I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to open her eyes.
And when she does, I’ll be right here.
Ready to listen.
Ready to protect.
Ready for whatever storm she brings with her.
Because something tells me Piper Lane is going to turn my quiet, controlled world upside down.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t mind. Not one fucking bit.
FOUR
PIPER
The pain drags me up from the darkness slowly, like I’m being pulled out of deep, cold water. My head throbs with a steady, heavy pulse that matches my heartbeat. My ribs feel bruised and tight, every breath a sharp reminder that something inside me is cracked. My left leg is a solid wall of fire from the knee down, wrapped so tightly I can barely feel my toes. Even my hands sting, small cuts burning under the bandages.
For a long moment I don’t know where I am. Then the memories slam into me all at once. The rain. The headlights behind me. The brutal impact. The car tumbling off the road. The shadow moving down the embankment toward me.
My eyes fly open.
A man sits in a wooden chair right beside the bed, watching me. It’s the same man from the wreck. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair cut short, a hard jaw, and eyes that look like they’ve seen too much. He doesn’t move when I jolt, but I see the way his hand stays close to the rifle leaning against the wall. He’s calm. Too calm.
I try to sit up fast. Big mistake. Pain explodes through my side and shoots down my leg. A gasp tears out of me and I fall back against the pillows, breathing hard through my teeth.
“Easy,” he says, voice low and rough like gravel. “You’re safe, Piper.”
Safe. The word feels like a trap. I haven’t felt safe in months. My heart races so fast I can hear it in my ears. I look around the room, trying to take it all in. Wooden walls. A stone fireplace with low flames crackling softly. A big bed that isn’t mine. Simple furniture. One door that must lead to the rest of the house. No windows I can see from this angle. It feels quiet. Too quiet.
“Where am I?” My voice comes out scratchy and weak. “Who are you?”
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. He moves like someone who’s used to being still for long stretches. “Name’s Boyd Walker. You’re at Haven 7. It’s a secure compound on Wedding Cake Mountain in Timber Creek, Montana. I found you in the wreck and brought you here.”
Haven 7. The name sounds made up, like something from a survival story. I try to push myself up again, slower this time. The pain is still brutal, but I manage to get my back against the headboard. My left leg is elevated on pillows and wrapped tight. I’m wearing a soft gray nightgown that isn’t mine. My clothes are gone. My wallet is probably gone too.
He knows my name. He called me Piper.
“How do you know my name?” I ask. My voice shakes even though I try to keep it steady. “Have you been going through my things? Did you call someone?”
Boyd watches me carefully. He doesn’t look away. “We ran a basic check after I brought you in. No ID was found in the wreckage. Your father reported you missing a few days ago. That’s all we know right now.”
My stomach drops like a stone. Father. Viktor Lane. The man who smiled while he told me accidents happen to curious girls. The man whose money and connections could reach anywhere. If he knows where I am, he’ll come. He’ll come fast and he won’t come alone.
I swallow hard. “How long have I been out?”
“A few days,” Boyd says. “You needed the rest. Eli, our medic, kept you comfortable.”
A few days. That’s enough time for my father to fly here. For him to spin whatever story he wants. It’s long enough for him to drag me back to Denver and make sure I never talk again.
Panic claws up my throat. I swing my good leg over the side of the bed. Pain shoots up my injured one so sharply that black spots dance in my vision. I grit my teeth and try to stand anyway. The room tilts. My knees buckle.
Boyd is there in an instant. He catches me before I hit the floor, one strong arm around my waist, the other supporting my back. He’s warm and solid and smells like pine and clean soap. For one stupid second I want to lean into him, to let those arms hold me up. Then reality crashes back in.
“I have to go,” I say, pushing weakly against his chest. My voice cracks. “I can’t stay here. You don’t understand.”
He doesn’t let go. He holds me steady but gentle, like he knows exactly how much pressure my battered body can take. “You’rehurt bad, Piper. Broken leg. Cracked ribs. Concussion. You’re not going anywhere right now.”
