, his arms solid and secure around me. "I've got you, baby. Let it out."
Streams of tears coursed down my face, mingling with the water from the showerhead. Everything hurt. My face, my wrists, my heart, my soul. I felt shattered into a thousand pieces, and I didn't know how to put myself back together.
But Jaxon held me. He stroked my soaked hair and rocked me gently as I broke apart in his arms, absorbing my pain like he could somehow take it into himself and spare me from carrying it alone.
"You're safe," he whispered against my hair, over and over like a prayer. "You're safe now. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
I don't know how much time passed. Only that eventually, after the water had run cold and my sobs faded to shaky hiccups, Jaxon gently helped me out of the shower.
He wrapped me in a towel with such careful tenderness that fresh tears burned behind my eyes.
Then he peeled off his own soaked clothes and dried himself quickly.
He lifted me into his arms and carried me to bed. My body felt heavy, wrung out by emotion and exhaustion. I barely registered the soft rustle of sheets as he pulled back the covers, laid me against the pillows, and curled his body around mine like a shield.
His lips pressed to my hair as darkness tugged me under. "Sleep. I've got you."
And despite everything, I believed him.
Jaxon
I woke with a start, my heart pounding before I even opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, and for a disoriented moment, I couldn't remember why my chest felt like it was being crushed, why every muscle in my body ached.
Then it all came flooding back. Anna. Isaac. Jared. The gun. The fight.
Anna.
I turned my head carefully, relief washing over me when I saw her still sleeping beside me. Her face was turned away, but I could see the angry purple bruising spreading across her cheekbone, the way her body curled defensively even in sleep.
The clock on the nightstand read 11:47 a.m. My body and mind still drained from the harrowing events of the previous night, but it was still far sooner than Anna needed. She'd barely gotten four hours.
I knew I had to let her sleep. She desperately needed it.
I carefully untangled myself from her, moving slowly to avoid waking her. Every movement felt heavy, weighted down by exhaustion and emotional trauma. My bare feet hit the hardwood floor, and the chill helped wake me a little more as I padded downstairs.
Chester met me at the bottom of the stairs, tail wagging but movements subdued. The loyal dog seemed to sense the somber mood, pressing against my leg with a soft whine. I scratched behind his ears before opening the back door to let him out into the yard.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him nose around the grass, trying to process everything that had happened.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had been grocery shopping for a cookout.
Now, Jared was in jail, Isaac was in jail, and Anna had been traumatized in ways that would take months, maybe years, to heal from.
And Nikki. Finally knowing the truth about Nikki brought a complex flood of emotion. My throat tightened, and I forced myself to move, to do something productive before the thoughts could spiral.
I needed coffee.
I mechanically went through the motions of making a pot, the familiar routine providing a small measure of comfort.
The rich aroma filled the kitchen as the machine gurgled and hissed.
While it brewed, I tidied up, washing the few dishes in the sink that had been sitting there since before everything happened, wiping down the counters.
My thoughts never strayed far from Anna. My chest felt tight with worry and a fierce protectiveness that bordered on overwhelming. How was I supposed to help her through this? How were either of us supposed to move forward?
I clung to the promise we'd made: One day at a time. That was the only way through this.