In every person’s life, there’s a point of no return. Honoring our teenage pact is that point for me. I weighed the risks. Poured over the plan. Considered every angle. There’s no way I can stop myself from seeing this through.
But Levi Tibbs can.
All he has to do is pass our test.
He was released this morning from a correctional facility an hour’s drive from Sandbank. His freedom was the first thing on my mind when I woke, and the ache that amassed in my throat has persisted into the afternoon.
Am I scared?
Fucking petrified.
Will I chicken out at the last minute?
Not a chance in hell.
I sit on a wobbly wooden chair in a decrepit shack on the outskirts of town. My leg bounces restlessly as Jake and Jarret move around me, checking weapons and making minor adjustments to the musty furniture.
They told me about this place a week ago when we discussed the plan. Surrounded by woods in the middle of nowhere, the tiny one-room house was bought and paid for by their dad years ago.
John Holsten never told his sons about it. Jake discovered the property during his investigation into his dad’s secrets.
The significance of this shack is the duffel bag of money hidden under the floorboard.
When Jake searched the place a few years ago, he found the bag. Ten grand in cash. Left behind by two hitmen the night they went to the ravine to commit murder.
We know it’s their money because the bag includes photos, personal belongings, and other identification. We know John Holsten let them stay here to prepare for my murder. And we know Levi Tibbs will return for that cash.
As a registered sex offender, he’s not allowed outside after dark. He’s not permitted within two-thousand feet of a child, and he only has the cash that was on him during the time of his arrest. That severely limits where he can stay the night. The shack is his only option.
Beyond the grimy window, the sun begins its downward arc, sinking an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“He should be here by now.” I clamp a hand down on my knee to stall the nervous bouncing.
“There’s only one Greyhound bus to Sandbank.” Jake leans against the wall, hat tipped downward and legs crossed at the ankles—the patient, sexy slouch of a confident man. “An hour walk from the bus station puts him here in about twenty minutes.”
“Unless he hitchhikes.”
“He might.” Jake nods. “Though I don’t think he’ll want anyone knowing he’s here. Witnesses lead to questions, and questions could lead to the money he claimed he never received.”
“And you’re sure he won’t have a GPS tracker?”
Most states require sex offenders to wear ankle bracelets.
“I’m certain.” He nudges up the Stetson to meet my eyes. “Oklahoma only puts those on habitual offenders. This was his first offense.”
And last. Sucks for him. A monitoring device might’ve saved his life. Hard to bury a body with a tamper-free GPS tracker attached to it.
“You can still back out.” Jarret lowers into the chair across the table from me. “We’ll get him, Conor. You don’t have to be here when it happens.”
“I’m not freaking out. I would just feel better if we were all in position.”
“All right.” He rises from the chair and ruffles my hair. “Remember, whatever that fucker says to you—”
“I know. I’ll be fine.”
If I can survive what Levi Tibbs did to me that night, I can survive his hateful words.
“What about the situation with Maybe Quinn?” I arch a brow. “Is that dealt with?”
Jarret pokes his tongue into his cheek and stares down at the floor. A strange huffing sound passes his lips, and he turns toward the door. “Don’t worry about her.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
He steps outside, and a moment later, his shadow flickers past the side window.
No doubt he wants to get his dick wet with the journalist, but he would never let a woman jeopardize our safety. I know his head’s in the game as he waits outside that window, hidden from sight with a gun in his hand, ready to shoot through the glass if needed.
Jake pushes off the wall and stands in front of the only door. He surveys the room, as if looking at it through the eyes of the man who will walk in at any time.
I perch on a chair behind a table. The long wooden surface will be the only thing separating me from Levi Tibbs.
My motorcycle sits outside the window behind me. Levi won’t see it when he approaches the shack, but he’ll spot it through the glass when he steps inside. We positioned the bike there to give him the sense that I’m alone.
Beside me, a sagging couch faces the door. Jake inched it away from the wall, just enough to squeeze behind it, but not enough for Levi to notice it moved.
Jake ambles toward me and cups my chin in his strong hand.
“I love you.” I fill my eyes with the words and see them reflected in his.
