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Her whiskey-brown eyes were wide and frantic, locked onto his. She had the look of a wild, cornered animal. One that was desperate to escape.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated, slowly rising. When she recoiled from him, he knew he shouldn’t take it personally. But he did, anyway.
He backed out of the shed, careful to keep his movements gradual and calm. When his feet hit the grass, he turned away, staying in her line of sight so she could track his whereabouts, and closed his eyes, dropping his head. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled.
His eyes snapped open, and he bit back a growl. Yeah. That had done jack shit to calm him. He stormed out of Joe’s backyard and toward his own home next door, his anger heating from a simmer to a boil.
Holy. Mother. Fucking. Shit.
He wanted to hit something. Wanted to hurt something. No, he wanted to hurt someone. That specific someone being whoever had thought it was a good idea to use Alex as a punching bag and carving board.
A fuckingcarving board.
A helpless rage blurred his vision. He knew violence wasn’t the answer—he was thesheriff, for fuck’s sake—but dammit, that asshole had cut her.Cuther. Sliced up her arms like she was a fucking Thanksgiving turkey.
He wanted to find that person. No, hewouldfind that person. And somehow, he’d make him pay.
* * *
She was paralyzed. Only her heaving chest moved; only her ragged gasps filled the silence.
Quinn had left the shed at least five minutes earlier, but her pulse still raced. One hand still cradled the back of her throbbing head. The other remained held out in front of her, protecting her from nothing. But she couldn’t move.
Quinn,she thought, fighting to clear her mind.Not Preston.
She glanced around the shed, and after a few more moments, came fully back to the present.
Her face flushed as mortification coursed through her. With stark clarity, she recalled the look in Quinn’s gray eyes when he’d apologized. When he’d told her he wouldn’t hurt her. His gaze had pleaded with her to believe him.
To her surprise, she had. But instead of telling him that, she’d sat there.
Frozen with terror.
Countless months of intense therapy had flown out the window, and she’d waited for him to prove her limited faith had been misplaced. Because that’s what strong men did: they hurt her. That’s what she’d been taught—no,conditionedto believe. For years, that had been her reality.
But it wasn’t anymore. Now she knew better. In theory, anyway.
Damn.
Ashamed.Thatwas a better word for how she felt right now.
Rising to her feet, she rubbed the lump that was forming on the back of her head. She needed to find Quinn.
She stepped out of the shed and flinched at the bright sunshine. Rolling her neck, she squinted across the backyard to the house next door. While she understood her reaction had been instinctual, she wanted to apologize. Everything was still so raw—shewas still so raw—but she knew that he wasn’t Preston.
Crossing into the neighboring backyard, she saw Quinn through his kitchen window. Catching his gaze, she gave an awkward wave and headed toward the back door. Starting up the steps, her vision briefly cut out. She reached to grab the railing, but her arm was sluggish. She swayed, and her legs gave way beneath her.
Everything went black.
CHAPTERFIVE
Quinn paced in his kitchen. Frustration clawed at his insides. As he passed the window over the sink again, he looked out toward the shed.
Alex.
She was walking his way. Her hand rose in a hesitant wave as she crossed into his backyard. Even from this distance, he could see the flush stealing over her face. A feeling he didn’t recognize settled over him.
He frowned.
