Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I glared at his hand, then back at him. He wanted me to get out in the woods behind the Shephards’ ranch? Dressed in a towel and his leather jacket? And I was barefoot.
“Man, you gagged her? What the fuck is wrong with you?” King Salazar asked, stepping up beside Wilder.
My gaze swung to him, then back to Wilder. King was out here. He was a Salazar. This was the Shephards’ property. All we were missing now was a Kingston. My heart rate sped up. I’d thought I was safe with Wilder, but if this involved the others, that meant it had to do with the illegal things that they might or might not do.
“She wouldn’t shut up,” Wilder told him.
“It’s Oakley. Jesus, you’re ending up as fucked in the head as Thatcher,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Come on, Oak. I’ll take that off you.”
I reached up and pulled it down myself. Since I had someone on my side, I felt like my hands were safe from being tied. Sighing in relief, I smiled at King. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “No problem, sweets. Come on out. We need to get you inside. He’ll chill out once you’re safe.”
Inside? We were in the middle of the woods.
“Uh …” I looked down at my feet.
“Shit. You’re barefoot,” he said, stepping toward me. “Can’t hurt those pretty feet. Come here.”
Wilder moved then, stepping in front of him with a scowl. “Move,” he grunted, then grabbed me, picking me up and carrying me like a bride over the threshold. At least this time, I wasn’t slung over his shoulder.
He didn’t look at me as we walked over to the rock and then around to the side of it. Once we were close, I saw it. The door hidden by moss. He pressed a code into the keypad, then opened it before stepping inside with me. The moment we were through the door, he set me down. My feet hit cool, smooth rock.
“You got this? I need to get to the main house and check on things,” King asked from the doorway.
“Yeah,” was all Wilder said in response.
King winked at me, then closed the door. A loud click, followed by the sound of a bolt sliding into place, was the only sound in the quiet space. I turned to look down the tunnel and saw light and … a rug?
“Go on,” Wilder said behind me.
I was curious enough that I didn’t argue and walked the small distance to the opening. Pausing, I took in the large, open space. A sofa, recliner, twin bed, and a coffee table, three different floor lamps and an area rug filled the left side of the space. A kitchen, complete with a small table for two, filled the right side. There was an arched doorway straight ahead, and although it was dark inside there, I could make out a toilet. On the opposite wall was a set of barn doors.
Was there a bedroom in there?
“Wilder, what is this?” I asked, still trying to make sense of the fact that I was inside a mountain.
“A safe house,” he replied. “I’ll get you something to put on.”
He walked over to the bed and squatted down to pull out a drawer underneath it. I watched as he dug around and finally pulled out what appeared to be sweats and a hoodie. Both were going to be too big on me, but anything was better than what I currently had on my body. It would also be warm, and I was covered from head to toe in chill bumps.
He stood up and brought me the clothing. “Bathroom is in there. No door, but when you get inside, there is a lamp to your right. Turn it on, and you’ll see a curtain you can untie and use for privacy.”
I took the clothes from him. “Are you going to tell me what is going on?” I asked him.
He sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. First”—he waved at me—“just get some clothes on.”
I looked down at the clothes. “Yeah, okay.”
II
“Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.”
—Dylan Thomas
Twenty-Four
Wilder
The adrenaline pumping through my veins hadn’t eased. Even with Sarah, my mom, and Porter in my house in Florida with Huck Kingston standing guard and Oakley hidden in this damn mountain with me, the drive to protect was still hammering in my head. My heart rate had slowed, but only slightly.
When the curtain dropped over the bathroom entrance, I leaned forward and grabbed my knees and took a deep breath.
She was alive.
She hadn’t answered her phone. During that flight to Georgia, I’d imagined her dead, and fear formed into an entirely different monster. I became someone I didn’t recognize. I wanted to kill. Murder. Hunt down the bastard who had taken her from me and torture them while I took their life.