Page 18 of Taking Denver

“I will. If I'd known, I would have called you myself, but he got word first,” he says, and I believe him. His tone softens despite the news he adds. “He’s being dealt with.”

He. Adam.

I resist holding my breath. “Already?”

“He tried to kill you, Denver. Did you think I wouldn’t retaliate?”

Shivers run across me, but I’m unsure if it’s from excitement or appreciation. “How did he know where I was?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out soon enough.” I don’t dare ask how. I learned a long time ago that the answers to my questions would keep me up at night. “How is your face? Are you in pain?”

His concern tortures me because it’s genuine. And few people ever had the honor of seeing the genuine side of Ranger Luxe.

“A little,” I admit. “But I’ll be okay.”

He sighs softly. “When are you coming home, little bird?” His voice brushes across me, a whisper before a whiplash, and I close my eyes, picturing he’s with me. Strong arms, golden skin, one hand holding both my wrists, vulnerability paired with absolute certainty that I’m safe.

I almost laugh out loud.Safe. Being with him was as safe as running across a frozen lake with a loaded gun in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. Shot or stabbed? Pick your fucking poison.

“I don’t want to come home, Ranger.”

Now, his sigh is etched with irritation. It’s a familiar sound, one he uses just before he loses his temper.

“I’m running out of patience, Denver. Do I have to come out there and get you myself?” I chew my lip. It isn’t an empty threat. I’m surprised he hasn’t done it already. “I’ve given you space. I’ve given you freedom. Don’t make me regret being kind.”

I almost spit out a laugh. “Kind?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing while you’re there?” he says. “Do you know how much shit you left behind?” I do. And I don’t need reminding of it. “I can’t guarantee your safety out there.”

I huff in amusement. “The great Ranger Luxe can’t do something? I thought your power knew no bounds.”

“Don’t test me, Denver,” he bites out. “I’m spilling blood for you.”

A chill spreads across my chest, and I grit my teeth against the notion that it’s something he thinks I want. Blood is never what I want. I actively run in the opposite direction of death and always have.

I swallow, but my throat remains dry. “I’m not asking you to.”

“You never have toaskme,” he hits back. “But I do it, don’t I? Without question.”Silence settles between us like it so often does. He exhales softly. “Come home.”

“No.”

“Why are you pretending you’re someone you’re not?” he challenges. “Not many people could do what you?—”

I hang up.

My heart pounds and nausea rolls through me, the phone call sticking to my skin like a layer of sweat. I shouldn’t have answered. I should never have fucking answered.

“Fuck you,” I say and throw the phone into the pool.

Six years I’ve dealt with this, with him. I was in his grasp, his fingers closing around my heart, and had barely escaped with my sanity. Fuck, maybe I’ve lost it and I’m in denial.

But now he has me. I’m collared by his favors and his hands, and there’s nowhere to run.

I go inside, closing the patio door behind me before returning to the bedroom. Wesson is stretched out at the end of the bed, and Ethan is still sleeping.

I crawl over the covers and cuddle into Ethan’s side. I should wake him, tell him to leave, tell him last night was fun, but it can never go further. It isn’t safe for him to be this close to me, and it never will be.

“You’re cold,” he whispers, pulling me closer and rubbing my arm.

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