Chapter 16 Delaney
SIXTEEN
DELANEY
The little house on Quarry Road smells like cold grease and old beer. And loneliness.
I’m tied to a chair in the living room—wrists bound behind me, ankles cinched to the legs—my boots planted on scuffed linoleum that’s seen too many bad decisions.
There’s a sagging couch, a mounted deer head with dusty glass eyes, and a coffee table littered with empty bottles and fast-food wrappers like Kyle Stroud’s version of “setting the scene.”
Kyle paces in front of me like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts.
His nice clothes are rumpled now. His perfect hair is messed up. There’s a dark smear on his knuckle from where I bit him earlier, and he keeps flexing that hand like he can’t decide whether he’s angry at me or impressed.
Behind him, his buddy—big guy, cap pulled low—leans against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching like this is a movie he paid to see. He hasn’t said much. He doesn’t need to. His silence is the worst kind of intimidation.
Kyle points at me like I’m the problem in an equation.
“You could’ve made this easy,” he says, voice too loud for the size of the room. “You could’ve just come with me.”
I swallow and force my breathing to stay steady. Panic helps no one. My daddy taught me that when I was ten and a bull got loose at branding: breathe first, think second, move third.
“Kyle,” I say carefully, keeping my voice calm and low, “this isn’t… this isn’t how you get what you want.”
His eyes flash. “I’m not a villain.”
My stomach flips. “You kidnapped me,” I say, the word tasting like rust. “That’s villain behavior.”
He laughs, sharp and shaky. “No, no. This is—” He scrubs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to reorganize his brain. “This is leverage. This is a negotiation. Your daddy’s gonna sell. He’ll have to.”
My wrists ache. I test the rope once—tight. My shoulders scream. I stop. No wasted energy.
“Even if he did,” I say, “you think I’m going to… what? Thank you? Fall into your arms because you took away my choice?”
Kyle’s pacing stops so abruptly it’s like he hit a wall.
His face shifts into something raw and weirdly wounded.
“I was going to give you everything,” he says, voice cracking at the edges.
“A house. Security. A future. Your parents wouldn’t have to work themselves to death on the ranch.
You wouldn’t have to run back to the city and pretend you’re happy. ”
My throat tightens. “You don’t know me.”
“I do,” he insists, stepping closer. Too close. His cologne punches into my lungs. “I watched you. I’ve been watching you since high school. Since you looked at Hawthorne like he hung the moon and he didn’t even deserve you—”
“Don’t,” I bite out, a flare of rage cutting through the fear. “Don’t say his name like you understand anything about him.”
Kyle’s mouth twists. “He’s a broken soldier playing cowboy.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “You are delusional,” I whisper. “You’re not in love. You’re obsessed. Those aren’t the same thing.”
His eyes go glassy, like the words don’t compute.
Then his expression hardens, the mask sliding back into place.
“You’ll understand,” he says, too calm. “You’re just scared right now.
Once your daddy signs, once the ranch is mine, I’ll show you what it looks like when a man actually takes care of you. ”
My stomach turns. “Let me go,” I say. “Right now. Before you make this worse.”
Kyle laughs again, but this time it’s frantic. “Worse? You think this is worse?” He gestures wildly at the room. “This is a start. This is me fixing things. This town owes my family. Your family owes my family. And you…” His gaze sweeps me like I’m a prize he already won. “You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” I say, voice shaking but clear.
His buddy shifts behind him, watching the windows like he finally remembered this isn’t actually a private fantasy—it’s a crime scene waiting to happen.
Kyle points at me again, angry now. “You were supposed to choose me. I gave you every chance. I gave your daddy an offer. I gave you—”
“You gave me threats,” I snap. “You gave me fear. You gave me a truck in the night and cut fences and—”
His eyes widen, offended. “I did it for us.”
My mouth goes dry. “Kyle…”
He steps closer again, breathing hard, losing the thread of his own plan. His voice drops to something intimate and sick. “Once you calm down, you’ll see I’m the only one who can give you a real life. Hawthorne will drag you down with his ghosts.”
The room feels smaller. The ropes feel tighter. My pulse roars in my ears so loud I almost miss it—
A faint sound outside.
Not wind.
Not birds.
A crunch of tires on gravel.
My heart stops for a fraction of a second.
Kyle doesn’t notice. He’s too busy unraveling. “You could’ve had me,” he says, as if that’s the greatest gift any woman could receive. “You still can. Just… stop fighting me.”
I lift my chin and lock eyes with him. “No.” The word lands like a slap.
Kyle’s face twists, rage boiling up fast. He lifts his hand—
And the front door explodes inward.
Not literally—no fire, no dramatic movie blast—but it slams open so hard it bangs against the wall, and the room floods with men who move like they were built for this.
“Lone Star,” someone barks. “On the ground now.”
Everything happens at once.
Kyle’s buddy lunges for something on the counter—maybe his phone, maybe a weapon, I can’t tell—
A man in black moves faster and takes him down with a hard shove and a twist that ends with the buddy face-first on the floor, pinned, cursing.
Kyle whirls, eyes wild, hand half-raised like he can somehow control this. “What the—”
“Nash,” I scream.
And then I see him.
He comes through the doorway like a storm given a body—hat gone, eyes burning, jaw carved from granite. His gaze finds me instantly.
Time narrows to that look.
Like the entire world can burn as long as I’m still breathing.
“Laney,” he says, voice rough and wrecked.
