Tyra is safe.
“Destination confirmed,” Nick adds. “The North Cabin. Go dark.”
The comms channel clicks off.
“We are going into the deep woods,” Rafe yells over his shoulder.
Relief floods my system. The residual panic washes away. The heavy stone in my chest finally shatters.
The temperature drops sharply as we climb higher into the mountains. The air turns thin and freezing.
Bright headlights sweep across a hidden dirt driveway. A large, isolated structure emerges from the darkness. Heavy timber and dark glass surrounded by towering pine trees.
The engine cuts out. The kickstand drops.
The silence of the deep woods presses in. No sirens. No string quartets. No cartel guards.
The adrenaline leaves my system all at once. It abandons my muscles without warning. The bone-deep exhaustion of the escape and the crushing weight of the night’s trauma take over, leaving me raw and dangerously defenseless.
Tyra.My daughter’s name hits me like a second wave. She is still at the compound. Still in her room with the grey wolf and the yellow walls and the guards who answer to Dominic. My chest cracks open. I need to get her out. I need Jude to get her out. The panic is a living thing clawing behind my ribs.
I swing my right leg over the high leather seat. My boots hit the dirt.
My shattered nervous system gives out. My legs turn to water. Gravity takes me down.
The hard ground never arrives.
Rafe catches me. His hands grip my waist. He hauls me flush against his broad chest.
The contrast hits hard. Calix handled me with careless disgust. Rafe holds me like he’s anchoring me to the earth.
“Stand up, Firebird.” His voice is a rough, gravelly command.
I lock my knees. I stand on my own two feet. His hands drop.
We step inside the dark, freezing cabin. I flip the wall switch. Warm amber light floods the living space, though the corners remain swallowed in shadows. Heavy leather furniture. A stone fireplace. Bare wooden floors.
Rafe moves to the hearth, his movements heavy and deliberate. He flicks a metal lighter, the flame dancing against the dry kindling until the fire roars, casting flickering orange light over his massive frame. He strips off his helmet. The dark headgear hits a wooden table. He strips his tactical rig, but stays in his dark shirt. He turns around.
I pull my blackout helmet off. My dark hair falls in a wild, tangled mess around my shoulders. I clutch the oversized leather jacket to my chest.
He stares at my face. He sees the wreck the night made. Smudged lipstick. Exhausted eyes. Trembling hands.
Calix’s vile insults echo in the quiet room.
Another man’s mistake.
The words hit like poison. Tainted. Wrong in my own skin. I wrap my arms tighter around my ribs. The splintering pieces refuse to hold together. The spiral begins. A panic attack threatens to swallow me whole.
Rafe’s jaw clenches. A thick muscle leaps in his cheek. He watches my breathing turn shallow and erratic.
He steps into my space. No sweet platitudes. No gentle comfort.
“Hit me.”
Confusion cuts through the rising panic. “What?”
“You are shaking.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You are holding it all inside. It will eat you alive. Hit me.”