Chapter 15

chapter

fifteen

Pierce and Gareth worked in the hallway, removing debris for hours. All the while, Alan continued to proselytize like a fire-and-brimstone preacher, each word feeding into the mounting hysteria. As the day faded into night, his followers' angry voices rose over the ever-present static of the radio. They stood on opposite sides of the room now—Alan and his wife, Lori, flanked by others, while Gareth, Dottie, Brooke, and Hailey remained with Rhiannon and Pierce. Will still seemed torn between the two factions, though the more Alan spoke, the more time he spent on that side. The air was thick with unspoken accusations, fear mixing with the choking dust that lingered from the aftershock. Rhiannon tried to shield Michael from it all, but his fever had spiked, and he lay delirious against her shoulder.

Alan's voice cut through the suffocating tension, sharp and biting. "Are we going listen to him any longer? No! Look at what's happened since we've been following his lead. We're worse off than before. This is all part of his plan. First Dean, and who's next? Our kids?"

"Christ on a crutch," Dottie grumbled. "Does he ever shut up?" She pushed herself to her feet. "I'll take our boys some water. They need a break anyway."

Rhiannon tried to ignore Alan, but every word he hurled at Pierce was like a knife to her heart. It pained her to see him under attack while he was fighting so hard to save them all.

This wasn't sustainable.

They couldn't survive like this—divided, paranoid, on edge. And if they stayed much longer, without a clear plan or leadership, someone else was going to get hurt—or worse.

Pierce and Gareth emerged from the hallway coated in sweat and dirt. He accepted the bottle of water Dottie handed him, gulping half of it down before dumping some in his hand and splashing it over his face. He looked exhausted as he crossed the room to sink down the wall opposite her. He leaned back, eyes closed, and let out a long, weary sigh.

She didn't have to be a trauma counselor like her brother to know guilt ate at him. She could see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his jaw remained tight even as he tried to relax.

Raszta got up from where he lay next to Michael and padded over to his person. He bumped his snoot under Pierce's palm, and a small smile crooked those hard lips before Pierce opened his eyes and looked at his dog.

Razzy licked his hand, then plopped down, stretching out on his side. His tail thunked the floor, but when Pierce didn't move, he lifted his head to stare at him expectantly.

Rhiannon snorted a laugh. "What does he want?"

Sighing, Pierce drank the last of his water, then set the bottle aside. "To be groomed. He needs his cords separated."

She watched as Pierce carefully combed his fingers through Raszta's dreadlocks, separating them one by one. She'd noticed him doing it before over the last few days but had thought of it as more of a self-soothing habit than a necessity.

"How often do you have to do that?"

He looked up and finished pulling apart two cords before answering. "A few times a week at minimum, but we like it, so we do it almost every night. It's soothing for both of us." He winced as he pulled debris from Razzy's coat and threw it aside. "I've worked hard to grow and maintain the cords over the last few years, and I don't want to have to shave him when we get out of here."

She marveled at how he could find solace in something as simple as grooming his dog while the world was literally falling apart around them. "When and not if? Look at you being Mr. Optismic."

He shrugged. "I like his dreads."

"Me, too. I've never seen a dog like him before."

"I hadn't either until I met him."

"How did you meet him?"

He twisted a few more cords before answering. "He came to the rescue from a hoarding situation about three years ago. He was in pretty bad shape. His cords were matted, and his throat was infected from the chain those bastards kept him on. He was skittish and food-aggressive because he'd had to fight for every scrap he got. Anna rehabilitated his food aggression, and then Zak decided he was the perfect dog for me." A wry smile twisted his lips. "You've heard Raz bark? That raspy, pack-a-day smoker's voice he has? It's from the damage the chain did to his throat."

Rhiannon's heart ached at the thought of Raszta—funny, protective, scarily intelligent Raszta—abused in such a way. "God, that's awful."

"Yeah." He drew a breath and stroked a hand protectively over his dog. The thought obviously distressed him, too. "Well, anyways, that's how I sound when I talk. Zak thought he was being funny by pairing us together. But I guess it worked out. Razzy's… he's my soulmate in fur. We both know what it's like to fight through the darkness. It's made us who we are, and we're good for each other."

