Chapter 17

The conversation with Brynne yesterday has lingered. When I saw tears flowing down her cheeks, I wanted to get my bag and filet someone. Even though my logical brain knows no one could've hurt her. She's safe with me. Well, safe enough.

The trek to pick up my supply drop takes well into the afternoon, but I left earlier than normal. It means I'll need to keep an eye out for bears who haven't gone to ground, or big cats who are too stealthy for their own fucking good. I'm in a hurry to be back, though. To see how well she's behaved, so I can give her the things I'd chosen for her.

Even though giving them to her means covering her naked body with clothing. I've become quite fond of her sitting on my lap, testing my willpower with her soft skin.

The way I threatened her, and how she reacted, put me on edge. When she shot me, it gave me a false sense that she was like me. That she liked to inflict pain. I thought she and I could go toe-to-toe, but she's not like me. No one is.

"One day you're going to be the boss, Ardesia. And there are few men like you. You'll be the most ruthless there ever was."

My papa hasn't stopped giving me grief, even from the grave.

Reminders of who I was—who I still am—linger around every corner of my memory. I can't escape them. Dawn is breaking, and it'll be an hour before I get to the landing where the drop of supplies is probably already waiting. I'm a day late because things had to be done around the homestead.

Trudging through her camp, I notice something has mowed over her shelter, likely a bear. Her pack is still inside the door, her crossbow still on the ground where it had fallen off her chest.

I stop, rubbing my thumb over my lower lip as I think of her dragging across the snow, fear licking her eyes as she shrieked at me. My lips tug upward.

I collect her things, packing them well enough that I can wear them on my back before I carry on through the woods. I don't get too far into the other side of the thicket when I notice a set of big tracks. Those of a human. Boots, size twelve. I eye them before crouching and taking a photo, looking up at the surroundings for any other markers someone's been here.

Who the hell was stalking my bunny?

A snarl of rage is stuck in my chest and, as any predator, I know to keep it in. To stay quiet so nothing around me knows I'm on their scent or knows I'm in the area.

This might be a problem. I haven't had a problem to deal with in a long fucking time.

I smirk as I scan where the footsteps lead. Snow is falling now, but it was a clear night last night, so they aren"t as covered as maybe the man had hoped they would be. Her things remain untouched. At least, I don't think they were. I'll need to have her confirm nothing is missing.

Who I'd thought was a bear that wrecked her camp could've been whoever these footprints belonged to.

The footprints lead to the very clearing I'm headed for, dying off mid-field, which tells me they got into a chopper and took off.

I narrow my gaze at where her camp is, miles beyond where my eyes can see rage swelling in my chest at the thought she could've been someone else's prey.

Who is she hiding from out here? I need answers because if she's leading trouble to my doorstep, maybe it's best to throw her back into the cold. She can survive on her own well enough, she's more than proved that.

I scan the area with binoculars. The people I have doing drops for me always secure my things where they think no one or nothing can get into them. Never in the same spot. As I've asked them to do.

I find a speck of orange hanging in a tree a few ticks to the left and head toward it. The massive load is going to wipe me out, energy-wise. Especially now that I've taken on Brynne's things from her ruined camp, but I'll make do.

Everything I ordered is accounted for. I use the parachute they'd hung the cargo with to tie it all up, so I can drag it behind me like a makeshift sled.

By the time I get back to her camp, I take a moment to swap her battery out in the camera I'd been watching her with, thanking everything but the good lord above that I'd thought to bring another. I'd wanted to monitor her things. Now I know someone's been watching my girl, so I need to see if they come back.

I try to ignore that I'd thought of her as mine. She's working her way too deep into my life and I don't like it.

I still don't know if she's a plant from the family, soasking her questions might be a moot point. I don't know her from Adam. I don't know if she's going to be honest with me. I don't know if her contact is still out looking for her right now.

She's running from something, or she's been planted in my life for a reason. Either way, I'm going to find out which it is. Even if it's got to be done the hard way.

* * *

When I get home,I instantly spot trouble. The window to Brynne's bedroom that faces the dooryard is broken, glass everywhere. There's blood down the front of the cabin, and trailing off into the woods. I unlock the door, move inside, and drop everything quickly before checking how many bullets I have on me. Grabbing another magazine, I check her room. The door is still locked from the outside.

I'd left this morning and locked her in. She has a bathroom inside, and I hadn't cuffed her. Which was where I fucked up. She'd woken to a tray of breakfast, a thermos of coffee, and a book from the shelves in my bedroom she hadn't had access to. But the little fiend is gone. Fled out the window.

Naked.

That fact has me grinding my teeth audibly.

Only once do I consider the possibility that someone could have forcefully taken her out of this room, but it"s highly unlikely since both the front door and her bedroom door were still locked.

