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King included.

“How you feeling, Mama?” he asks in a deep rumble, glancing at the passenger seat to make sure he hasn’t woken Damon.

“I’m okay, just some dull cramping, but nothing I’m not used to.”

He frowns, flicking a look to Ryker, who types something out on his phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Tracking your symptoms so I have a record for the specialist.”

I blink at him, processing the words that have just come out of his mouth. “Tracking my symptoms…”

He nods. “I did some research while you were sleeping, and a blog post I read said it was a good idea to have exact dates and symptoms available, especially when women’s health issues are so often ignored or downplayed.”

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Because what the hell are you supposed to say to something so equally thoughtful as it is unhinged?

“Where are we heading?” I ask, changing the subject to something safer.

“We’re just driving for now. Looking out for anyone following us before we make a plan.”

I furrow my brow, biting down on the inside of my cheek as I fight the urge to ask if that’s the safest option. Kingston does this for a living, helping people find somewhere safe to land, somewhere their nightmares can’t find them. I need to trust him to do the same for me.

“We’ll be stopping in an hour to eat something, and then we’ll make a plan of attack,” Ryker tells me, dropping a soft kiss to the top of my head.

The move is so familiar that it feels like he’s done it a million times, and not for the first time I realize how much he’s come to mean to me.

How they’ve each weaved their way into my chest without permission.

Without even meaning to, I’ve given four men the power to destroy me…again.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

CHLOE

THEN

TEN YEARS AGO

The doctor left an hour ago, promising to be back the day after tomorrow to change my dressings.

Kingston insisted he could do it, but I’m pretty sure she wants to check on more than just my physical health.

She left a pregnancy-safe sedative for me, insisting I take it if I’m having trouble sleeping, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to take it. Not when every time I close my eyes, I’m right back in that cellar, watching my parents die over and over again.

Not that death was the worst thing that happened down there, because it wasn’t.

Not even close.

Sucking in a breath, I fight against the need to cry. It feels like I’ve cried a million tears, like there couldn’t possibly be anything left in the tanks, and yet they just keep coming.

Kingston hovers at the bedroom door, offering me food and drinks every few minutes like I’m suddenly going to become ravenous.

But just the thought of food after days of starvation turns my stomach.

I clutch a pillow to my chest, ignoring the way my hand throbs. The doctor was able to set my thumb, but she said it will take months to fully heal because it’s a hard body part to immobilize.

At least I only have to wear a brace and not a cast. I had one of those when I broke my wrist playing in the rose garden with Damon when I was twelve, and it itched like crazy.