“Here.” He gently pulls my dirty shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. He replaces it with one of the clean, oversized gray t-shirts from his duffle bag.
He disappears from the room for a moment, returning a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth. I sit entirely numb as he carefully wipes the dirt and dried tears from my face.
My chest aches at the warmth and at the way he’s so soft toward me.
“Lay down, baby,” he whispers, pulling the heavy quilt back.
I crawl under the covers, curling into a tight ball. Noah kicks off his boots, strips down, and slides in right behind me. He wraps his body around mine, pulling my back flush against his chest, his solid arm wrapping securely around my waist.
He runs his fingers through my hair and strokes the side of my hip beneath the covers until the bruised purple sky outside slowly gives way to the harsh, glaring light of the Texas morning, filtering through the blinds.
I’m so freaking exhausted, my body feels heavy, but my mind refuses to shut off. Every time I close my eyes, I see Bullet’s chest stop moving.
“I can’t sleep,” I whisper into the quiet room.
Noah shifts behind me. He gently tugs my shoulder, rolling me over until I’m facing him. The morning light catches the pale blue of his eyes, completely stripped of the cold, hardened inmate he’s been forced to be for so many years.
Another living being I tortured.
“Rue,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to brush my hair back from my face. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. Then he kisses my temple. The bridge of my nose. The tear-stained corner of my eye.
The touch is entirely meant for comfort, to ground me in the present, but as his lips finally brush against mine, the emotional dam inside of me breaks. I reach up, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, and I kiss him harder.
Noah lets out a ragged breath, his good arm pulling me tighter against his chest as the kiss deepens. The grief starts tomelt into the blinding, consuming heat of his body. The whole world might be terrified of him, but…
I’m safe when I’m hidden in his arms.
But then, the floorboards vibrate.
It starts as a low, distant hum. I pull back from Noah’s lips, blinking in confusion.
Clack-clack-clack.
The distinct rattle of a heavy vehicle rolling over the cattle guard at the end of the long dirt driveway echoes through the quiet morning air.
Noah goes completely rigid.
“What is that?” I whisper, my heart suddenly kicking into a frantic, terrified rhythm.
Noah is off the bed in a flash. He moves with deadly silence, creeping to the edge of the window. He uses a single finger to separate two of the plastic slats, peering out toward the front of the property.
“Noah?” I sit up, my hands gripping the edge of the quilt. “He’s supposed to be gone for a week. The calendar said a week.”
Noah drops the blind, stepping back from the window. The softness in his eyes is entirely gone, replaced by a dark, feral violence that sends a shard of absolute ice straight into my veins.
“Well… He’s back early,” Noah grits out, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticks violently in his cheek.
“What?” I scramble off the bed, the air leaving my lungs. “Are you sure it’s him? Maybe it's a neighbor or?—”
“It’s the truck. It’s the RV,” Noah cuts me off, his eyes darting to the closed bedroom door. “He’s pulling it around to the side of the house.”
“Oh my God,” I panic, my hands flying to my mouth. “Why is he back? It’s barely been four days! There’s no way out without him seeing us!”
“It doesn't matter why he's back,” Noah says, grabbing his duffel bag from the floor and shoving my backpack toward me. “Pack.Now. We don’t have a lot of time.”
The heavy crunch of gravel outside stops. The deep roar of the diesel engine is suddenly cut off, plunging the farm back into a terrifying quiet.
A truck door clicks open and slams shut.
