Page 90 of Her Remarkable Protector

Then, the shrill buzz of a phone shatters the charged silence. Damon growls, his jaw tightening, but after a moment of hesitation, he yanks the phone from his pocket and answers.

“Yeah?” His tone is short, irritated.

I watch him as he listens, his expression shifting from annoyance to something darker. Then, a smirk crawls across his face.

“You sure it’s her?” He pauses. “Well, take her!” he shouts into the phone with a half-laugh. “If she asks how? Tell that bitch, her man cracked. Say he couldn’t take the pain.”

A knot coils deep in my gut. “What the fuck, Stone!” I snap, my voice hoarse from the screaming.

He lowers the phone, letting his gaze rest on me. “That was Patch. You haven’t met him. Resourceful guy, that one. Turns out he’s found your Honor.” He pauses, savoring the words. “Somewhere in Canada. That sound about right?”

“No!” The word tears from me as I yank against the chains, the pain in my wrists drowned by the panic surging through me. “No! You’re lying!”

Damon chuckles, tapping the bat against his thigh. “While the rest of my men followed you south, Patch had the good sense to dig deeper. He poked around Kalispell, talked to a Mrs. Tucker-MacPhee. Apparently, she remembered telling a man that one of her foster girls trying to escape to Canada. The man was from some protection company. Big guy.”

The room spins as the realization crashes into me.No. No. No!

Damon laughs along with the rattling of chains above me. “What a waste of suffering.” He steps closer, leaning down so I can see the full extent of his twisted glee. “Don’t worry. She’ll be here soon.”

Then he strides out, the heavy door slamming shut behind him, leaving me with a couple of guards. Pain racks my body, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through my chest. I’ve failed. Failed Honor. Failed everything.

35

HONOR

I step out of the store after paying for the gas, the ding of the door chime fading behind me. Out of nowhere, I see it—the presence I’d dismissed as paranoia solidifies, stark and undeniable.

“Hello, Honor. Long time no see,” a familiar voice drawls from behind me. The cold press of metal nudges against my spine.

My jaw tightens. Damn it. Out of all the places, this deserted gas station had to be the perfect hunting ground. No witnesses. No working cameras—not that we’re standing anywhere near one. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I can say the same to you, Patch,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay.

Damon’s right-hand man isn’t here for snacks or small talk. And I have no doubt he’s come prepared to make this encounter as short and bloody as necessary.

“Walk,” he orders, shoving me forward.

I glance around the lot, but Patch knows the drill too well—one weapon out in the open to make his point, but I’d bet my Glock he’s strapped with more. Always is. Stoneborn Circle’s golden rule: come armed to the teeth.

“Don’t make a scene,” he mutters. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

His words cut deeper than the weapon digging into my back. What does Damon know? What does Patch know? Has he gotten to Laramie? Or Oakley?

He steers me toward the corner of the lot. His hands are all over me, patting me down.

“Still carrying this, huh?” he says, holding up my Glock with a smirk.

“Gotta protect myself from scumbags like you,” I bite back.

His grin widens, unbothered. “Move,” he snaps, shoving me toward his truck.

I stumble but don’t resist. Not yet. Not until I know exactly what I’m dealing with. My mind races, calculating, as I climb into the passenger seat.

“How the fuck did you find me?” I demand, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

Patch chuckles. “Huh. Damon called it. Said you’d ask that first thing.” He shifts in his seat, smug as ever. “Your man cracked. Pain’s a funny thing—it makes even the toughest guys fold.”

No. What have they done to Chase?

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