“It’s almost over.” He kisses my lips, grabs the shotgun off the table, and takes his position behind the couch.
Then we wait.
Five minutes. My muscles quiver and twitch.
Ten minutes. Heart palpitations tighten my chest.
Fifteen minutes. The scuff of footsteps sound outside the door.
My lungs collapse. My breath cuts off, and I fight the urge to glance at the couch and window. The guys will stay concealed. I just need to focus on schooling my expression and not losing my shit.
Placing my hands on the table, I relax my joints and try to look as nonthreatening as possible.
The door swings open.
Levi Tibbs stands on the threshold, backlit by the glow of the afternoon sun. His eyes converge with mine. His brows jump up, and his breath chokes.
He composes himself quickly and lowers his backpack to the floor while scanning the room for threats.
Looks like he lost weight. He was skinny before, but now he’s all gangly and sallow in trousers that hang on his shapeless legs.
Same evil gray eyes, glinting like razor blades as he leans back and surveys the perimeter outside.
Black hair crops close to his scalp, and his hands flex at his sides. Same hands that bruised my flesh and held a knife against my throat. Same thin lips that stretched around the gag Jake shoved in his mouth.
This is the man who stole my virginity. If Jake hadn’t gone after him that night, he might’ve gotten away with it.
His gaze ticks between me and the gravel road out front until it lands on the window behind me. He registers the motorcycle, and a sick smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He steps all the way inside and closes the door. “You came here alone? How did you know about this place?”
“I heard John Holsten mention it once. I figured you might’ve heard about it, too, and thought you’d come here for a free night’s sleep before skipping town.”
He glances at the floorboard where he stashed his money six years ago. I keep my eyes on his.
“You’re either stupid or you’re really fucking stupid.” He lowers into the closest chair, sitting across the table from me, exactly as we hoped.
“Waiting for you to come after me would’ve been stupid. Would you have done that?”
“What? Gone after you?” He wets his lips and gives my chest a skin-crawling examination. “You sent me to prison, you fucking bitch. What do you think?”
“The prosecutor sent you to prison.”
His gaze darts to mine, his expression oily and hostile. “I can still feel your tight cunt. You bled all over me, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it for six years, about how I was your first. I bet you think about it, too.”
I hate that Jake heard that. But he was there that night, right beside me in hell, watching the whole thing. As my mind replays it in agonizing detail, a bitter tang floods my mouth and burns in my throat.
I clear my voice. “I came here to get closure. Did you receive my letter?”
“I jerked off to it every night.” His hand slides under the table.
Part of me wishes he kept that hand on his lap. It might’ve saved his life.
But a bigger part of me, the part that wants this to end, is relieved he failed the test.
He reaches for the pistol taped beneath the surface of the table. A pistol we assumed he put there six years ago.
“You’re right. I would’ve come for you.” He yanks the gun free, cocked and aimed at my head. “Thanks for saving me a trip across town.”
He stands and shoves the table aside, leaving three feet of nothingness between us. My heart races.
“Take off your jeans.” He waves the pistol at me. “Everything below the waist.”
A swallow sticks in my throat as I shake my head.
His face reddens, and his hand tightens around the gun. Evidently, he wants to rape me while I’m still breathing. Otherwise, he would’ve squeezed that trigger by now.
“You want it rough, huh?” He steps toward me and tenses, his gaze swinging toward the couch.
“Back up.” Jake rises from his hiding spot and trains the shotgun on Levi’s chest. The fire blazing in his eyes negates the calmness in his approaching steps.
“I’ll shoot her.” Levi points the barrel at my head from two feet away. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Try it.” Jake advances another step.
Levi squeezes the trigger with a hollow click, and the blood drains from his sunken face. He looks at his gun, eyes wide, and tries to shoot me again. And again.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
When he realizes we removed all the bullets, he stumbles back toward the exit, arms up and hands shaking. With a roar, he hurls the pistol at Jake, misses, and yanks open the door.
And slams into another armed cowboy.
Jarret bares his teeth and pistol-whips Levi across the head, knocking him out cold. Then his eyes find mine. “Conor?”
