Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“Liam,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
“Yeah?” My voice is rough, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“What about the cabin?” she asks, her tone shifting to something softer, more vulnerable.
My brows knit together, her question catching me off guard. “What about it?”
“If someone could get in here…” Her voice trails off, and I see the fear she’s trying so hard to hide.
“They won’t get near the cabin,” I say firmly. “Not with Rocky there.”
Her lips twitch, a small smile breaking through. “Your dog is not a security system.”
“No,” I agree, stepping even closer. “He’s better. If anyone tries to get in, he’ll wake up everyone on this mountain.”
Her smile widens, and for a moment, the tension lifts. But then her eyes meet mine, and it’s back—hotter, heavier than before. I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between us is gone. My hand cups her cheek, my thumb brushing over the paint streak there.
“Callie,” I murmur, her name a rough prayer on my lips.
“Liam,” she breathes, leaning into my touch.
The moment stretches, electric and charged, until the sound of breaking glass shatters it. We both freeze, our heads snapping toward the noise. It’s coming from the front of the barn.
I grab the nearest tool—a heavy wrench—and gesture for Callie to stay behind me. My body moves on instinct, every muscle coiled and ready. Whoever did this isn’t getting a second chance.
“Stay here,” I whisper, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Callie doesn’t listen. Of course, she doesn’t. She’s right behind me as I approach the barn doors, her hand gripping the back of my shirt. I don’t have the heart—or the time—to send her away.
I push the doors open with a sharp shove, my grip tightening on the wrench. The night is quiet, save for the distant sound of crickets. Whoever was here is long gone.
“It’s okay,” I say, turning back to Callie. “They’re gone.”
Her shoulders sag with relief, but the fear in her eyes doesn’t fade.
“I feel like I have a stalker,” she says, her voice trembling.
“Don’t let them scare you, that’s exactly what they want. You have to stay strong and be brave, don’t let them take that from you.” Her eyes well with tears, but she blinks them away, nodding. I pull her into my arms, holding her close. “You’re safe here, Callie,” I murmur into her hair. “You’re safe with me.”
She doesn’t say anything, but the way she clings to me speaks volumes. And as I hold her, I make a silent vow: whoever is behind this won’t just face me—they’ll face the full force of a man who has everything to lose.
Chapter Seven
Callie
The barn smells faintly of paint and pine shavings, the kind of clean-up job that leaves behind traces of chaos no matter how thorough you are. I run my hands along the edge of the new windows Liam installed this morning. Reinforced glass. Unbreakable, he said. His way of silently promising me that no one is getting through to destroy what I’m building again.
My fingers linger on the cool surface when I hear his boots on the gravel outside. He steps into the barn, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, and I swear the temperature shifts. Liam Grayson doesn’t just walk into a room; he consumes it.
“Cameras are set up.” His voice is low, steady, the kind of voice you lean into, whether you mean to or not. “Sheriff’s gonna pull the footage if anything else happens.”
I nod, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Thank you.”
He glances at me, his eyes lingering a second too long. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still figuring out how to make sure you sleep at night without worrying.”
I smile faintly, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. “You’re good at this. Protecting people.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s just…what I do.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. He’s always gruff, sure, but this is different. There’s weight in his words, a heaviness I don’t think he meant to let slip. I step closer, catching his gaze. “Where does that come from? That instinct to protect everyone?”
He looks away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. For a moment, I think he’s going to brush me off, but then he exhales, long and slow, and leans back against the barn wall.
“Afghanistan,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “I was in my last month of deployment. We were stationed near a school…trying to keep the area secure so the kids could learn without worrying about getting caught in crossfire.”
His words are calm, but his eyes—his eyes are miles away, somewhere darker.
“There was an attack,” he continues. “A kid, no older than eight, walked right up to the school gates. He had a vest strapped to his chest.” He pauses, his hand gripping the brim of his hat so tightly I think it might snap. “We didn’t see it until it was too late. I tried to get him away, tried to shield the other kids…”