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"If you tell them about me going for her, it will be the biggest mistake of your life."
Pauley's throat bobbed.
"I will take pleasure in cutting your cock off and shoving it so far down your throat you'll wish you were dead. All thoughts of having a future will be destroyed, and I will be the reason. Remember that."
He shoved him away and turned back to his vehicle. Pauley didn't say anything, and he didn't need to. They were done.
THIRTY
LYRA
Lyra’s hands were losing all sensation as the day slowly began to fade beyond her. She watched the little slit of light diminish through the barn doors, her hope resting on that tiny shimmer of illumination. Her throat was dry, her stomach folding into itself with hunger, and her fear had nearly swallowed her whole.
She had been glad that at least they had placed her sitting on a bushel of hay. It was raggedy and rough, making the bottom of her legs itchy, even through her slacks. But her feet hadn’t gone numb. Well, until the freeze of darkness fell.
It cast upon her and the barn like a cape, sucking away any warmth the sun had brought. A frosty glow emanated from her breath. As hope sank away, the entire interior of the barn disappeared into an oily black abyss.
Lyra was surprised she had enough energy to panic. Her breath went in and out of her mouth like steam, and she thought twice when she thought about screaming. She had screamed once she was sure they had left her, but there was no reply. She had screamed for a good hour, or whatever amount of time it had been. And nothing.
She couldn’t even hear cars swirling by. That was how far from civilization they were. She had tried to focus on her feet, wrangling the bindings behind her back to maintain some blood flow. But they had knotted it well; she wasn’t going anywhere.
Lyra let her head droop onto her chest out of exhaustion. Her arms were extensions of her body, but her hands were phantoms. In her lulling daze, she imagined needing to have them amputated. Then what would happen with her life? Would Timber even want some inexperienced nanny with no hands taking care of his daughter?
Lyra was delirious, but the thought still broke her heart.
She began to doze, then she heard something wooden scraping against something else, likely wooden too. Lyra shot her head up, her heart galloping like a horse in its final lap of a big race.
“HELLO?” she yelled.
Her voice was raspy and not in a sexy way. She struggled with the bindings, in case it was the shifters, back to make sure she hadn’t moved. The lock of the barn door rattled, then was abruptly ripped to pieces. Lyra stopped struggling, bracing herself against the hay under her bum.
In the pale moonlight, Timber stood there, victorious. A rusty lock was broken into two pieces in his hand. Lyra had never felt more elated.
“I think their lock is broken,” he quipped.
Lyra began to laugh incoherently, suddenly aware of how thirsty she was, how hungry she was, and how in dire need of rest, warmth, and love she was. Timber went to her quickly, releasing her wrists from her bindings first, letting her come loose from the beam she had been tied to for hours.
She had been leaning forward when he had snapped them off, the release uttering thrilling. She toppled forward, going headfirst into the barn soil, but Timber caught her by the chest with his big mitt of a hand.
Lyra let her body go limp, the adrenaline beginning to dissipate out of her pores and exhausting her beyond belief.
“Hey, hey,” he whispered, taking her head in his hands. “I’m here now, Lyra. Everything is going to be okay.”
She believed him the way she believed everything he had to say to her. She fell into his arms the way a child falls into those of their loving parents, scooped up from a long day in the sun. Her wrists throbbed, which was good, as he carried her into the night in his arms.
Lyra felt herself placed softly onto the front seat, which had been pushed down so she could lay flat on her back. Timber held her chin for her, pouring water tenderly between her lips. She drank as much as she could, not wanting to overdo it and make herself vomit.
“That’s it, not too much. I’m taking you back to your mother’s. Marigold is waiting for you.”
Timber covered her with a blanket, then lifted her wrists to his face. Her eyes fluttered open and closed slowly. It was difficult to keep them open. He took some ice from a pack in the back and placed it in her lap for her wrists to rest on, but not before kissing each one sweetly.
“We’ll make sure nothing happens to those lovely hands. You’re going to be okay, darling.”
Lyra let herself lean back into the seat, her bones finally giving in to rest. The ice on her wrists was prickly, but it soothed the aches and would keep them from blowing up into a balloon. She trusted Timber with everything; he made her heart swell even in her stuporous state.
They arrived at her mother’s home, and Timber carried her inside just as he had to the truck. She was in and out of consciousness, only hearing the faint cries of her mother, who only wanted to cradle her daughter in her arms.
“Let’s put her in bed and let her rest for a bit,” Timber whispered.
