Page 8 of Mountain Man Grinch
Smart. Instinctive. Exactly what she should’ve done. Still, I have to ask, “Why’d you call it in? Stick your neck out?”
She looks flabbergasted by the question. “Where I come from, people look out for each other. McGregors don’t turn a blind eye.”
My jaw ticks. Her words mean more to me than I’m willing to admit.
“And later,” she whispers, “a detective called me. They checked the truck.”
Every muscle in my body goes still.
“They found kids.” Her voice splinters. “Children. Locked inside. Cold. Terrified. And those men?—”
Her throat closes.
The air between us crackles.
“Your cousin said they still haven’t been apprehended,” I say, voice dropping an octave.
She shrugs. “By the time the police arrived, they had vanished. But now…” She tries to keep it together, blinking hard. “After this morning, I know they’re still after me.”
My gut clenches. Cartel, like McGregor alluded to when he asked me to protect Arielle.
I feel it all at once. The cold. The rage. The primal, bone-deep instinct to tear someone apart.
Those bastards saw her. Saw her noticing them. And now they’re hunting her for doing the right damn thing.
“Arielle.” My voice comes out rough. “Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes, wet and shining, and that’s it.
That’s the moment I snap clean in half.
“I don’t regret calling,” she says, trembling. “Not for one second. I just … didn’t think they’d come after me.”
Gus whines.
She curls around him like she’s bracing for impact.
And I move.
No hesitation. No distance. No armor.
Sitting on the couch, I reach for her, hand closing over her shoulder, pulling her gently into my chest.
She stiffens, then breaks, sobbing into my shirt.
Her body is soft and shaking.
My hand curves around the back of her head before I can stop it.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, voice low, dangerous. “They won’t touch you. Not again. Not while I’m breathing.”
And in the back of my mind, a darker truth settles in.
For the first time in years, I want to protect someone for reasons that have nothing to do with orders. And everything to do withher.
She folds into me like she’s been holding herself together with twine and hope.
Small. Warm. Trembling.