“All good.” I suck in a calming breath. “We knew he’d fail. I prepared myself for this.”
As Jarret restrains Levi’s limp body for transport with duct tape and cable ties, Jake moves into my line of sight.
Crouching at my feet, he sets the shotgun on the floor and gathers my hands in his.
“In another hour, we’ll be able to put this all behind us.” He searches my face and smooths wayward strands of auburn behind my ear. “Go home. We’ll meet you there.”
I open my mouth to argue, but his fingers snake into my hair and capture a fistful.
“Obey me.” His firm grasp punctuates his command.
He and Jarret will drive Levi—alive and bound—to the ravine. It’s a risky transport, but a hidden video camera in the corner of the room recorded them acting in self-defense. The footage won’t be needed unless they get pulled over.
I lean into him and brush our lips together. “Come home to me.”
“Always.”
I take the motorcycle to the ranch, head to the stable, and tack up Ketchup for a ride to the ravine. It’s nearing dusk by the time I get her saddled and into the field.
All the ranch hands have gone home for the day. The lowing of cattle drifts across the south pasture, the tall stalks of grass silent and still in the absence of wind.
As I approach the ridge that leads to the ravine, my fingers turn cold around the reins, and an icy tingle sweeps through my chest. I meant what I said to Jarret. I’m prepared for this. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to watching a man die.
Ketchup climbs the final hill, and I spot Jake’s pickup truck parked near the fire pit at the entrance of the ravine.
I haven’t been here since that night, and the ridge looks so different. More open and bare. Like someone came through here with a bulldozer.
Forty-some feet away, Jake and Jarret hold Levi on his knees at the edge of the bluff that overlooks the ravine. Six years ago, there were so many trees on that overhang we couldn’t stand there. When did it get cleared out?
I tie Ketchup to one of the remaining trees, and my gaze lingers on the charred wood in the fire pit. I can still see Lorne sitting against that log and strumming his guitar. He was here that night to watch over me, to support my relationship with Jake.
Tears blur my vision without warning, and I blink them away.
If he can forgive me for ruining his life, I can forgive him for keeping me at a distance.
I’m so damn ready for him to come home.
Turning toward the bluff, I pick my way along the rocky terrain toward Jake and Jarret. As I breach the highest point, two dump trucks come into view behind them.
“What are you…?” I glance over the edge of the cliff and gasp. “Holy shit.”
The narrow gorge and trickling creek below are gone, replaced with a landfill of dirt and rock. That explains why the trees were cleared away.
“We’re still filling it in.” Jake knots a noose of rope around Levi’s neck while Jarret holds the man still. “The dirt came from the drilling site.”
There must be hundreds of truck loads in there. Mounds of dirt climb halfway up the steep ravine walls.
A chilling thought pinches my gut. “The bodies are under all that?”
Levi’s eyes bulge, and he thrashes and heaves against Jarret’s hold.
“They went in first.” Jake loops more rope around Levi’s ankles and looks up at me. “Do you have any last words for this motherfucker?”
“No.” Pins and needles creep up my legs and deaden my insides.
Jake’s vigilant gaze stays on me as he kicks Levi onto his stomach and presses a boot against his back.
The rope leads from Jake’s hand to Levi’s neck. The man’s wrists and feet are bound together behind him, his mouth sealed with duct tape and expression stark with dawning horror.
I clutch the base of my throat, my mind swirling with images of his death. We never discussed the exact method. I expected it to be drawn out and gruesome, but maybe strangulation is better than a stab wound or gun shot. None of us are here to bathe in blood. We’re not killers. We just want it done, so we can have closure and move on.
The knowledge alone that he’s about to die makes me want to puke.
Jarret strides toward me and pulls me into a tight hug. “You don’t have to watch.”
I wrap my arms around him and fix my gaze on Jake, trembling and nauseous.
“You hurt my girl.” Jake pulls hard on the noose around Levi’s neck, his dark, rugged features cut with vengeance. “You stole something sacred from her. From me. And you thought you’d do it again?” He drives a brutal kick into Levi’s ribs. “We live and die by the choices we make. You made yours. I hope you relive that night from her perspective, over and over, while you burn in hell.”