She blinked at him in surprise. "Wait. You can talk?"

He winced again and touched his scarred neck before signing, "Sometimes, very softly, but it hurts. ASL is easier."

She understood that. Maybe because she considered it her native language, but she'd always loved it more than English. "I prefer it in most situations, too."

He nodded. "I notice you often use both when you speak. Have you always been deaf?"

"Technically, I'm considered hard of hearing because I do have some residual hearing ability." She touched her hearing aid and wondered how much longer the batteries would last. This was the longest she'd ever gone without charging them. "But, yes, I've been this way since birth. My parents knew there was something wrong pretty early on because I didn't react to sound like most babies. I didn't get hearing aids until I was two and used ASL before I spoke English. Luckily, my parents enrolled themselves and Rylan in classes and they all learned right along with me."

"They sound like good people."

"They are. The absolute best. My daddy is your typical Kentucky boy. He's a little rough around the edges, but he's all heart. And my mom… she's just everything you'd want in a mom." She looked toward the front of the store and the door they couldn't get through. Tears rushed into her eyes. "They're probably so worried right now."

"You'll get back to them. I promise." Pierce's gaze softened as he reached out, brushing his fingers down the curve of her cheek.

Rhiannon swallowed hard, fighting against the swell of helplessness that threatened to drown her. "There's Mr. Optimistic again."

His touch lingered, and the warmth in his eyes momentarily chased away the shadows. She wanted to lean into him, wanted to lose herself in his arms, and let his strength envelop her.

But all too soon, he withdrew his hand and signed, "Hope keeps us alive."

He actually believed that, she realized. This man, who was so full of darkness and bitter regret, still held onto a thread of hope. It made her chest ache with a mixture of admiration and sorrow. He deserved some peace. He deserved happiness.

Raszta flopped over on his other side and gave an impatient grumble.

She smiled down at him. "I think he's waiting for you to continue the grooming session."

"Bossy little shit," Pierce signed, but indulged the dog's request with a faint smile.

Rhiannon found herself captivated by his focus as he expertly twined his fingers through Raszta's cords in an intimate ritual that seemed to anchor both man and dog despite the chaos surrounding them.

"Can you teach me?" she asked. "I could use a distraction right now."

Pierce's gaze flicked up to meet hers. There was so much going on behind those dark hazel eyes, and she wanted to unravel every mystery they held. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded and gestured for her to come closer. "It takes some practice, but I can show you."

Rhiannon carefully shifted Michael, who had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, onto his makeshift bed of sweatshirts. She moved over to sit beside Pierce, their shoulders nearly touching as she leaned in to watch his deft movements.

"Start at the base," Pierce signed. "You want to separate them, but be careful not to pull too hard."

He demonstrated with a gentle tug at one of Raszta's cords.

Rhiannon nodded, reaching out tentatively to touch Raszta's coat. The dog's fur was coarse yet surprisingly soft between the cords. She mimicked Pierce's motions, working her fingers through the tangled strands.

"Like this?" she asked, glancing up at Pierce for approval.

He nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good. Now twist it slightly as you go up."

Their hands worked in tandem, moving methodically through Raszta's coat. The repetitive motion was oddly soothing, and Rhiannon found herself relaxing despite the tension that still crackled through the air around them.

She stole glances at Pierce's face, admiring the sharp lines of his profile. He had a great nose, strong and straight. His jaw was clenched, but as they worked together, she noticed the tension slowly easing from his features. The furrow between his brows softened, and his breathing became deeper, more relaxed.

She wondered what it would be like to trace that jawline with her fingertips, to feel the rough stubble beneath her palm that had grown darker over the past few days. Even exhausted and covered in dirt, he was devastatingly handsome, and she was suddenly hyper-aware of his proximity. The heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of sweat and dust clinging to his skin. Their fingers brushed occasionally as they both reached for the same cord, sending tiny sparks of electricity through her.

His large, calloused hands were so gentle. Those same hands that had fought battles and built weapons now carefully tended to his loyal companion. It told her everything she needed to know about the man beneath the hardened exterior.

