Page 22 of Under Control

“You can keep running, but he will always find you, and whoever he hires next might not be so nice,” he explained slowly, watching her reactions.

The truth behind his message shot pain throughout her body, and she nearly started hyperventilating. She was not combative.

The word itself made her want to pass out.

“I’m not a fighter,” she admitted.

Black spots were taking over her vision, so she opened the door to the pickup and swung her legs out, keeping her peripheral vision locked into where Carrick was. Naturally, he was coming around the side of the truck as well but keeping his distance from her physically. She wasn’t surprised. But she needed some air.

Her white tennis shoes dug into the dusty, sun-bleached dirt on the roadside, and a little sagebrush lizard climbed onto her toe. She knelt down instinctively, picking the little guy up so he didn’t cross the road. His little brownish body slipped through her fingers, dancing around the back of her hand. He was so free.

That’s what I want to be.

She moved toward a prickly desert bush and allowed the lizard to jump onto it. A tree swayed behind the bush from the gentle wind blowing through it, catching her hair. It was hot under the midday sun, even in February, but she loved it—loved the feeling of the rays on her face and shoulders. She tilted her face up to the sky, her eyes closed, and drank in nature, drank in Mother Earth.

The crunching of feet made their way toward her, and through her thick lashes she could see Carrick’s fitted black jeans and crossed arms in front of her.

“You have a real connection to nature, don’t you?” he asked, observing her.

“I love all things in the natural world,” she exhaled, feeling the sun against her skin. “That’s why I chose nursing, I guess—to try to help people, to take care of them.”

“Interesting.”

She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “And I love being outdoors. It grounds me. It feels like home. Sometimes I hug trees and justfeelthem.”

The last words rolled off her tongue without permission, and she nearly stumbled back in deep regret. What was with Carrick that made her want to confess everything? She waited for him to react. The only thing was…that he didn’t. Cool and emotionless, the stoic man in front of her just stood—watchful, assessing.

“It’s time to make a decision,” he explained, checking the time on his bulky black watch. “What do you want to do?”

Danica took in all the air around her, finding her roots in the soil. It was much easier to make the right decision with fresh air.

As she ruminated, she instinctively moved into tree position—her favorite yoga form when she needed grounding, when she needed to connect with the wisdom of nature. She bent her right leg to press her foot into her left thigh, and she stood only on her left leg with her hands in prayer position at her chest. Closing her eyes and taking a long, slow breath, she drew the air into her nose and down into the bottom of her lungs.

Whispers in the wind danced around her ears and into her mind. The wind was wise and old—and told her to be cautious andnotto make waves. And those were things the wind knew about, because it was the wind that made the waves. She nodded as if understanding the words spoken to her by Mother Nature and tilted her head up to Carrick.

Holding the pose, she exhaled. “You already agreed to this with Petrov. The wedding is in a matter of hours. If we back out now, it’s going to put a red-hot target onbothof our backs. I won’t even have a chance to run.”

Carrick laughed like none of that mattered to him. “I’ll do what I want. Don’t worry about me. This decision is about you andyourfuture. Are you going to make a stand?”

With his question, she fell out of tree pose. Her right foot slammed on the packed dirt underneath her as she looked up to the man in front of her.

She shook her head, pleading, “You don’t understand these people. They are ruthless.”

He shot her a confused look, like she couldn’t be sane. He just didn’t understand what she did. He didn’t understand what her uncle was capable of, what he had done and what he was willing to do to her.

Danica added, her voice shrinking, “I can’t fight them, Carrick.”

“I’ll show you how.” He stood stall and alert, like a soldier.

She paused, playing with her bottom lip, thinking about what he was saying. He seemed so fearless, so brave.

“Who are you, Carrick?” she cautiously asked, studying him. “Were you in the military?”

Carrick shot her a sly grin. “I was.”

“You’ve been trained to fight for freedom.”

Carrick smirked but continued his narrative, power and intensity swelling in his voice, “I’ll be there with you—at the wedding. I’ve got your back. All you have to do is tell Petrov to fuck off and you’ll call the cops if he bothers you again.”

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