Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

RHETT

T he engine growls beneath us as we speed down the back roads of farmland, the darkness swallowing us whole. Cara's arms are locked tight around my waist, her body molded to mine as I steer the bike. Her grip's so tight, so desperate that it sends a surge of satisfaction through me.

She's scared, and she should be. But not of what's out there.

Not when her arms are wrapped around the real monster.

I push the throttle harder, feeling the machine roar beneath me, the vibrations rolling through my body. The wind howls, cutting through the leather fabric of my jacket, but the cold doesn't bother me. Nothing does, not with her here, her warmth pressed so close, reminding me of why I couldn't leave her behind.

I was worried she'd run. That I'd come back to find her gone, slipping out of my grip like water through my fingers.

And that ? That I won't fucking allow.

The thought of her slipping away pisses me off. I clench my teeth, the rage simmering beneath the surface. If I'd left her, my girl might've tried to escape. She might've thought she had another chance to get away. To be free of me, like I wouldn't hunt her down and drag her right back to me.

She's mine. I fucking own her.

My fingers tighten on the handlebars as I take a sharp turn, forcing the bike harder, and faster, just to feel her squirm against me. I can sense her fear, her uncertainty, but it doesn't matter. I know what I'm doing both on the bike and at this meeting, and I'll protect her because no one gets to touch what's mine.

A wild, possessive anger curls inside me, stronger than the cold wind whipping across my face. My little nightmare doesn't have to be afraid of what's out there.

I'll take down anyone who even looks at her.

I'll kill anyone for my girl, and she fucking knows it.

The darkened fields and forest blur by. The warehouse isn't far now, and every instinct in me screams to handle this the way I want—fast, bloody, and final. I've been waiting too long to take Demarko down, to get my revenge. The bastard's had it coming for years. But tonight isn't about that. Tonight's about gathering intel, slipping in and out before they even know I'm there.

If it were just me, maybe I'd take my fucking shot. No fucks given about my orders, or what would become of me. I'd end it right here, right now.

But not with Cara here. It's too risky. I'm not about to lose her in the middle of all this. Not after everything I've done to keep her in my grasp. Losing my own life is something I couldn't care less about, not when it comes to my revenge, but I won't put hers at risk, not ever.

I glance at her over my shoulder, her face pale and tense as the wind whips through her hair. She looks fragile, but I know better. There's a fire inside her, something that matches the wild part of me, and I don't intend to see that fire burn out by letting her get caught up in something I brought her into.

We slow as we approach the warehouse location. I pull the bike off to the side of the road, hiding it in the dense foliage at the top of the hill surrounding the building. The tall, looming trees cast long shadows in the moonlight. The engine dies, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

I swing my leg over the bike, grabbing Cara's wrist before she can even think about moving on her own. I pull her off the bike, her body stumbling into mine, and I keep her there, close enough that she can feel the weight of my control.

"Listen to me," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. Pulling the gun from my waistband, I pop her seat up, and tuck it into the small compartment. If I have it on me, the temptation to end it all tonight will only be stronger. Besides, I need her to have something to protect herself if shit goes south. She watches as I slide the loaded gun in, tucking it away with a few knives before clicking the small plastic seat back into place on the tail of the bike.

Her wide eyes lock onto mine, but she doesn't pull away. "We're going in, we're getting what I need, and we're getting out. No talking, no moving unless I say. You stay close, and you don't fucking run. Got it?"

She doesn't respond right away; her lips part slightly, but no words come out. I grip her wrist tighter, my fingers pressing into her skin hard enough to leave marks. "I said, got it?"

She nods quickly, her breath catching in her throat, and I feel a twisted satisfaction in her submission. She knows she can't outrun me. I'll always find her.

My hand is tight around her wrist as I guide her through the shadows and thick foliage, leading us toward the warehouse that takes shape down the hill like some dark, forgotten tomb.

Her breathing is shaky, uneven. I feel it in the way she's holding back, trying to match my pace, trying to keep her terror from overwhelming her. I can sense it. It's pulsing off of her in waves, and fuck if it doesn't light me up. Her fear fuels me, makes my blood pound harder, makes my cock throb in my jeans. Part of me wants to take her right here against the cold brick wall. To claim her, to fuck the fear right out of her while she trembles beneath me, because she's mine. Every inch of her belongs to me.

But not now. Not yet.

I force my mind back to the task at hand, to the plan. Intel. Get in, get out. That's what the boss wants. It's what I need to do. I can't afford to let this shit spiral out of control, not with her here. But damn, the way she looks at me, like she's scared but trying to act strong, makes me want to tear her apart and hold her together all at once.

