Chapter 11

CHAPTERELEVEN

Finley woke up at some point in the middle of the night. She was chilly, but not freezing. She listened to the hard rain outside their little hiding spot and was doubly grateful for Brock. She’d turned at some point and was now lying with her nose pressed against his chest. The cuts on her neck stung, and the muscles in her legs hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. But she was alive. And safe. Nothing else mattered.

The next time she woke up, the sun was beginning its ascent into the sky. She figured it was around seven or so in the morning. She shifted against Brock, and his arms tightened.

“Are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes. Have been for hours,” he told her.

Lifting her head, she saw dark circles under Brock’s eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“No.”

That was it. One word. “What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened. How all I could do was stand there and watch as that asshole held a knife to your neck.”

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “And you did exactly what you should’ve done.”

“How can you not blame me for not acting sooner?”

“Because I was the one with the knife at my throat. If you’d done anything, he would’ve used it. Brock, I knew we had to bide our time. Assess the situation. And I was also sure that as soon as you could, you’d get me away from him.”

“Why are you so trusting?” Brock asked.

Finley put a hand on his cheek and said clearly, “Because I love you.”

His eyes closed as he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“And you were about to do something when the mystery woman ran by, weren’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because when Pete turned me around, I saw you move. It was subtle, but the second that knife wasn’t against my throat, you were about to act.”

“He could’ve cut your finger off before I got there,” Brock said miserably.

“So?” Finley asked.

“So? I can’t believe you just said that,” Brock retorted a little angrily.

Finley was feeling a little angry herself. She was tired, sore, hungry, had to pee, and she was stiff from the cold. “I could’ve lived without a finger,” she barked, “but not with my fucking throat slit!”

They stared at each other for a moment before Brock broke. His eyes watered, and even when he shut them, tears leaked from behind his closed lids.

Her anger leached out immediately. “I’m okay, Brock. We’re both okay. You got me away from there, found us this safe place to hide. We’re good.”

She leaned up and kissed his cheeks, swiping away his tears as she did so.

He opened his eyes…and she stilled at the intense look in them. “I can’t live without you, Finley.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to,” she said as calmly as she could.

Brock moved a hand to her nape and kissed her. It was a sweet kiss. Passionate, but not hard. He worshiped her mouth, letting her know without words how relieved he was that everything turned out the way it had.

Then he pulled back, licked his lips, wiped his eyes with his shoulders and said, “I need to get a look at your neck, now that it’s light.”

Finley wanted to protest, but if the roles had been reversed, she would’ve wanted to see for herself that Brock was all right, so she merely nodded. He scooted backward out from under the outcropping of rock and took a moment to stretch. Putting his hands on his hips and bending backward.

He was so damn gorgeous, and Finley had to pinch herself that he was hers.

“Come on, I’ll help you up,” he said, holding out a hand.

Finley gratefully took it, moaning as her muscles protested her movement.

Brock gently tilted her head up, and a growl vibrated deep in his throat. Finley couldn’t help but grin.

“What are you smiling about?” he clipped.

“You sound like a beast,” she said. “All growly and alpha-y.”

“You’d make the same noise if it was me standing here with dried blood all over my neck and staining my shirt.”

That sobered Finley immediately. She reached up and grabbed his wrists. “I’m all right, Brock. Promise. I’m guessing that it probably looks worse than it is. I can barely feel it.” That last part was a little white lie, but she’d never add to Brock’s obvious distress by admitting that moving her head back and forth was painful.

He grabbed her hand and turned, leading her to a large rock not too far from where they’d spent the night. “Sit,” he ordered.

“I need to pee,” Finley said, knowing she was blushing.

Brock sighed. “Right. After, will you sit and let me take care of you?”

“You’ve been taking care of me since the day you came to The Sweet Tooth to help me bake when I hurt my wrist,” she said evenly.

It was the right thing to say, she could see some of the tension in Brock’s shoulders relax. He leaned down and took her hand again, helping her stand. “Come on, I’ll find you a place you can do your business.”

“And something to wipe with?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Yes, that too.”

“Thank you,” she said, the two words for so much more than just finding her some makeshift toilet paper and a place to pee.

