Page 75 of Relentless Hearts
His heart throbbed with pain and remorse. Christ. He’d just found Willow—just made her his. Now he could lose her.
Just like Delilah.
No, not like Delilah. He had loved that woman, but this…
Willow was his heart andsoul.
His shoulders sagged as he went to their room—theirroom now, not just Willow’s—and stood in the doorway, staring at the bed they’d shared for only a handful of nights. Her scent still lingered on the pillows, vanilla and that unique scent that made his chest ache.
He’d promised to protect her, that he’d always keep her safe. And he’d failed. He’d left her unprotected while he’d gone off to play hero for someone else.
Decker sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The lump in his throat swelled until he could hardly breathe.
Somewhere out there, Willow was scared and alone, possibly taken by a man who’d been planning this for months. And Decker had seen all the signs, had felt his instincts screaming warnings, but none of it had been enough, or in time to stop it.
No matter what his boss told him, he wouldn’t sleep tonight. Wouldn’t rest until he found her. But as he sat in their empty room, surrounded by evidence of the life they’d just started building together, he made himself a promise.
When he found her—and hewouldfind her—he’d never let her out of his sight again.
Chapter Sixteen
“—hear me? Willow? Come on, wake up.”
The voice filtered through the fog in her brain, pulling her toward consciousness she didn’t want. Her head throbbed, and her mouth tasted like chemicals—sharp, acrid…wrong.
The smell hit her again, that same suffocating scent from the parking lot, and her stomach lurched. She almost gagged, fighting down the nausea.
“There you go. That’s it.”
Her eyes cracked open, and the dim light felt like knives. Rough-hewn beams crossed the ceiling over wherever she lay on her side, her head resting on a pillow. The scent of smoke from a wood burner indicated there was some source of heat, but it couldn’t keep up with the cold winter storm blowing across…what? The mountain?
She was in a cabin—small, sparse, with rough wooden walls and a single curtainless window showing light that looked suspiciously like dawn. Her mind tripped over the fact it had been early afternoon when she arrived at the feed store. How long had she been unconscious?
The man sitting across from her came into focus.
Cal. The veteran from the feed store, watching her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
“Welcome back.” There was somethingverywrong in his smile. Something that didn’t match the friendly store employee who’d loaded feed into her truck.
Memory crashed back—the dropped pen, getting out of the truck, strong arms grabbing her from behind, the chemical-soaked cloth over her face.
“What—” Her voice came out raspy, and when she moved, she realized something cold and metal was tethered around her ankle. Panic spiked through her veins. “What’s happening?”
“I noticed you had your brothers around a lot more lately,” Cal said conversationally, as if they were picking up a conversation she had no memory of starting. “And that guy. The quiet one. He’s always with you now.”
Her heart flipped over, ice that had nothing to do with the temperature in the cabin filling her veins.
Decker.Oh God,Decker. He was going to be frantic. She could picture him returning to the ranch, expecting to find her, and instead—
Wait. Decker had questions about Cal yesterday. She’d brushed them off as him just being overprotective about any man who talked to her.
Now a man with a crazy glint in his eyes sat watching her and suddenly those questions wereveryimportant.
“I knew I was running out of time.” Cal sat with his back against the wall, something she’d seen her brothers and every other veteran do. It was a military thing—they didn’t want anyone sneaking up on them from behind.
“They started guarding you,” he continued. “All of them, circling like those fucking guard dogs that won’t let anyone near.”
He was growing agitated—she felt the shift in the air. She had to find a way to defuse the situation.
