Page 82 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

The harsh words darken Silas’ gaze, but he doesn’t buckle under their weight. His wide shoulders remain hard, jaw clenched, grip on the gun tight. “No, I’m not that little boy anymore.”

Marty sneers in my ear. “But you’re still a fucking pussy, like you always were. I never understood why your father didn’t just take care of you when you were a child and put you out of your fucking misery then.” He urges me forward, each step moving me toward the steps. “Now, you’re going to let me leave, and I’m never going to see or hear from you again. I’ll make sure Ronald gets the message when I get back to town, too.”

Silas swallows thickly, knowing full well what the threat means to Ronald. But there isn’t anything he can do about it, not from up here. Not when I’m stuck between him and a madman.

He motions with the gun for Marty to head toward the SUV. Marty keeps me in front of him as long as he can, then shoves me to the side, knocking me to the porch as he leaps down the steps.

Marty reaches for the door of the SUV, but Whiskey lunges at him and latches on to his arm, sinking razor-sharp teeth into the flesh. The man who undoubtedly would have done unspeakable things to me if Silas hadn’t returned howls and tries to kick Whiskey off, but he stays latched on, hanging from the man’s wrist with powerful and determined jaws.

Silas walks over to them calmly and places the barrel of the gun against his uncle’s chest. “I could end you with one pull of this fucking trigger. The only reason I’m not doing it is because I don’t want to go to prison. That would be a win for you. You’ve taken too much of my life, and I’m not going to let you take any more of it.”

He pulls the gun back and grabs Whiskey’s collar. “Whiskey—release.”

Instantly, the dog lets Marty go and takes a step back to stand next to Silas.

Marty grabs his wounded arm, scowling at both of them while blood drips to the dirt. “You’ll pay for this, Silas. Watch your back.”

He manages to tug open the door and climb in. His driver pulls forward and does a Y-turn, then barrels down the gravel drive as Silas rushes toward me on the porch.

“Lyla!”

The anguish in the way he says my name matches my own, and he sets the gun on the pine boards and pulls me into his arms.

“Are you all right?”

I mean to say, “I’m okay.”

But that would be a lie.

And the only thing that comes out of my throat when I try to say anything else is a strangled sob.

He grabs my injured arm gently and examines the bright-red marks already starting to darken into bruises. “I’m so sorry, Lyla. I never thought he’d find me, but I knew this was a possibility, that you could end up hurt. It’s all my fault.”

* * *

SILAS

The guilt of knowing I am the reason Lyla’s hurt threatens to crush me. It sits squarely on my shoulders and chest, making it impossible to breathe or see anything but the damage thatmonsterdid to her.

But somehow, I push through the agony wracking my body and scoop her up, carrying her into the cabin on unsteady feet.

Whiskey follows us in, and I kick the door closed behind us, then move her over to the bed and lay her down on it.

Was it only this morning I left her sleeping soundly here?

I should have climbed in with her, apologized for running from her yesterday, come clean abouteverythingso she would be prepared for this, so she wouldn’t have been blindsided by him showing up and attacking her.

I should have.

I should have.

I should have.

Yet…I ran.

Again and again and again, I’verunfrom this woman, from what she brings me, the glimpses of happiness and what really living can feel like. I’verunand hurt her, again and again and again.

And now, she’s paying the price for my weakness, like everyone else who has been victimized by Uncle Marty has since I left so long ago.

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