Page 21 of Comforted By The Mountain Man
"Nothing," Sierra says quickly, but she's already reaching for her purse. "I just remembered something I need to take care of."
It's a lie. A transparent one.But before I can question her further, she's standing, swaying slightly like her legs aren't quite steady.
"I'll drive you," I say, rising with her.
"No, I can walk. I just need some air."
Like hell.Whatever spooked her, she's not going anywhere alone. Not in this state.
"Ezra, we'll catch up on the numbers later," I say, already moving toward Sierra. "West, thanks for the tour."
My brothers exchange glances but don't argue. They've learned to read the signs when something's wrong, and right now, every instinct I have is screaming that Sierra's in danger.
I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. She doesn't pull away, but I can feel the tension radiating through her body. Outside, she takes a deep breath, but her eyes are still darting around the street like she's expecting an attack.
"What happened in there?" I ask once we're away from the bar.
"Nothing. I just felt dizzy for a second."
Another lie.This woman is terrible at deception, which should be reassuring except for the fact that she keeps trying to do it.
"Sierra." I step closer, forcing her to look at me. "I've been watching people my whole life. Reading body language and picking up on tells. Whatever just happened in there, it wasn't nothing."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. I can see the battle playing out on her face, the desire to trust warring with ingrained self-preservation.
"Someone was watching me," she finally admits, her voice barely audible.
My blood runs cold. "Who?"
"I don't know. I couldn't see them clearly. But I know what it feels like to be hunted, and that's what just happened."
Hunted.This isn't just paranoia or trauma response. Someone is actively pursuing her.
"We need to talk," I say. "Somewhere private."
She nods, still pale but some of the panic leaves her eyes now that we're away from the bar. I guide her down Main Street toward Rosetti's, the Italian place that's been a Hunter family favorite for decades. More importantly, it's the kind of place where Tony Rosetti will give us a private corner booth and make sure we're not disturbed.
The lunch crowd is light, and Tony greets me with the kind of warmth reserved for customers who've been coming here since they were kids. The restaurant is all warm brick walls and soft lighting, with checkered tablecloths and the smell of garlic bread hanging in the air.
He takes one look at Sierra's face and immediately ushers us to the back corner booth, the one tucked behind a decorative wooden screen painted with Italian vineyard scenes. It's completely hidden from the main dining room, our own little private alcove.
"You want the usual, Asher?" Tony asks, but his eyes are concerned as they flick to Sierra.
"Two of whatever's good today," I say. "And Tony? We need some privacy."
He nods, understanding immediately. "Of course. I'll make sure you're not bothered. The osso buco is excellent today, and I'll bring some of my wife's fresh bread to start."
Once we're alone, Sierra slumps back against the burgundy leather booth like all the fight has gone out of her. The dim lighting from the wrought iron wall sconces casts shadows across her face, but I can still see the exhaustion etched in every line.
"Tell me," I say simply.
She stares at her hands for a long moment. "Ryder's father was involved with a motorcycle club. Not the weekend warrior type. The real deal. Drugs, weapons, territory disputes. Bad people doing bad things."
My jaw tightens. I'd suspected something like this, but hearing it confirmed makes my protective instincts flare.
"You lived with them?"
"At their clubhouse. For five years." Her voice is flat, emotionless. "I was nineteen when I met Oscar. My father had just kicked me out for getting pregnant, and Oscar promised me safety. A home. A family."