Kyle staggers backward, panic and fury battling on his face. “You— you can’t just— this is—”
Gray Calhoun appears behind Nash, calm as a knife. “Kyle Stroud, you’re done.”
Kyle’s gaze darts around the room like he’s looking for a miracle. “My dad— my dad—”
“Your dad isn’t here,” Gray says flatly. “But law enforcement is. And you’re going to the ground.”
Kyle’s attention snaps back to me, desperation sharpening. “Tell them—tell them you came willingly. Tell them you’re—”
“I’m not,” I say, voice steady now, because Nash is here and the fear finally has somewhere to go besides inward. “You tied me up, Kyle.”
Kyle’s face contorts. He takes one step toward me—
Nash moves.
He doesn’t lunge wild. He doesn’t lose control. He simply becomes a wall between Kyle and me in one heartbeat, and the look he gives Kyle is so cold it makes my skin prickle.
“Don’t,” Nash says quietly.
Kyle’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“On the ground,” Gray repeats, sharper. “Now.”
Kyle hesitates—just long enough to think he can still negotiate his way out.
And then one of Nash’s men takes him down, fast and efficient, pinning him to the floor and snapping cuffs on his wrists. Kyle starts shouting, thrashing, spitting words that don’t make sense.
“This was supposed to—she was supposed to—she’s mine—”
Nash doesn’t even look at him anymore. He turns to me and drops to his knees in front of the chair like the rest of the room is irrelevant. His hands shake as he reaches for the rope behind my wrists. “Laney,” he murmurs, voice breaking around my name, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
The first slice of the rope feels like air returning to my lungs. Then my wrists are free. My arms ache as blood rushes back in, needles and fire. I gasp.
Nash immediately slides his hands to my forearms, steadying me, checking me like he’s counting bones. “Are you hurt?” he asks, eyes frantic. “Did he—”
“No,” I whisper quickly. “No. Just… ropes. My shoulders. I’m okay.”
His jaw tightens, rage flashing. Then he swallows it down like a man who learned the hard way how to control what lives inside him. He cuts the rope at my ankles.
The second I’m free, I fold forward—half from stiffness, half from relief—and Nash catches me like he’s been waiting his whole life to do exactly this.
I cling to him.
His arms lock around me, crushing and careful at the same time, his face pressed into my hair. “You’re safe,” he whispers. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
My body shakes like it’s finally letting go. “I knew you’d come,” I choke out, voice breaking.
Nash pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes glossy with something dangerous and soft. “Always,” he says. “Always, Laney.”
Behind us, Kyle is still yelling, the sound of a man unraveling completely. Someone drags him toward the door. His buddy is hauled up too, wrists cuffed, head down.
Gray’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Sheriff’s on his way. Everybody hold positions.”
The word sheriff makes reality crash back in.
The house. The ropes. The crime.
But Nash keeps me anchored. His thumb wipes at my cheek, and I realize I’m crying. “Hey,” he murmurs, forehead to mine. “Look at me.”
I do.
“You did good,” he says. “You fought. You stayed smart.”
“I was scared,” I admit, voice small.
“I know.” His voice softens. “Brave isn’t not being scared. It’s doing it anyway.”
My throat tightens again. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”
His face shifts, pain flashing. “Not happening. Not in any universe.” His mouth brushes mine—just a whisper of a kiss, gentle and grounding, not taking more than I can give right now. It steadies me better than any words.
Outside, sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.
Kyle’s shouting fades as they drag him out.
The room is suddenly quiet except for my breathing and Nash’s heart pounding against my palm where I’m still holding his shirt like a lifeline.
He cups my face. “We’re going home,” he says. “To your parents. To your ranch. And then we’re going to figure out the rest.”
“The rest,” I whisper, because my brain jumps there automatically—Saint Pierce, distance, the future.
Nash’s gaze is unwavering. “Yeah. The future. The part I tried to give up on. The part I don’t want to lose again.”
I swallow hard. “Nash…”
“I don’t care where you live,” he says quietly. “I’ll fly. I’ll drive. I’ll split my time. I’ll build you a porch swing in Saint Pierce if that’s what it takes.” His thumb strokes my cheek, steady. “But I’m not letting you go because logistics are scary.”
My chest aches in the best way. “You’re really saying that,” I whisper.
“I’m saying it,” he says. “And I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me.”
The sheriff arrives. Statements happen. Gray handles the details with the cold competence of a man who’s seen this kind of ugliness before and refuses to let it win. Nash never lets go of me while it all unfolds—his hand on my back, his body between me and the world.
When we finally step outside, the air hits my face like freedom.
The sky is streaked with late-day light. The quarry road is dusty. The Lone Star trucks sit like guardians in the gravel.
Nash guides me to his truck, opens the door, and helps me in like I’m precious.
I look up at him from the seat, still shaky, still trying to process how close I came to being gone. “How do we make this a happily ever after?” I whisper.
His expression softens into something so sure it nearly breaks me. “We do it the hard way,” he says. “Together.”
Then he leans in, kisses my forehead, and closes the door gently—like he’s sealing me into safety. And as the trucks pull away from Quarry Road and head back toward Valor Springs, back toward home, back toward the life I almost lost—
I realize something, crystal clear.
I’m not running anymore.
Not from this town.
Not from this ranch.
Not from Nash Hawthorne.
Not when he came for me like a promise kept.
Not when my heart has already decided where it belongs.