Her body stiffened and a small gasp escaped her throat. “Your property?” she asked. I almost believed her act that she had no clue she was trespassing. Optimal word—almost.
I tightened my hold across her chest. “Yeah. Mine. And I have every right to shoot you for trespassing.” That was a lie. We were in Canada, where shooting anyone just for being on your land was illegal. But then, so was carrying a handgun.
She shifted her weight and turned her head toward the bridge as if she was considering making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned. But she’d done that twice now. It was enough for me to know something or someone else was there. If I had my head on straight and not overloaded with pirouetting demons, I would’ve acted on the first signal.
I hadn’t heard anyone else running, but she could’ve fallen behind some pathetic boyfriend who thought it was okay to leave his girl alone in the woods. I’d shoot him in the leg just for that.
I shoved her away from me and turned while reaching for my gun.
She curled her fingers around my forearm to stop me. “Wait.”
I froze, and every muscle contracted. My gaze landed on the hand gripping my forearm, her delicate fingers resting on the inked wings of a hawk entwined in battle with an eagle.
I waited for the unbearable pain. The burning. The ice shards. The urgency to tear off my skin.
But it didn’t come.
My eyes snapped to her face.
That’s when everything went to shit.
It was as if a backhoe dug into my brain and scooped out those buried memories and dumped them on top of me.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
I’d faced the most dangerous criminals in the world, but nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing her again.
Seeing her ocean-blue eyes.
Eyes with specks of green like lily pads floating on their glistening surfaces.
Eyes that haunted because they were embedded in me.
No. Something embedded could be dug out. It was more than that. They were scarred into me.
Turbulent waves flooded her glassy orbs. Waves of fear I’d no doubt put there. But something was different in them. The innocence was gone, and in its place was determination, as if she was fighting the fear.
But you can’t fight fear.
No, you open the door and let it the fuck in, then you consume it and spit it out.
Her fingers twitched on my forearm.
I jerked back. Her hand slid off of me, and she lowered it to her side.
Jesus. I had to get out of here.
“If I catch you on my property again, I will shoot first,” I said. It was a lie. Of course, it was a lie. But she didn’t know that. I just wanted her gone. She needed to be gone.
Before I had a chance to walk away and forget the seriously screwed-up anomaly that happened when she touched me, she blurted, “But I’m staying here. In the cabin.”
Her words hit me like a tsunami dragging me out to sea before it buried me under the sand.
I curled my hands into fists and ground out, “You mean my fuckin’ cabin.”
Macayla