Page 55 of Protected By the Mountain Man

“Yeah,” Gabe said, his voice gruff. “I'm not drunk. Had one beer hours ago.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking at me then away. “Can't believe I lost it like that…saw his hands on you and?—”

“Stop. Don't. Just don't.”

His eyes searched mine, a plea forming on his lips. “Kat, I?—”

“Save it,” I snapped. “You don't get to use me as your excuse. Your fists? That's all you.”

“Kat, that's not what I meant. Let me just?—”

“Take me home, Gabe,” I said. “Now.”

We got into his truck without another word. The silence between us was like a dead zone, thick enough to choke on. He didn't try to talk, and neither did I. My gaze was locked on the darkened landscape rolling past the window, but all I could see was another time, another place—Ben in a hospital bed, his face a map of pain and bruises.

I could feel the echo of that old anger rising up again, mixing with the fear and the bitter taste of disappointment. Here I was, stuck in a car with a man who was supposed to be different, supposed to be better. But men like Gabe…they never change, do they?

“Are you going to say anything?” The words spilled out. I couldn't help it. The silence was killing me.

He kept his eyes on the road, knuckles white against the steering wheel. “What can I even say? I fucked up.”

I turned away from him, biting down on my lip hard enough to taste blood. I wanted to scream. To let out this swirling storm inside me. It was terrifying to see that side of him again—the side that could erupt into violence without warning.

I remembered Ben's bruised face ten years ago and felt a shiver of fear.

I needed to talk to Gabe…to tell this man who had become my protector that we had to figure this out.

But before I could wrestle my thoughts into something coherent, the quiet was shattered by the roar of an engine. My eyes darted to the side mirror, catching the blinding glare of headlights bearing down on us. I winced, a hand flying up instinctively to shield my vision.

“Damn it,” Gabe growled, squinting through the rear window. “What's with people not turning their damn brights off?”

The car surged closer. Its engine revved, a loud, aggressive grumble. I couldn’t even see what kind of car it was, their lights were so bright.

“Seriously?” Gabe muttered, and hit the hazards—permission for them to pass. Instead, the other driver stuck to our bumper, relentless. The engine roared again, louder this time, and the car inched even closer.

“Go around!” Gabe snapped, voice laced with frustration as he tapped the brakes, signaling our unwelcome guest to take the hint.

But they didn't.

“Jesus, what's their deal?” I asked, my voice tight with anxiety as I glanced over at Gabe. His jaw was set, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he kept his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror.

“I don't know, but I don't fucking like it,” he replied. “Make sure your seatbelt's on.”

It was a good thing I’d already buckled up—because suddenly, with no signal, the car behind us swerved out from behind, accelerating rapidly alongside us.

“Look out!” I yelled, gripping the door handle as the car veered dangerously close.

“Son of a bitch!” Gabe swore under his breath, maneuvering our vehicle away, narrowly avoiding a collision.

But the other driver wasn't backing off.

“Are they trying to run us off the road?” I shouted over the roar of both engines.

“Looks like it.”

“Who does that? Who just tries to—” My question died in my throat as the car jerked towards us again, its tires screeching.

“Hold on!” Gabe commanded. He floored the accelerator, the truck leaping forward.

I clung to my seat, heart racing, eyes glued to the glare of the other car's headlights as they weaved back and forth, trying to unnerve Gabe, to push us into making a mistake.

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