Page 109 of Surrender to Me
The thought that he might be hurt almost destroys me.
Then I shake it off.
For him to feel anything, he’d have to care.
And we haven’t had nearly enough time together for that to happen.
Right?
Realizing I’m torturing myself when I have a getaway to plan, I purposefully swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
The floor is cold on my bare feet, and I keep moving down the hallway and into the living room.
Once there, memories of the previous night flood back…the way he’d wrapped me in a blanket, stroking my hair until I stopped shaking.
The blanket is folded neatly on the ottoman now, the indent of our bodies already smoothed away.
At the window, the world is blinding white. The storm clouds have vanished, leaving the sky a hard, perfect blue.
Snow clings to every tree branch, every needle, turning the forest into a confection. And there he is—Stryker—shoveling a narrow path from the porch to the woodpile.
He wears jeans and boots and a fresh flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His forearms flex with each scoop of snow, the muscles in his back shifting beneath the fabric.
I rest my forehead against the chilled glass. What would it be like to step outside, to walk that path he’s clearing, to meet him with coffee and a kiss and the promise of more mornings just like this? To let him teach me the difference between surrender and safety, to let him keep me?
The thought is so vivid I can almost taste the coffee, feel the scrape of his stubble against my cheek. My chest aches with it, a sweet, bruising want.
Across the room, my phone buzzes, the incessant vibration snapping my fantasy in two.
I cross the room and snatch up the device.
There’s a text from Remy.
Coming for you, kid. Be ready for extraction in an hour.
My pulse spikes. An hour. How will I pull this off?
But I will. Somehow.
And before the sun sets on the day, I’ll have another new name, another cover story.
Another message appears.
Edge of the woods. West side of the cabin.
From the time I spent outside with Stryker, I know exactly where he means.
I delete it. Then I see an older one that must have arrived during the night. Sender unknown. My gut wrenches.
Tick-tock, bitch.
My heart is pounding, and adrenaline floods my system.
How could I have let myself believe, even for a day, that I was safe?
I shove the phone into my go bag and double check the contents.
Nothing looks disturbed.
