Page 108 of Hidden Memories

I press my lips to her hair, tightening my grip, holding the pieces together. Using all my might to keep her from breaking.

“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur, “I’ll always have you.”

She nods against my chest; her fingers clutch my shirt like I’m the only thing keeping her upright. The night is heavy with fear and fragile hope, but one thing is clear: Paul might have tried to tame her, might still believe he holds power over her—but he doesn’t.

Not anymore.

I tuck her tighter against me, but my eyes lift toward the tree line.

The fight settles deep in my bones, heavy and worn. But something else creeps up my spine—cold, hard, and sure as a loaded gun.

Paul was a reckoning we couldn’t outrun.

But the next one?

It’s already here.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

PRESENT

Moonlight seepsthrough the curtains of my bedroom in hazy streaks, bathing the room in a pale glow. The house has finally settled into a quiet rhythm.

Kat and I haven’t had a chance to talk because we came straight back to the house, trying like hell to pretend nothing earth-shattering just happened at the gate. We had domestic life to take care of. My worrywart dad was insistent upon knowing what’s wrong. There was a boy and two dogs to feed. Bedtimeroutine…

Then, I drew Kat a bath and told her to relax and let it drain from her system. I am more than happy to hold on to this coal of hate for Paul until it burns right through my palm, but I saw how much more complicated that pain is for Kat. She needed time to decompress. I could tell she was on the verge of tears all night.

Finally, floorboards creak down the hall. Tension coils tight in my chest. A knock follows—hesitant, yet certain.

“Come in,” I say, low and steady. My heart kicks harder than it should, but that’s what she does to me. Every damn time.

Kat steps inside, her silhouette a womanly hourglass. She’s wearing white pajama shorts and a camisole, along with an oversized cardigan that hangs off her shoulder seductively. Her bare legs are pale against the dim light. She closes the door soundlessly behind her, leaning back against it for a moment as if bracing herself.

“You’re early,” I say, referring to last night’s date we made for ten-thirty.

She shrugs casually, and her cardigan falls farther down her arm. “I figured we should talk before I fuck your brains out.”

My rough laugh softens the heaviness.I can see in her eyes it’s both the truth and that her humor hasn’t been lost in all of this.

She smiles, and it’s not the kind that says she’s here to talk. But it’s not quite the fucking one yet either.

I sit up straighter, patting the spot on the bed beside me. “Come here.”

She hesitates for a fraction of a second before crossing the room. When she sits, her proximity sends a warm pulse pounding in my boxer briefs.

She folds her legs beneath her, her thighs pressingtogether, that little slip of white fabric barely covering what’s mine.

“Do you think they’d kill us?”

The way she asks—calm, almost too real—sends a chill through me.

“I mean if they found us?”

I don’t answer.

By her expression, she already knows.

Her fingers fiddle with the knitted hem of her cardigan. “I keep picturing it,” she admits, “The way they’d do it. How easy it’d be.” She swallows. “The news always talks about how they make examples out of people.”

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