He pushes his boot down on Levi’s spine and holds the rope taut, straining the muscles in his forearms.
I clap a hand over my mouth, fighting the bile in my throat as Levi bucks and jerks face down in the dirt, fighting for air.
The strangulation goes on for eternity. Jake doesn’t move or speak, his hands clenched around the rope. With his head tilted down, the rim of the hat conceals his face.
My fingers bite into Jarret’s back, my entire body locked in frozen panic. Why is it taking so long?
Finally, the body slumps, breathless and unmoving. Jake checks his pulse and shoves him over the edge and into the ravine.
“It’s over.” He comes to me, arms open, and pulls me from his brother.
Jarret takes off toward the dump trucks to unload the dirt. To bury Levi Tibbs.
Jake lifts me and carries me away from the bluff, nuzzling his whiskered face in my neck. I melt into him, clinging to his strong, dependable breaths.
Neither of us have words. None are needed. Levi Tibbs stole six years from us. He’s not going to get another second.
Ketchup offers a soft, little whinny as we approach. I wiggle out of Jake’s arms to kiss and rub her nose.
“Aren’t you going to help him?” I nod at the dump truck as Jarret backs it toward the cliff.
“Nah.” He grips my waist and hoists me into the saddle. “He’ll drop those two loads, and we’ll move the rest of the dirt in tomorrow.”
Swinging up behind me, he tucks my rear against his groin and slides his arms around me to grasp the reins.
A suffocating sensation closes in, but his embrace is stronger. He chases away my demons because he’s the biggest, baddest bully of them all.
My protective bully places an unyielding hand under my chin and directs my head back against his shoulder.
“Just breathe.” He touches his lips to the edge of my mouth. “I’m right here.”
“I’m here for you, too, you know. We were both there that night. Please, lean on me. Whenever you need me.”
“I’m leaning on you right now.” He brings me tighter against his chest and holds me close on the ride to the stable.
He holds me as we shower. His hand never leaves my back as we warm up pasta leftovers.
Jarret joins us on the back porch, and Jake holds me as we eat in silence.
Dusk creeps across the pasture like it always does—sleepy and peaceful. But tonight, it feels more sullen, darker, and full of shadows.
After dinner, Jarret collects our dishes and heads inside the house.
I turn to Jake beside me. “The air feels heavy.”
“Come here.” He reclines on the cushioned bench, legs spread and expression open.
I crawl onto his lap and snuggle against the warm cotton of his shirt.
“It’s okay to be sad.” His voice slips over me, just a soft breath of sound, but it feels like a velvet caress. “For as long as it takes, I’ll hold you through it.”
“There’s nothing to be sad about.”
“You don’t believe that.”
I love that he understands me so completely, like he’s inside my head feeling my thoughts before I can make sense of them.
The past is behind us, but I still mourn it. I mourn my relationship with Dalton. I mourn Lorne’s absence. Most of all, I mourn the six years I lost with Jake. I resent it as strongly as I cherish every breath we share now. But that’s okay. It’s okay to cry and be angry. I’ll never bottle that shit up again.
The moonlight casts a tranquil glow across the field, creating fathomless shadows between the ripples in the terrain. I can see our childhood in them—the joy, the serenity, and the indestructible love between the four of us.
I let myself drift back to that innocent place. I let the tears fall when they fill my eyes. And l let Jake hold me until it passes.
Thank God this day has come and gone. All the pain we suffered, all the hurt we survived, it’s over. Gone.
I lift Lorne’s guitar from the chair beside us and strum a few notes, listening to Jake breathe and matching the soothing rhythm.
My fingers move over the strings, searching for a song until I lock onto Breathe by Faith Hill.
He strokes my hair while I play, watches my lips while I sing, and smiles when I smile.
I wear the skin that feels his touch.
I breathe the air that fills his lungs.
I’m the girl he wants, the one he loves, and he’s mine.
“It’s just us,” I whisper.
He kisses my neck. “That’s all we need.”