Page 38 of Daddy's Girl

Not rushing. Not charging. Just stepping fully into view, letting him see exactly what he's dealing with. I outweigh this prick by seventy pounds, all of it muscle built hauling timber and hunting these mountains. I stand between him and what's mine, letting the silence stretch until it's a living thing.

"That's not happening," I say, scratching the side of my head, voice deadly quiet.

His eyes flick from Delaney to me, then back. "You don't understand. She's not well. Her father's death—"

"Her father was my brother, my best friend," I cut him off. I take a single step closer, watching him flinch. "You really think I'd let you touch what's mine?"

His face flushes, anger overriding caution. "Yours? She's barely legal. You're, what, twice her age? The judge will love that. Little girl lost her daddy, goes running for another one? Fucking deviant pervert, I’ll have you locked up as a bonus."

I smile then, slow and mean. "Courts need evidence. Witnesses." I gesture to the empty mountain around us. "All I see is a trespasser on private property. I’m just holding my ground. You wanna keep coming?"

That's when Beau's truck rounds the bend, dust kicking up behind him. Perfect fucking timing. He pulls up hard, gravel spraying, and steps out with a shotgun braced against his shoulder. Not pointed. Just present.

"Problem, Jack?" he calls, eyes never leaving the doctor.

"Just taking out some trash," I reply.

David's eyes dart between us, the false confidence crumbling. "You're making a mistake, Delaney. I'm trying to help you."

"By threatening to have me committed?" She steps forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with me now. Not hiding. Not cowering. "By stalking me? Taking pictures of me without my knowledge? You never wanted me. You wanted a puppet.”

The wind shifts, carrying her scent to me—vanilla and woman and something deeper, something that makes my blood run hot. She's not afraid. She's fucking magnificent.

"Last chance," I tell him, my voice deceptively calm. "Get in your car. Drive back to whatever sterile little life you came from. And if I ever see you, hear from you, or even think you're looking in her direction again—" I smile, the kind of smile that made hardened fighters piss themselves in the field—"they'll never find all the pieces."

He opens his mouth, but Beau chambers a round, the sound cracking through the clearing like a gunshot.

I turn to Delaney, cupping her face in my palm. "Stay here," I murmur, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth, claiming her in front of him. "I'm gonna have a private word with the doctor."

Before she can argue, I stalk across the yard, each step measured, unhurried. The doctor backs up until he hits his car, nowhere left to run. I stop close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. Close enough to smell his designer cologne and the cold sweat of fear.

"You know," I say conversationally, wrapping one hand around his throat just tight enough to feel his pulse jump, "there's something you should understand about this mountain."

His Adam's apple bobs against my palm. I ease my grip just enough to let him speak.

"What's that?" His voice cracks.

"The sheriff you're counting on? Colt Boone. My youngest brother." I smile, watching his face drain of color. "He's the one who told you how to find my cabin, isn't he? Made sure you'd come straight here where I could handle you personally. Bet he even drew you a little map so you wouldn’t get lost."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by real fear.

"See, that's what family does." I release his throat only to slam my fist into the car door beside his head, metal caving with a satisfying crunch. "They protect their own. That’s my other brother Beau. Seems he got a call from the Sheriff as well."

He flinches, eyes darting between me and the dent inches from his face.

"This is very simple," I continue, as I pull my knife from the leather sheath. "You leave. You never contact her again. You forget she exists."

"You can't just—"

I release his throat, then drive the knife into his front tire, the metal sinking deep with a hiss of escaping air. "You've got three good tires left. Enough to limp down the mountain if you go slow. Colt will be waiting at the bottom to escort you to the county line."

His practiced composure cracks, rage and fear warring on his face. "You're insane. All of you. Fucking hillbillies."

"No," I correct him, leaning close enough that only he can hear my next words. "I'm a man who buried bodies in countries you can't pronounce. A man who knows exactly how to make someone disappear forever." I tap his chest with the knife.

I step back, watching him slide into his car, hands shaking as he starts the engine. The vehicle lurches forward on its partially deflated tire, limping pathetically down the mountain road.

As his car disappears, Delaney's shoulders sag slightly. Relief or exhaustion, I'm not sure. But when she turns to me, there's something new in her eyes. Something that wasn't there before.

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