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His words, his confusion, it was too much. The world felt too big, too real, and I felt myself shrinking under its weight.
“I . . . I . . . ,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “I couldn’t . . . couldn’t do it.”
My words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. I saw the flicker of surprise in Declan’s eyes, followed quickly by a wave of understanding.
“You’re scared,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a recognition of the fear that was coursing through my veins. “I knew I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I’m so sorry, Clover.”
“No . . .” I shook my head, a desperate attempt to deny what was so evident. “I am . . . I am.”
“Hey, hey . . .” Declan knelt down next to me, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s okay, Clover. It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I cried out, not sure if I was saying it to the judge and his wife or Declan.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I was only worried you’d get hurt. When I saw that gun aimed at you . . . I won’t apologize for killing them, Clover. I can’t.”
His words were meant to soothe, but they only amplified my disgust of what had just happened. I looked at him, really looked at him, and I saw him for what he truly was. He was a killer. He had taken lives, and I had helped him.
Panic surged within me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I could see was the blood, all I could hear were the dying gasps of the judge and his wife. And Declan, with his soothing voice and concerned eyes, was the architect of it all.
Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to be near him. I couldn’t bear the sight of him, the scent of him. I needed to escape, needed to get away from this nightmare.
So, I got to my feet. My legs wobbled underneath me, the world spinning around me. I glanced at Declan one last time, his eyes wide with surprise and concern. Then, without a word, I turned on my heels and ran.
DECLAN
Isaw her bolt. My heart clenched as I watched her brown hair whipping around her shoulders, her strides panicked and wild. I was frozen in place for a moment, her terror slamming into me like a sledgehammer. But then instinct took over. I was after her.
“Damn it, Clover!” I shouted, my voice ripping through the eerie silence left in the wake of the gunshots. My boots dug into the earth, propelling me forward as I pursued her, but she had a good head start.
I could still see her in the distance, a frantic figure tearing through the fields. My heart pounded against my ribcage, each thud mimicking the rhythm of my thoughts. I’d put her in danger, lied to her, pushed her to her limits. I’d placed the burden of blood on her hands, and now she was running, and all I could think of was to chase.
In that moment, all I saw was the back of Judge Mathis, his gnarled hand clutching that gleaming gun, pointing it at her. AtmyClover. Every muscle in my body had coiled tighter than a bed of rattlesnakes ready to strike.
“Stop, Clover!” I roared again, my voice ragged with desperation. I saw her hesitate, just for a split second, but then she was off again, running like a wild deer escaping a predator.
God, was that what I’d become to her? A predator?
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d branded her as mine, thought of our relationship as some sort of savage, primal possession. And here we were, the hunter and the hunted. The guilt was stabbing me in the chest, leaving me winded and disoriented, but I couldn’t stop now. I couldn’t let her run into the wilderness, panicked and alone.
“I won’t hurt you!” I tried again, my voice screeching in the vast expanse of Texas land. But it fell on deaf ears. She continued her wild dash, her fear rendering her oblivious to my pleas.
Every breath was a gasp, each stride an exertion. I was a cowboy, a killer, a protector, all rolled into one. And here I was, chasing after the woman I’d unintentionally driven away, my mind a chaotic whirlwind of regret and terror.
Her skin flashed like burnished copper each time she moved, a stark contrast to the clothes that clung to her like a second skin. It was as if the universe were trying to taunt me, to remind me of what I stood to lose.
She was beautiful, even in her fear. I imagined how the frantic beating of her heart matched the pounding in my own chest. I could practically taste the adrenaline that was spiking through her veins, sour and bitter.
Her sobs echoed in my ears, mingling with the rough sound of my own breaths. I was the one who had put that fear in her eyes, made her heart race for all the wrong reasons.
“Stop running, Clover!” I growled, my voice hoarse. But she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stop. She was like a wild mustang, desperate for freedom, yearning to break free from the reins that had been thrust upon her.
My strides lengthened, the gap between us slowly closing. Her frantic breaths reached my ears, a sweet yet tragic melody that broke my heart. I reached out, fingers brushing against her shirt, her body warmth seeping through it, igniting a flame deep within me.
With one final leap, I tackled her to the ground. Her breath whooshed out of her as we hit the ground, her body beneath mine. She was panting heavily, her chest rising and falling beneath me. I flipped her over onto her back and stared deeply into her eyes.
“Clover . . .” My voice was a whisper, a plea. She was trembling beneath me, her fear almost tangible. But underneath it all, there was a spark of something else . . . something instinctive and primal.
With her beneath me, her body writhing and attempting to escape, I felt my own fear. I was afraid of losing her, afraid of what I had become in her eyes.
