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Can’t escape. Can’t stand. Can’t fucking breathe.
A metal chair screeches to my side.
“Sit.” He positions it behind my legs. “Before you fall.”
My knees give out. I slump onto the seat.
“Talk.” His voice is cold.
It’s mean.
It brings fucking tears to my eyes. Makes me want to be mean right back. “Go to hell.”
He shoves into my space, bending down, leaning in, bringing the promise of pain with him.
Gripping the chairback, he cages me with arms carved in violence. Veins bulge beneath skin, snaking over taut muscle. He pushes his face into mine, noses touching, and my molars slam together.
His musky mechanic’s shop scent, laden with cedar and snow, invades my senses as he holds himself in that towering lean. A lean meant to lay down the law. A posture designed to overpower.
The moment stretches as we stare into each other. He peers so deeply, so intensely, as if trying to pluck every thought from my mind, every secret I hide.
I want him to read me. But not like this.
I won’t be bullied.
A scowl twists his gorgeous features, and he hisses past clenched teeth. I brace for the impending fight, the hurtful words, but when he speaks, his tone is gentle, thick with concern.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, freeing those damnable tears.
His eyebrows yank down. “You’re scared.”
Lifting my chin, I press my lips together.
He jerks back, straightens, and retreats a few steps. “Scared of me? Fuck, Frankie. I would never—”
“I know you wouldn’t. It’s…” A choke steals my voice.
Again, that long, quiet stare. It’s different this time. He doesn’t want to fight. He’s not trying to strong-arm information out of me. He’s waiting with uncharacteristic patience until I’m ready.
This is what I needed. It’s why I went to him.
He’s learning.
We both are.
With a relieved breath, I drop my head to my hands and tell him what happened.
I leave out the part about Wolf playing with the monster and focus on the threat. The needle at my throat. The smile on Denver’s face.
When my voice trails off, I’m met with more silence. It rings in my ears.
I lift my eyes and find his locked on the books behind me. Shifting, I look at them, too.
HVAC stuff. The fundamentals of heating, ventilation, and air conditioning. What does any of that have to do with this?
“His system uses hydroelectric energy.” His voice strains, holding something back. “There’s no information written anywhere that can help me. On purpose, no doubt. He needs us to need him.”
His hand curls at his side, knuckles whitening, and I realize it’s his temper he’s holding back.
No longer.
He slams his fist down on the books, making me jump.
“He’s a dead man.” Another pummeling crash, his rage unfurling. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking destroy him.”
Pound. Pound. Pound. Books and drawings scatter.
“Leo, stop.” I scramble away from the explosion, gasping. “Please, stop.”
He must hear the fear in my voice, because he goes still. Heterochromatic eyes flash like thundersnow as he claps them on me.
“We can’t kill him.” I tremble, thinking about the murderous cold—the horrible possibility of it. “Killing him would be giving up. Tell me there’s another way.”
“Another way to keep you safe?”
“To keep us all alive.”
“I don’t see it.” He scoops up a mess of papers and flings them between us. “I don’t see a way out of this. Not this time.”
“Build a cage.”
“What?” he snarls.
“You can melt metal, right?” I skirt along a row of shelving units crammed with industrial tools, searching for an example. “Can you weld?”
“Of course.” Panting, he scrapes a rough hand down his face.
“Move the medical supplies out of the room in the basement. Build a prison door. Reinforce the walls, the ceilings.” I lower my volume. “We’ll lock him in. Put him behind bars. That’s how we stay safe.”
Hands on his hips, he drops his gaze to the floor, his scowl etched in marble.
“In a cage, he can’t hurt us.” I watch the slow bob of his throat swallow my idea. “If the power goes out, we make him fix it.”
His focus turns inward, and his posture changes. His shoulders curl slightly. Tendons stretch in his neck. Shadows darken his features. Shadows of the past. Echoes of his mother.
Helena was the first and last to imprison Denver. She tied him up. Starved him.
Until she needed him.
Then he buried her alive.
“Your mother was alone, protecting her only child. She couldn’t overpower him. Not like you.”
His nostrils pulse. Muscles twitch in his jaw. Still, he says nothing.
“You’re not alone this time.” I inch toward him. “There’s four of us and only one of him. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
He looks out the window, at the snowy darkness beyond, lost in thought.
I wait beside the stove, wondering if we could survive the winter in this workshop, if there’s enough coal to keep us warm.
“I never wanted anything for myself.” He lowers onto the metal chair, elbows propped on bent knees. “But with you, I’m the most selfish man in the world. I won’t lose you. The thought of it…” He slowly shakes his head, flexes those dangerous hands. “There is nothing—absolutely nothing—that can take you from me. I’ll hunt to feed you. I’ll burn every bed, every wall, every roof, every piece of wood in Hoss to keep you warm. I’ll build a cage for every predator that threatens you. I’ll shackle you to my side—with chains if I have to—but hear me, Frankie, as long as I breathe, you are mine.”