"Keep up," I growl, yanking her closer as we move along the top of the hill that overlooks the warehouse. My voice is rougher than I mean it to be, but I need her to understand that this isn't a game. There's no room for softness tonight. "And keep your fucking mouth shut."

She flinches at my words but stays quiet, her wide eyes darting between me and the warehouse. I know she's scared, but I need her to be. Fear keeps her obedient, makes her mine in ways she doesn't even realize yet. The more she's afraid of me, the more she'll depend on me to keep her safe, to protect her from everything else in this fucked-up world.

And I will. I'll protect her from anyone who even thinks about touching her.

But not from me.

We reach the edge of the bushes on the hill overlooking the warehouse, and I pull her down next to me, crouching low as we watch the guards patrol the perimeter.

Fuck. There are too many of them. More than I expected there to be.

They're pacing, guns ready, scanning the area like they know something's coming. My gut twists. Something's off.

"Stay here," I whisper harshly, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes are wide, lips trembling, and fuck if I don't want to crush that terror into submission. "Don't fucking move. Don't make a sound."

She nods, but her hands are shaking. She knows the danger, feels it crawling up her spine, but she has no idea how close she is to real danger. I lean in, so close I can smell the faint hint of her vanilla and cinnamon shampoo. The lingering scent of my skin on hers from earlier hits my nose too, and it makes my cock harder.

Fuck, I want to take her right here.

But I can't.

So much for being able to focus better with her here with me. Shit, maybe it would've been easier if she was back at home, handcuffed to her bedpost and drugged.

I release her and move forward, slipping through the shadows and closer to one of the side entrances. The plan is simple enough, and I should be able to get in and out before anyone knows we were even here. But as I near the door, something catches my eye.

Movement.

Shit .

A group of guards is heading straight for the bushes where I left Cara. My pulse spikes, adrenaline surging through me, and I grind my teeth, torn between finishing the job and protecting her. I can't fucking leave her there, not with them so close.

I freeze, watching the guards as they near her hiding spot.

They're pacing too fast and too fucking close to my girl. They're going to see her any second now.

My heart slams against my ribs, the urge to rip them apart taking over. Fuck the plan. Fuck the intel. I need to get to her. Now.

I pull my knife from my belt, my fingers tightening around the handle as I take aim. One quick throw, and the blade slices through the cool air, sinking into the throat of the closest guard. He gurgles, choking on his own blood as he claws at his neck before collapsing to the ground in a heap. His death doesn't go unnoticed; now the others are on alert. Guns drawn, eyes searching for me in the shadows.

Fuck .

I launch myself at the nearest guard, my inked fist connecting with his jaw, but before I can follow through, another one grabs me from behind, slamming me into the cold, hard ground. Pain explodes in my side, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Not when she's still in danger. My fists fly, my body moving on pure instinct as I fight off the two guards surrounding me. I taste blood, feel it dripping down my face, but I keep swinging, keep fucking fighting because they can't have her.

I won't let them.

She's mine.

The world narrows to fists and boots, to the crack of bones and the rush of pain as more guards join in. They beat me into the dirt. My strength fades with each blow, my body giving out under the weight of their hits, but I can't stop. I have to finish them.

I have to protect her.

Another fist slams into my face, and my ears start ringing. They've got me. I'm not winning this, and there's nothing I can do about it. There are too many of them.

But then I see her. My girl. Still hidden. Still safe, hidden within the bushes where I left her.

My little nightmare is safe, and that's all that matters.

They can take me down. They can beat me to a fucking pulp, but as long as she's safe, I've won. I'd sacrifice myself a thousand times over if it meant keeping her out of their hands. Because she's mine, and no one, no one fucking touches what's mine.

The last thing I see before the darkness closes in is her face—wide eyes peeking through the shadows, terrified but rooted in place. She should be running. Hell, I expected her to. But she's frozen, watching me get torn apart, her breath shaky and uneven, her lips parted in silent horror.

She needs to go. She knows it. I can see the battle raging inside her—her body telling her to flee, her mind screaming to get out while she can. But she's not moving. She's stuck.

Why the fuck isn't she running?

And then it hits me. She's not leaving because she knows I'm the only thing standing between her and whatever's inside that warehouse. She's scared of what might happen to me, but she's more scared of what'll happen if I'm not there. The fear that grips her isn't just for herself—it's for me.

Good .

That means she knows, even now, even with her terror choking her, that she can't outrun me.

When I get back up, she won't even think about running.