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I paused, letting the reality of my words sink in. The whole scenario felt like a dark road leading toward an uncertain future. Yet, in some twisted way, it seemed like our only path forward. A way out of the life Declan was trapped in. Maybe, just maybe, once Declan found out who killed his mother, he’d finally be able to let me go.
Declan met my stare, his dark eyes holding a depth of emotion that was hard to decipher. The burden of his past, the mayhem of his present, and the uncertainty of his future—they all reflected back at me, reinforcing my own fears. But beneath it all, I detected something else. Something that resembled hope.
“Yes,” Declan responded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Then, mustering the strength I didn’t know I still had, I said, “Then we’ll do the trail ride. You’re going to kill the judge and . . . his wife. We’ll make it look like you killed me too. You’ll . . . get the job done.” My voice wavered at the end, the weight of what I had just committed to sinking in.
Declan’s eyes widened in surprise, and he was quiet for a moment, studying me. I could see a mixture of relief and worry in his gaze. Relief because I was giving him a way to accomplish his mission, and worry about the risks I was willing to take.
“Are you sure, Clover?” he asked gently, the potency of his expression softening. “It’s not going to be easy . . . for either of us.”
I swallowed hard, bracing myself for the reality of the situation. I was far from ready to confront my trauma, let alone witness a murder. But there was a desperate need within me to move forward, to break free from the hold Hank had over us.
“I trust you,” I confessed, locking eyes with him. “For some fucked-up reason, I trust you not to kill me, Declan.” I let out a shuddering breath. “You might brand me, own me,hurt me, but you won’t kill me.”
As Declan processed my words, my mind spun off in a whirl of disbelief. Was I really agreeing to this? Agreeing to let Declan commit murder? Agreeing to be his accomplice in this dark and twisted plan?
The rational part of my mind screamed at the insanity of it all, warning me of the potential consequences. This was beyond reckless. Yet, there was this small, unwavering voice within me that was urging me to trust Declan, to trust this terrifying course we were setting ourselves on.
Trust. It’s such a fragile thing, so easily shattered. And yet here I was, placing my trust in Declan, a man I knew was capable of such brutality. In this moment, I felt as if I were staring into an abyss of uncertainty. It was crazy. But maybe it was our only chance to break free.
Declan broke out into a triumphant grin. “I knew I could count on you, Clover,” he said, his voice filled with a strange mix of relief and determination.
My heart fluttered uneasily at his words, but I nodded. “The trail ride with the judge . . . it’s in three days. I need to be ready,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
Then, another thought hit me. I’d tried to give my horses away to our neighbor when I planned on running. “What about the horses?” I asked, turning back to Declan. “I gave them away when I tried . . .” I let my words trail off. I didn’t want to anger Declan again.
He snorted. “I took care of that. Told that nosey neighbor of yours to get lost. You’re not getting rid of those horses, Clover.”
His words sent a spark through my stomach. Despite everything, I was relieved that my horses were still here, with me. They were the last bit of normalcy in this chaos. As for the trail ride, I knew I had to be prepared. But, for now, all I could do was breathe, try to process all this, and brace myself for what was to come.
DECLAN
Next day dawned with the same Texas heat, relentless as the truth I was living. The morning sun was just starting to make its presence known, and I found myself on the porch, watching Clover.
Her skin glowed golden under the soft morning light as she cradled a cup of coffee between her hands. She was wearing a tank top, leaving her shoulders bare. My eyes were drawn to the angry red mark on her shoulder—the brand I’d seared into her skin. It was a harsh reminder of my claim over her.
As she looked out onto the open air, her eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts, I felt a thrill course through me. I owned her. This tough, beautiful woman was mine. It was a savage feeling, a primal possession that left me raw and wanting. I knew I had forever changed our lives, marking her so irrevocably, but the sight of my brand on her sent a wave of satisfaction through me. I owned her. She was mine, in every sense of the word.
“Get your boots on, Clover,” I said, my voice slicing through the morning stillness. “We’re going for a ride.”
Without waiting for her reaction, I strode toward the barn, leaving her to her thoughts. The barn was cool and quiet. It smelled of hay and horses, a familiar scent that calmed my storming mind.
I made my way to Clover’s horse. Her coat was a shining chestnut, and she flicked her ears at my approach, recognizing the sound of my footsteps. I ran a hand down her flank, her muscles twitching slightly under my touch. Her saddle was already set out, well-oiled and maintained.
As I started to saddle her up, my mind was busy with plans. Today, I would show Clover where on the trail I intended to make my move on the judge. The thought of it, the planning, the impending violence—it was all familiar territory for me. But involving Clover, having her by my side for this, was new. And somehow, that was the most frightening part of all.
As Clover came into sight, my eyes instinctively swept over her. She had pulled on her boots and a pair of worn jeans, her brown hair tied back with a bright pink scarf to combat the heat. She approached me, her eyes fixed on Ginny.
“Climb on,” I instructed, offering my hand. With a moment’s hesitation, she took it, and I helped her onto the saddle. I noticed the wince as she adjusted her position, her shoulder likely protesting the movement. But she said nothing, fixing her eyes straight ahead.
I mounted Ginny behind Clover, the heat of her body radiating onto me. I reached around her to take the reins, pulling her back against my chest while being mindful of the painful brand on her shoulder. The contact sent a jolt through me, a sudden and intense awareness of her. Of us.
As we started our ride, I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of every breath she took, every shift in her position. We rode in silence, the only sounds the rhythmic clop of Ginny’s hooves and the occasional call of a bird overhead.
There was a tension in the air, a silent understanding of the gravity of what we were doing. It was a strange blend of danger and intimacy. The seductive pull of Clover’s body against mine, mixed with the chilling knowledge of the path we were taking, made the ride far more thrilling and daunting than I could have imagined.
I felt her body stiffen against mine as we rode, her muscles coiling tight like a drawn bow. Leaning in, I dropped my voice to a low murmur. “How you holdin’ up, Clover?”
