Page 268 of Heart of Frost and Scars

I’m meant to join them.

“You’ll be safe here.” His soft voice chills my lungs. “I’ll take care of you, just like I took care of them.”

Denver knew.

He knew exactly what was coming for me.

There’s another, lurking, yearning for you in a way far darker than my own affection.

I’m the silent ache, the shadow that lingers, the present from your past, the knife in your heart.

I want to scream and thrash and tear Rhett apart with my bare hands.

How could he do this?

How did he hide his evil from me all these years?

With my head turned toward Wolf’s body, I can’t pull my eyes from him. His face, once so expressive and adoring, droops with lifelessness, his beautiful blue eyes closed forever.

Rope digs into his chest, binding him to the chair in a cruel mockery of the man he was. Three empty chairs sit beside him, each with ropes already wound around the backs, waiting.

Waiting for Monty, Leo, and Kody.

Anguish, madness, soul-rending terror—it suffocates me from within, crushing me breath by breath.

Rhett’s going to put them in those chairs. He’s going to kill them all, just like he killed the others.

And he’ll make me watch.

I can’t—I won’t survive that.

The panic consumes, winding tighter and tighter with every second. I try to fight it, try to focus on anything other than the image of my men, dead and cold. But the thoughts keep crashing into me, one after the other, leaving me gasping for air I can’t gulp.

Horror and helplessness strangle me, and there’s nothing I can do but silently cry.

Rhett circles the table, his footfalls slow and deliberate, ticking through the kitchen like a countdown to the end of everything I love. I feel the vibrations of each step through the wood beneath me, through my bones, as if he’s already started digging my grave.

My skin shudders, every nerve alight with fear as he comes around to my feet. I want to pull away, to kick him, to fight, but my body is useless. The only muscle that moves is my overworked heart.

His eyes roam over me, dark and hungry, and I know what’s coming before he grips my ankles. His fingers dig into my skin as he tugs me toward him with a sharp jerk that clacks my teeth.

The movement sends my arm sliding off the table, and it falls limply onto Wolf’s lap. The sight of my hand resting on the sleeve of his coat lodges a soundless scream in my unmoving throat.

The IV line connected to my hand pulls slightly, the fluid bag and portable pump on the table beside my hip. Seeing that clear liquid dripping steadily into my veins fills me with cold, helpless rage.

He’s drugged me, drugged me so I can’t fight, can’t resist, can’t do anything but lie here and endure whatever sick, twisted plans he has for me.

“I need you again,” he murmurs, his voice sickeningly soft, like a lover’s whisper.

There’s no love in what he does next.

Untying the sash on the robe, he spreads my legs, his hands rough and greedy.

I want to vomit. I want to die. I want to be anywhere but here.

He grunts as he enters me, using my body the way Denver did one year ago. Only this time, my suffering won’t save Wolf.

It won’t save Monty, Leo, or Kody.

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