Page 135 of Burn the Wild

It’s the phrase running through my head ever since I left her sleeping this morning. Just the reminder has white-hot rage sweeping my skin. Amping my pulse.

I grip the wrench in my hand and take my fury out on the Chevy’s carburetor, twisting the screws so tight I strip them.

She was a fucking kid. Her monster of a manager, someone who was supposed to protect her, strapped her to that fucking horse. Stole her innocence. Pushed her to that dark place and then took advantage of her in her most fragile state.

I want to fucking throttle every person that taught her she doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s first choice, that she doesn’t deserve to have freedom. Protection. Love.

It was abuse plain and simple.

Every molecule in my body aches to gut the bastard.

Now that I know her entire story, her past, her pain, there’s no chance in hell I’m letting that asshole get close to her again.

I’ll keep her safe, if it’s the last thing I fucking do.

My only consolation is that she’s almost out of her contract.

And then what? And then she’s gone?

It’s how it has to be.

Shaking the thought from my head, I blow out a breath. Toss the wrench in the toolbox.

An image of Reese’s distraught face, begging, asking,Am I broken, Ford? Am I a wreck?shreds my heart.

Absolutely the fuck not. Reese is strong.

Never broken.

She’s lived her entire life at eighty-five miles per hour. I want to show her that she can slow down. That she can put herself first. That she deserves love and peace and protection. Ever since she got here, that girl has been a scream in progress. I blame myself for taking this long to hear her.

She warned me about her past. Her dark hole. Last night, I saw fear in her face. She thought I’d leave once I saw every side of her, including the dark, but she doesn’t know that she’s my light.

I said she was mine. And I meant it. It wasn’t a slip of the tongue because of what she’s been through or a way to make her feel better. It’s the cold hard truth.

I don’t know what it means for us.

All I know is I’m fucking prepared to bulldoze every single wall she’s put up.

“You look like shit,” comes Wyatt’s amused voice.

I glance up, forcing my brain away from obsessing about Reese.

“Yeah, well, you ever have to track down a runaway country singer in the woods at midnight?”

Wyatt runs a hand down his scruffy jaw. “Heard about the dustup with you and Charlie.”

I slam the hood on the Chevy. “Me and Charlie will work it out.”

Wyatt grins. “Fists out in the cornfield?”

“Fuckin’ right.” Though I’m pissed at my brother, he’s the least of my worries. I clean my hands with a rag. “Let me ask you something. Fallon ever talk to you about what happened with Aiden King?”

“No.” His gaze shifts, past me to the ranch. “She can barely look at me.”

“She ever see a therapist or…”

“Like a shrink?” He makes a face. We’re cowboys. The only ones we tell our feelings to are the cows.

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