He turned to her and said, “You don’t have to thank me for giving you everything you need or want. It’s my pleasure.”

Finley couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. This man. She had no idea how she’d gotten so lucky, but she wasn’t going to let a day go by without making sure he knew how much she loved and appreciated him.

After she’d taken care of her business, Brock sat her back down on the rock once more. He ripped a strip off the bottom of his T-shirt and cleaned her neck. The water from the stream was ice-cold, but she didn’t complain, simply let Brock do what he so obviously needed to do. Then he found some late-season wild berries that he promised were safe to eat to try to assuage their empty bellies.

Afterward, he sat on the ground next to where she was still seated on the rock, wrapped his arm around her legs, and leaned his head against her thigh.

“Maybe we should start heading back for the trail,” she said after a good ten minutes had passed.

“Nope. The guys’ll be here soon.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.”

The confidence in his tone was reassuring, so Finley mentally shrugged and did her best to relax.

It was probably less than twenty minutes later when Brock lifted his head and looked to his right. He stood and brushed the dirt off his butt. Finley was about to ask him what was up when she heard voices through the trees.

“Told you they’d be here soon,” he said with a smile, holding out his hand. Finley took it and let him help her stand.

Within seconds, Ethan, Zeke, and Tal emerged from around a bend in the creek.

When they saw her and Brock, all three broke out into a jog.

“Damn, it’s good to see you!” Ethan exclaimed.

“You just had to take a walk in the woods in the middle of the night in a rainstorm, huh?” Zeke joked.

“What the hell happened? Finley, are you all right?” Tal asked, no humor in his tone at all.

“I’m fine,” she reassured them, wondering how bad she must look for Tal’s expression to be so murderous.

Ethan’s gaze went to her blood-stained shirt. All joking gone from his tone now, he ordered, “Start talking, Brock.”

He calmly told them everything that had happened the night before. How he and Finley had started off on a relaxed and easy hike, only to be kidnapped and taken deeper into the forest. He gave his friends the names of the men who’d taken them, told them about their belongings being stolen, the knife Pete had used to keep him from acting, and finally, he told them the incredible story of the mystery woman who’d helped him and Finley to escape.

When he was done, the other three men were vibrating with anger.

“Simon called me this morning at five. Davis was concerned when he got to the bakery and you weren’t there,” Ethan informed them.

Finley glanced at Brock, and he said, “Told you so.”

She could only smile in return.

“Anyway, we called Jesus to see if he knew where you might be, and he told us you had planned on meeting Finley for a hike. So we drove out here, saw both your cars in the parking lot, and immediately started looking for you,” Ethan explained.

“We knew something happened because you hadn’t called,” Zeke said. “Rocky and Drew are following the beacon, and we followed your trail.”

“Using the fucking clear-as-day path you left us,” Talon added. “Assuming you didn’t go back to the car park because of the guys you got away from?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Brock said. “I wasn’t going to risk running into them again in the dark. Finley was my first responsibility.”

“Wait…beacon? What beacon?” Finley interrupted.

“The satellite phones Bristol bought for the team actually have homing beacons,” Zeke explained. “So if they’re accidentally dropped or something, we can find them. Those suckers are expensive as hell, and anything we can do not to lose them is a good thing.”

“It’s still here in the forest?” Brock asked.

“Yeah,” Ethan answered.

“Does that mean Pete and Cory are still out here looking for us?” Finley asked in a tremulous voice.

“I doubt it,” Ethan said easily. “The beacon was stationary. And Brock’s right, it would be stupid for them to hang around this long.”

“They probably ditched our stuff,” Brock said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“So I might get my cell phone back?” Finley asked.

“Maybe,” Brock said. “Why?”

“Because I’ve got some recipes I saved from the internet on there. And I took a picture of you the other night while you slept that I didn’t move to the cloud yet.”

“Was it X-rated?” Brock teased.

“What? No!” Finley exclaimed. “Jeez.”

“I want to know more about this woman who helped you,” Tal said. “Who was she? Where is she now? Is she okay?”

