Page 1 of Liberated Mountain Man

Prologue

Jax

She’s crying, and I’m ready to burn the world to the ground to make it stop.

She’s sitting at the bottom of the garden, a tiny thing with golden hair that catches the sunlight just right. Even from this distance, I can tell she’s crying. Her shoulders shake with each sob, and it twists something deep in my chest, something I don’t fully understand yet. But I know this—I don’t like seeing her cry.

I step closer, careful not to make too much noise. I’m not even supposed to be here. My dad is inside the house, talking business with hers, and he’s told me a hundred times to stay out of the way. But I can’t—not when she’s sitting here, looking so small and sad beneath the cedar trees.

I’ve seen her sit here before, breathing in the scent of the cedar trees like it brings her comfort. But now, there’s no comfort in her tears. Today, it’s different. She’s alone. She’s hurting.

In my pocket, I feel the smooth weight of the cedar leaves I picked earlier. I thought maybe they’d help, like they always seem to for her. I don’t know why I care so much, but I do.

“Hey,” I say, crouching down beside her. My voice comes out softer than I expect, like I’m afraid of scaring her off.

She jumps a little, looking up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. Big and blue, they’re the kind of eyes that make you want to fix everything. But there’s something else there too—fear. I hate that. I hate that she’s scared, and I hate even more that I might be part of the reason.

“Don’t cry,” I say, pulling the cedar leaves from my pocket. “Here, I thought you might like these.”

She blinks at the leaves in my hand, hesitating before taking them. Her fingers brush mine as she holds them close, her little nose sniffing the leaves like they’re something precious.

“They smell nice, I love the smell,” she whispers.

I sit beside her, watching her hold on to the leaves like they’re the only thing grounding her. Her lips tremble, and she presses her face into her knees, trying to stifle the sobs.

“What happened?” I ask gently.

For a second, she doesn’t answer. Then, through a shaky breath, she finally speaks.

“I wanted to go to the park,” she whispers. “To play with the other kids. But my dad said no. He always says no.” Her voice cracks, breaking under the weight of her words. “He never lets me go anywhere.”

The quiet confession hits me like a punch to the gut. She’s just a kid. She should be able to run around and play with other kids. But instead, she’s trapped here, in this beautiful, cold garden, like some kind of prisoner.

“That’s not fair,” I mutter, anger rising in my chest. “You should be able to go to the park.”

She sniffles and looks down at her lap. “My stepmom says I cry too much,” she says quietly. “She says I’m weak.”

Weak? The word burns in my ears. How could anyone say that to her? She looks so small, so fragile, but there’s something in her, something strong she doesn’t even realize is there.

“You’re not weak,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady even though I feel like I’m about to burst with anger. “Crying doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’re strong enough to feel.”

Her big blue eyes lock onto mine like she’s trying to believe what I’m saying. For a moment, the tears stop, and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

“What’s your name?” she asks, her voice still shaky but a little stronger.

“Jax,” I say. “Jax Regent. My dad’s inside, talking to your dad.”

“I’m Cassie,” she whispers. “I’m not allowed to go far.”

There it is again. That acceptance, like she’s resigned to her life here, like being trapped is just part of it. The house, the garden—they’re her entire world, and it’s not fair. She should be able to play, to live.

Free.

“I brought this too,” I say, pulling out the small plastic bag with the Honeycrisp apple slices my mom packed for me. “Do you like apples?”

Her eyes brighten, just for a second. “I love apples,” she whispers, taking the slices carefully. She bites into one, and for a moment, she looks like a normal, happy kid. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile, and it does something to me. I feel like I’ve done something right for once.

But then, my dad’s voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and angry.

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