Page 56 of Trapped and Tackled

“Dude,” Keller murmurs.

Sighing, as if annoyed, Talon loosens his grip. “Look at her again and I’ll fucking end you.” It’s not just a warning, it’s a promise. “Speak to her again? I’ll draw the process out and make it fucking hurt.” And as Talon shifts to his feet and Toby sucks in a lungful of air, everyone in the room knows it.

Keller looks at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say shakily. Adrenaline pools in my mouth and fear shudders through my limbs.

The sound of a bottle of scotch hitting the wall rumbles through my mind.

The skin along my collarbone sears.

The heavy weight of Craig’s hand on the back of my neck holds me hostage.

“I’m going to take her home,” Keller explains, reaching for his cousin and pulling me from my thoughts.

Marlowe lets Keller support her. She leans on him like a child, nearly clinging to his arm for security.

“I want her to get a good night’s sleep and wake up in a familiar place, with family,” Keller continues.

“Yeah,” I agree, frowning. “She can come home with me.”

Keller’s eyes hold mine. Years of friendship allow me to understand the gravity of the situation, the concern in his irises. “I know, Len. But she’ll have questions, so many questions. And knowing my mom, she’ll have answers.”

“Right,” I murmur. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope. I got her.” Keller scoops Marlowe up. She buries her face in his chest, and I run a hand through her hair.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mar. I love you,” I tell her.

Her eyes flicker to mine and a spark of recognition floods her gaze. “Leni.”

It’s all she says before Keller carries her from the room.

A cold breeze sweeps through with their departure. The door closes behind them and a heaviness—a hot, angry, disbelieving ribbon of tension—settles over the space.

Feeling the wind leave my sails, I plop back down on the edge of the bed.

Talon stands in the corner of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest, his stance wide and imposing. And his eyes—those gray, thundercloud, too-observant irises—are trained on me.

My shoulders slump and I pull in a breath, wondering what I say now.

Before I decide, Talon pushes off the wall and strides toward me. “We’re leaving,” he says, decisively.

The tension breaks and confusion pours in. We are?

He holds out his hand, pulls me up, and leads me from the room.

Apparently, we are. I turn my thoughts off and follow Talon, knowing he’ll keep me safe. I trust him.

I barely clock the surprised expressions of the partygoers as Talon leads me out of the lake house. I don’t fully inhale or blink or understand anything unfolding around me until I’m settled in the passenger seat of Talon’s ride.

He reaches over me, clicking in my seat belt, and places my purse in my lap. Where did he find it?

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, smoothing my hair back from my forehead and dropping a kiss there.

I gasp, looking up at him, but he’s already jogging back into the house. He emerges a few minutes later with our weekender bags slung over his shoulders.

He stows them in the trunk, slides behind the wheel, backs out of the driveway, and reaches over the center console.

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