“I don’t know, man,” Brock said. “She appeared out of nowhere. I had no idea she was even there until she was halfway across the clearing. She wore a torn brown dress, no shoes, and she looked pretty rough.”

“Rough how?” Talon asked.

“Just rough. Dirty. Tangled hair… As if she’d been out here camping for a while. Or even living out here.”

Tal scowled. It was obvious he was deeply disturbed at the thought of a woman being out in the woods alone.

“Where’s Raid?” Finley asked. The rest of the team had been accounted for, but Raiden hadn’t been mentioned.

“Khloe’s sick,” Zeke said. “He and Duke are over at her apartment taking care of her.”

“What?” Finley asked, frowning. “She’s sick? She’s never sick. We need to get back to town so I can check on her,” she demanded. “Why are we standing here? Let’s go.”

Brock chuckled.

“This is not funny,” Finley said, frowning harder. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not,” Brock denied, but it was weak since he most certainly had been laughing. “It’s just that I’m not surprised you’re more concerned about your friends than you are about yourself, or about the fact you’ve just spent the night in the woods, in November, after being kidnapped.”

Finley was trying not to think about those things. She was very aware of how lucky she and Brock had been. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Khloe is not fine. And you know as well as I do that she and Raiden rub each other the wrong way. I don’t know why, but if he’s over there, then she must be really sick.”

“I talked to Raid, and he asked Doc Snow to stop by. He thinks that she’s just run down. That she’s pushed herself too hard lately and hasn’t been taking care of herself. You know, not eating the right things, not sleeping enough, too much stress. She’s going to be fine, Finley,” Zeke said gently.

“And I’m thinking we need to get you to Doc Snow as well,” Ethan said, eyeing her neck.

Finley brought a hand up to the cuts on her neck, but Brock stopped her before she could touch them. “Your hands are dirty, Fin. Leave them.”

Looking down, she could see her hands were covered in dirt. She even had dirt under her fingernails. She smiled up at Brock and held her hands out, palms down. “Look, we match,” she said.

Brock rolled his eyes. “Only you would be happy about having black shit under your nails. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here. Need to feed you, have Doc Snow check you out, get you in a shower, and then maybe we can both get some real sleep.”

“Oh, but, my shop—” Finley started, as they all began walking along the stream back the way the other men had appeared.

“Liam’s got it under control,” Ethan told her.

“But there’s nothing to sell,” she said in confusion.

“Of course there is. Davis took care of it.”

“Oh.” The weight she felt rolling off her shoulders was immense. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t closed her shop in the past when it had been just her, and she needed to be with her friends when tragedies struck. But she’d always felt guilty for not being open, even if it was the right thing to do. Knowing her employees had things covered was a huge blessing and relief.

Finley was sure the walk back to the trail took a lot longer than it probably took the three men to find them, since her slow pace slowed them down, but no one complained. Her muscles protested each step and if it hadn’t been for Brock’s firm hold on her hand, she would have face-planted more than once. It was another huge relief to finally step foot on the well-marked and relatively flat trail.

When they arrived in the parking area, Rocky and Drew were there. Brock’s backpack, covered in mud, was sitting on the hood of Drew’s Jeep.

Both men walked toward them, and when Rocky got close enough, he scowled and asked, “What the fuck happened to your neck?”

“I’ll catch you up,” Ethan told his brother. “Brock needs to get her to the doc, then they need to go home and rest.”

“You’re all right?” Drew asked Finley.

She nodded, more grateful than she could express that she had such good friends who were so concerned about her.

“Expect a visit from Caryn later,” Drew warned. “She’s not gonna be happy to hear about this.”

“Bristol too,” Rocky agreed.

“I’m guessing your house is gonna be full of our women,” Ethan told Brock.

“And they’ll be welcome, but give us a few hours,” he replied.

“I’ll do my best. No promises though,” Rocky said.

“Is my phone in there?” Finley asked, nodding at Brock’s backpack.

“Yes,” Rocky told her.

“I’ll text everyone and reassure them I’m okay. Maybe everyone can come over for dinner? I can make homemade pizza or something,” Finley said.

