Silence swept in behind it, eerie and thick while the two of us stared each other down through the wisping shadows that played across the lot, the falling darkness barely cut by the dingy light that hung at the side of the door.
It lit one side of Dare’s face, his jaw grinding as he chewed at the edge of his lip where he remained kicked back against the wall like a bad fucking memory.
The asshole was massive, tossing a vibe of burly intimidation. No doubt, it worked on plenty of people. Dude looked deadly, and he had the history to back it.
But I was having a hard time continuing to give a fuck.
“You’re late,” he said, vibrating with irritation.
I swung myself off my bike and canted him a grin like the sight of him didn’t leave me shaking with hostility. “Had something I needed to do.”
Like I’d just leave Dakota stranded on the side of the road.
A scoff rolled up his throat. “Is that so?”
I strode up slow, voice dripping with bitterness as I angled toward him. “You think I sit around waiting for your texts?”
He lifted his chin, eyes flashing with a warning. “Think you know they’re the only ones that matter.”
I wanted to tell him to fuck off.
Push back.
But how the hell did I do that when this bastard had me in chains? When I knew what he would do if I didn’t comply.
Visions flashed.
Cold. Limp. Lips blue.
Sucking down the rage, I forced myself to move, edging around him to punch in the code next to the door.
Stepping inside, I tapped the button to open the farthest garage door. The engine whirred as the massive metal door rolled up.
Dare hopped into his truck and backed the trailer inside, and I was already undoing the latch and opening the tailgate before he’d gotten back out.
Whatever it took to get this fucker out of here faster.
Did it even matter, though? Once he was gone, he still might as well be standing in front of me with his hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing the life out of me.
Slowly bleeding me dry.
He climbed into the trailer and carefully backed out the car sitting inside.
It was on me to modify it, load it at the safehouse, and get it to its drop-off point.
I watched him as he eased it down the ramp. He left it sitting facing out in the middle of my shop, and he climbed out and tossed me the keys. “Ty will meet you at the safehouse at ten on Tuesday. Have it ready and don’t fucking be late.”
Old rage stormed, shockwaves of bitterness and hate. I looked at his face. At the man who had me by more than the balls, because it was my fucking life in his hands.
My shame and the chains and this debt that had stolen every good thing from me.
Fuck, I wanted it back, and if I ever was going to, I was going to have to fight for it.
“About finished with this,” I told him, lifting my chin.
He chuckled a dark sound as he closed the tailgate and locked it, then moved to the driver’s side of his truck. He looked back at me, a warning lining his face. “Think you know what happened the last time you started spouting shit like that.”
Without saying anything else, he climbed in and slammed the door.
I watched him pull out.
A gnarl of fury burned my insides.
A blaze of spite.
The second he was gone, I pressed my palms to the table next to me, struggling to take in a breath around the mayhem that battered my insides.
Because I meant what I’d said.
I was about finished with this bullshit.
And it was on me to figure out how to get myself free.
FOUR
DAKOTA
I tucked Kayden’s glowing nightlight bear under his arm and tiptoed out of his room. The child went and went until he basically passed out. Tonight, he’d ended up facedown, spread-eagle in the middle of our living room floor surrounded by every piece of his train set.
He hadn’t budged when I’d carried him upstairs.
Blowing out a contented, albeit exhausted sigh, I crept downstairs to the first floor of my house. It was attached to the back of Time River Market & Café and had once been a warehouse from when the café used to be a traditional diner.
Upstairs, the storage rooms had been converted into two bedrooms and a small loft that overlooked the big, open space below.
It was as quaint and cozy as my café.
The walls exposed brick that I’d whitewashed, the floors the original wood and concrete, stained different shades of gray and cream.
The fabrics were soft and lush, the furniture comfortable and unique.
My best friend Paisley had dubbed it country luxury.
It wasn’t large by any stretch, but it was mine, and I loved every square inch of it.