Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Banks nods once, keeping his eyes on the winding road ahead. “He owns Halo Protective Group. High-end contracts, mostly corporate and high-net-worth. I took the assignment because it overlapped with something personal my brothers and I are working on. But after today?” He turns his head just enough to meet my gaze, those gray-blue eyes serious and warm in the glow of the dashboard lights. “Keeping you safe stopped being just a job the second you spilled that ridiculous vanilla oat milk all over me.”
I let out a shaky laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob. “Great. My meet-cute is officially a protection contract with a side of attempted murder. My romcom brain is filing a formal complaint and demanding a refund on the butterflies.”
He doesn’t laugh, but his right hand reaches over the center console and squeezes my knee for a long, steady second. His palm is warm, calloused, and grounding in a way that sends a flutter through my chest despite the fear still churning in my stomach. It helps more than it probably should.
The highway gradually narrows into smaller two-lane roads, then into twisting mountain paths lined with thick, towering pines that loom like silent guardians on either side. The sun sets, bringing up the moon over the treeline. The air grows noticeably cooler through the vents, carrying the rich scent of damp earth, moss, and forest. I crack my window just a little and breathe it in, letting the wild smell chase away some of the city panic still clinging to my skin. After what feels like forever but is probably only another hour or two, Banks turns onto a narrow dirt lane almost completely hidden by overgrown brush and low-hanging branches. The truck bumps and jostles gently along the uneven path until a small cabin appears between the trees, dark and perfectly tucked away like it was built specifically to disappear from the world.
He parks, kills the lights, and sits for a long moment, scanning the surrounding woods with intense focus before finally nodding. “We’re clear.”
I step out on shaky legs, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my arms. The cabin is rustic but solidly built, with a wide front porch wrapped in sturdy railings and windows that reflect the silvery moonlight like quiet eyes. Banks grabs both our bags with effortless strength, unlocks the heavy wooden door with a key from his pocket, and does a quick, professional sweep inside, moving room to room with quiet efficiency before waving me in.
It’s surprisingly cozy inside. Warm hardwood floors stretch across the open living area. A big stone fireplace dominates one wall, already stacked with kindling and logs ready to go. A compact kitchen is tucked into one corner with basic appliances and a small table. Down a narrow hallway there’s a bedroom. Someone had clearly stocked the place recently. Fresh towels sit folded on a side table, shelves hold canned goods and non-perishables, and there’s even a neat stack of soft blankets on the oversized couch.
I stand in the middle of the living room, hugging myself tightly, suddenly freezing even though the night air is not that cold. The reality of everything crashes over me again in a heavy wave.
Banks locks the door behind us with a solid click, sets the bags down, and turns to face me fully. “We’re safe here tonight. No one followed us. I’ll set perimeter alarms and motion sensors in a minute.”
I nod, but my eyes are stinging with unshed tears. “They really tried to kill me. In the middle of the day. Over spreadsheets and bank transfers and stupid whistleblower stuff that I probably should’ve left buried in my hard drive.”
He crosses the room in two long strides and pulls me into his chest without asking. His arms wrap around me, strong and warm and incredibly steady. He smells like pine, faint traces of the forest, and the faintest sweet hint of that spilled oat milk still clinging to his ruined shirt. I bury my face against him and let myself shake, all the fear and adrenaline pouring out in silent tremors.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs quietly against my hair, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back. “My brothers are out there working other angles. Vance is pulling every string he has. And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I tilt my head back to look up at him, my chin resting against his chest. He’s watching me with that intense, focused gaze that makes my knees feel unreliable and my heart do stupid little flips. “You have brothers who sound scary competent. And a mysterious dad situation. And you still stopped in the middle of all that chaos to let me ramble about soup disasters right before someone tried to murder me in a scarf shop.”
A real smile finally breaks through on his face, small but absolutely devastating in its gentleness. “Best decision I’ve made all week.”