As if sensing her gaze, Pierce looked up, and their eyes met. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that made her skin tingle. She held her breath, lost in the depths of his hazel eyes. They were flecked with gold, she realized, like sunlight filtering through autumn leaves.

Pierce's hands stilled on Raszta's coat. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one to brush a stray lock of hair from Rhiannon's face. His touch was feather-light, barely grazing her skin, as his thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

The world around them faded away—the angry voices, the rumbles of the building slowly crumbling around them, even Raszta's contented sighs. There was only Pierce, his eyes dark with an intensity that made her tremble. His gaze searched hers, filled with a mixture of longing and hesitation. She clearly saw the battle raging in him—the desire to reach out warring with his instinct to keep his walls up.

Rhiannon lifted her hand, mirroring his touch as she gave into the urge to trace the line of his jaw. His stubble was surprisingly soft. She felt the muscles in his jaw flex beneath her fingers and saw the slight parting of his lips as he drew in a shaky breath.

"Rhia," he signed one-handedly, his movements slow and deliberate. "We shouldn't..." But even as he protested, he was leaning in. His hand slid from her cheek to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hair at her nape. His touch was gentle as he dragged her closer. Their foreheads touched first, and they shared a breath, the air between them charged with unspoken longing.

When their lips finally met, it was like the world around them ceased to exist. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if they were both afraid the other might pull away. But as the seconds ticked by and neither retreated, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

Pierce's hand tightened in her hair, not painfully, but with a possessiveness that made every nerve ending in her body flame to wild life. His other arm snaked around her waist, drawing her closer until she was practically in his lap. His chest was solid and warm against hers, the excited thump of his heartbeat matching her own frantic rhythm. She melted into him, sliding her hands up to frame his face as the kiss intensified. His lips were firm yet gentle, coaxing hers apart with a tenderness that belied the raw need she sensed simmering just beneath the surface.

A low growl rumbled in Pierce's chest, vibrating against her breasts. His fingers flexed at her waist, bunching the fabric of her shirt as he pulled her impossibly closer.

It was Raszta who finally broke the spell, wedging himself between them with an indignant whine.

Rhiannon pulled back, breathless and dazed, to find the dog staring at them accusingly. His head was tilted to one side, his expression clearly saying, "Excuse me, but weren't you supposed to be grooming me?"

A laugh bubbled up from Rhiannon's chest, breaking the tension. She buried her face in Pierce's shoulder, her body shaking from the unexpected surge of lust. After a moment, she felt Pierce's chest rumble with his chuckle.

When she lifted her head, Pierce was looking at her with an expression of stark hunger. His eyes had darkened to a stormy green, and there was a flush high on his cheekbones. He looked younger, somehow, the ever-present lines of worry around his eyes softened.

"I think someone's jealous," she whispered, gesturing to Raszta, who was now pawing at Pierce's leg insistently.

Pierce nodded, his lips quirking into a wry smile. "He's used to having my undivided attention."

They both knew they should pull apart and return to the grim reality surrounding them. But neither moved. Being in his arms felt too damn good.

But, eventually, Pierce lifted her off his lap, and disappointment stabbed through her when their eyes met. His expression was once again guarded.

"I'm sorry," he signed. "That shouldn't have happened."

Rhiannon's stomach dropped. "Why not?"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "It's not that I don't... I just can't..." He paused, struggling to find the right words. "You're Rylan's sister."

Rhiannon felt her cheeks flush with heat, and that sudden rush of shame pissed her off. "And?"

Pierce's jaw clenched as he looked away, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

She caught his face between her palms and made him look at her. "Pierce, I'm a grown woman. I can make my own decisions about who I want to be with. My brother has nothing to do with this thing between us."

Pierce's eyes softened as they met hers, but the tension in his body remained. He gently grasped her wrists, pulling her hands away from his face. "I'm no good for you, Rhia."

She scoffed. "No, don't start with that shit. I've seen the kind of man you are, Pierce. The way you've protected us, how you risked your life to save Michael, how you care for Raszta. All that stuff in your past? It doesn't change who you are now."

Pierce raised his hands to respond, but before he could, Alan's voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory.

"What gun?"