Page 13 of Lone Wolf in Lights
“Everyone, this is Sally. She’s doing a story in theGazetteabout Empowerment Elves,” Willow announced, gesturing toward the reporter with an affectionate smile.
“Hi, Sally!” chorused the Empowerment Elves, each member radiating a mix of excitement and curiosity.
“Can’t wait to see what you all create,” Sally responded.
“Let’s get started, then,” Willow declared.
As the women gathered around the tables, the room pulsed with an electric enthusiasm, and Willow turned to Sally. “Thank you for telling our story and getting the word out there. It matters more than you know.”
“Thank Eli.” Sally gave a knowing grin. “This was all him.”
Willow just smiled, but those guards protecting her heart shattered a little.
Hours zoomed by as the craft group finished up. Sally left, then everyone else did too.
The sun had set hours ago, and The Naked Moose pulsed with life, along with the strum of Gunner’s guitar. On stage, Gunner sat on a stool with a microphone in front of him, his fingers dancing over the strings, weaving melodies that wrapped around the bar like a warm embrace. His voice was rich and low, and set hearts on fire, given all the women staring at him with love in their eyes. Willow still found it hard to believe his record label had told him to leave Nashville to write new music. She thought his old music was better than anything she’d heard, even if she wasn’t a huge country music lover.
She watched from behind the bar, the soft glow of the neon lights behind her as she poured another round of drinks. The hum of conversations and laughter mixed with the music made her smile, regardless of the comment still remaining heavy on her mind.
Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. She moved with practiced ease, her eyes scanning the crowd for empty glasses and signals for refills.
The atmosphere was infectious, even to her, who had seen countless nights just like this one. Yet, there was something invigorating about the way people came together under their bar—strangers becoming friends, worries dissolving away.
Gunner’s voice suddenly silenced as did the strings of his guitar. His blond hair fell into his eyes as he grinned, his charm palpable even from across the room. She couldn’t help but laugh. The ladies loved Gunner.
Except for Aubrey.
He seemed to get right under her skin. And Willow hadn’t quite figured that one out yet. Aubrey barely acknowledged his existence. Willow figured Aubrey was about as done with men as Willow was.
Right then, her cell vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans. She lifted the cell phone, a sense of cold fingers wrapping around her spine.
“Willow, we need more whiskey at table nine,” called Aubrey, but her voice seemed distant, muffled by the sudden rush of blood in her ears.
With a flick of her thumb, she unlocked the screen, and her breath caught as she realized she hadn’t read the text wrong. Stark against the backlight, words formed a jagged sentence, a venomous message that branded itself onto her mind:Keep telling your lies, bitch!
For a moment, time stopped. Her grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening as she read the text again, hoping she had somehow misread it. But the hateful words remained unchanged, their threat echoing in the hollow of her chest—they knew her phone number.
Her pulse hammered in her temples as dread unfurled within her. Her eyes darted across the bar, searching for a sign, any clue that might reveal the identity of the sender. Could it be Niko? Her stomach twisted at the thought. He had every reason to hate her, every reason to destroy her from behind bars. Or was someone in town screwing with her?
She scanned the faces in the crowd, scrutinizing each one. Laughter erupted near the pool tables and couples swayed to Gunner’s voice. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Panic began clawing at her insides. It had been long months since she last felt this level of fear, months since she fought tooth and nail to put Niko away and protect herself from his violent interpretation of love. And now, with a single message, those walls she’d meticulously built seemed to crumble when suddenly, her gaze snagged on a pair of piercing eyes that cut through the chaos.
Eli’s rugged features etched with concern. His gaze held hers and held fast. In that steady gaze, she found something unexpected—relief.
He navigated the crowd with determined strides, a path clearing before him as if the crowd sensed the urgency emanating from him.
She felt the warmth of his calloused hand before she saw it, the touch grounding her. “Eli,” she whispered.
“Come with me.” His words were gentle but insistent. Without waiting for her response, he wrapped his fingers around hers, firm and reassuring.
Eli led her through the throng of people, every step away from the stage where Gunner still sang a country ballad. Her hand trembled within his grasp, yet the strength of his hold promised safety, as confusing as that was.
His hand was a lifeline as he led Willow out the back door to the alleyway’s far end, away from prying eyes and too-close walls. The night air, crisp and cool, brushed against her hot skin.
“Willow,” Eli said softly, as he flipped over a milk crate and helped her sit on it. “Breathe with me, deep and slow.”
She obeyed, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. She followed the rise and fall of his chest, calming the erratic pulse that hammered at her temples.