“Dinner sounds good. But you aren’t making a damn thing,” Drew said firmly.

“I’ll call Sandra. She’ll take care of it,” Rocky promised.

Once again, Finley was almost overwhelmed with gratitude for these men.

“Thanks,” she said, doing her best not to burst out into tears.

“Can one of you get her car back to my place?” Brock asked, obviously sensing she was at the end of her rope.

“Of course,” Zeke said. “Go.”

“I’m gonna stay here and check things out,” Talon said, not quite pulling off the nonchalant tone Finley was sure he was trying to project.

“What? Why? You think the guys who took them are still out there?” Drew asked.

“No, I’m sure they’re long gone. Probably out of Fallport, if they know what’s good for them.”

“Then what are you looking for?” Drew asked, his brows furrowing.

“I’m guessing a ghost,” Ethan said. “I’ll fill you guys in on that too,” he added, when Drew turned to him with a questioning look.

Finley took the time to hug each of the men before Brock ushered her toward his truck. As soon as she settled into the passenger seat, he took her hand in his. “Close your eyes, Fin, we’ll be at the clinic in a few minutes.”

“I’m okay, Brock. I just want to go home.”

“Not happening. I know you’re tired and want a shower, but I need to make sure you’re really fine. That your wounds aren’t infected.”

Finley wanted to protest. Now that she was safe, and could feel the warmth of the heat coming through the vents, she was exhausted. But she couldn’t deny Brock’s concern made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He brought their clasped hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand.

* * *

Two hours later, Brock stared down at a sleeping Finley. Doc Snow had written a prescription for antibiotics, just to be safe. The cuts on her neck were superficial, but the sight of them still enraged Brock. He’d also called Simon to report what had happened. He’d described Pete and Cory, and the police chief seemed to know exactly who they were…which hopefully meant they’d be found sooner rather than later.

He’d brought Finley back to his house and they’d showered together. Neither felt amorous as they soaped each other up. Brock spent a good amount of time trying to get the dirt out from under Finley’s fingernails. She might not mind having hands that looked like his, but he did.

He wrapped her up in one of his robes that swam on her and sat her at his small kitchen table. He heated some soup, and after they both ate, he took her back to his bed and tucked her in. He was going to leave her alone, needing some time to decompress and come to terms with his rage over what could’ve happened, but when Finley grabbed his hand and said “stay,” he couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

So he shucked off his sweatpants and boxers and climbed under the blankets. They were both naked, and nothing felt as good as her soft curves against him. Brock knew he was holding her too tightly, but she didn’t complain, simply held on to him just as closely.

She was out in minutes, but even as exhausted as Brock was, he couldn’t sleep. He kept running everything that had happened through his head. He could’ve lost her. Had almost lost her.

Then a thought occurred to him, and his hand moved to her belly.

He had no idea if she was pregnant, but there was certainly a good chance. He’d filled her over and over again with his come, and as far as he knew, she hadn’t had her period since she’d practically moved in with him.

Closing his eyes, he realized there’d been a chance he could’ve lost her and their unborn child.

His teeth clenched and his eyes popped open once more. No one was going to hurt a hair on her head. No fucking way. And if anyone dared say one derogatory word to her about her weight, how fast they’d gotten together, or anything else, they’d fucking regret it.

Brock was aware he was overreacting, but he didn’t care. The thought of Finley being pregnant with his child, and having that knife at her throat, was repugnant. “Never again,” he muttered fiercely.

His words roused Finley, and she snuggled against him. One of her legs was thrown over his thigh, her head was on his shoulder, and her arm was around his belly, clutching him to her. “My Brock,” she muttered, then went still once more.

The rage he’d been feeling disappeared like a puff of smoke at her words.

He was hers. Body and soul. He’d do whatever it took to keep her, and any child she might be carrying, safe from here on out. She was moving in with him. Having his baby. And she was going to marry him.

Finally, Brock allowed himself to relax. His Finley wasn’t going to agree to living together or marriage simply because he demanded it, but she loved him. Both those things would happen, sooner rather than later.

He fell asleep with the scent of vanilla in his nose, and the bone-deep satisfaction that his woman was safe.