Growling, I make my way out of the cabin, following the trail of blood to the woods. Not towards her camp, I note. She's taken a right turn. I pass the chicken coop, then the barn, heading into the woods with my eyes scanning, and both hands on the gun.

She's lost a lot of blood already, and the trail just keeps going. She's naked, and bleeding, and any animal downwind of her will know she's an easy target.

I chide myself for trusting her. It was a stupid fucking mistake on my part, thinking she wanted to stay with me. Wanted to be my good little girl.

I clench my teeth.

Of course, she doesn't want to be mine. I fucking stole her.

I shake my head, stopping in my tracks and dropping my arms to my sides. Looking up at the disorienting trees above, I take a deep, steadying breath.

I need to just let her go. She doesn't want to be here, and I don't know if I can trust her. That she ran crosses off the theory Enzo sent her to draw me out. Or does it? I'm in the woods, chasing her right now, guard down, cabin unlocked.

I bend my knees, screaming through the air in frustration. There's a fire growing within me as I drop into fucking madness over her. I can't do this. She's tangling me into a mess of a man.

"Brute?" a soft voice sounds, and the insanity clears like a dissipating fog lifting off lake waters as morning comes.

"Brynne?" I call out. I can't see her anywhere as I turn and scan the woods for her.

A hand comes up from behind a fallen tree ahead of me. "Here, Brute!" she calls.

I rush for her, hopping over the tree after I holster my gun. I look her over. She's shivering, lips purple. Her inner thigh is cut, and badly. Blood still oozes with her pulse.

"Fanculo, coniglietto!" — "Fuck, bunny."

"English," she chides through chattering teeth.

I remove my jacket, covering her quickly before throwing her over my shoulder. She cries out, and for once, it doesn't fill my disordered brain with endorphins. Instead, my chest seizes with panic.

"It hurts, Brute."

I can't focus on anything but getting her back to the cabin, and fast. "Aspetta, coniglietto," I grit, trying to move swiftly without jostling her. — "Hang on, bunny."

Her warm blood is seeping through the front of my shirt. I don't know how long she's been out here, and I'm certain hypothermia is already setting in, so I don't have time to fuck around. Even if I'm hurting her.

When I storm through the house, I unlock my door and move her into my room. She bounces when I drop her on the bed. I grab a belt from the top drawer of my dresser.

Making eye contact with her as I wrap it around her upper thigh, above the wound, I stress the seriousness of her situation with my gaze. "This is going to hurt like fucking hell. Scream all you fucking need to."

She nods, her fear licking her features as she grips the bedsheets in her hands in preparation. I tighten the belt as far as I can get it to stop the blood flow to her leg, latching it once I've successfully starved off the bleeding.

Her screams litter the air still as the pain of the tourniquet overwhelms her.

"I'm going to be…"

I grab the bedside trash and thrust it at her before she can finish her sentence. Having been through something similar to this before, I know the overwhelming nausea that can tango with pain.

She retches into the can, her body quaking as I remove my blood-soaked shirt, moving into the closet and unzipping an electric blanket. As I plug it in and begin its heating process, she continues to dry heave into the trash can.

I'm too focused on getting her warm and getting her wound tended to comfort her like I know she needs. But my mama's voice sounds in my head as if she's standing beside me. For a moment, I can almost feel the soft touch of her hand on my shoulder.

"Women need more than your strength and cunning, Ardesia. They're going to need the compassion I've seen you use when I'm ill or when your brother needs you. Now and again, let the light shine through, hmm?"

I breathe through the memory. I stop working, sitting next to her as she continues to gag and heave. My hand comes under my massive jacket that envelopes her, rubbing up her back softly. She shivers under my touch.

"It's going to be alright, bunny," I tell her. The sentiment sounds strange from my lips, but she lets out a soft sigh, and the heaving stops as her body relaxes under my strokes.

I reach onto the nightstand and grab two tissues out of the box, handing them over to her.

"Thank you," she says, her voice strained from vomiting.

"Think you can give the can to me? Or do you still need it?" I ask, one hand on the trash bin.

"No, I'm good now." Her eyes give me all the thanks she can't say.

I take the trash can from her, setting it just inside the bathroom for cleaning.

I help her lie back on the bed, putting her bloody leg on top of a towel carefully as I work the electric blanket onto her torso, heating her as quickly as I can.

"I'm going to go get my kit so I can stitch this leg up, alright?"

She grabs my hand, and I let her connect.

"I'll be right back."

She nods, but her eyes are frantic. She's lost so much blood. I know she'd done this as she tried to escape me, but none of it matters right now. All that matters is getting her fixed and resting.

It's something I've never experienced before. I've never wanted to fix someone. Usually, it's me who's caused the damage.

I know I'm going to unravel later. Lose all my good sense, and I can never tell just how or when I will. But I'll deal with it when it comes.