James

At the mere mention of the city she once called home, she suddenly pulls away and stands up. With her hands rubbing up and down her thighs nervously, and her eyes wide with panic she stares down at me with a look that’s reminiscent of her panic attack two days ago. 

We’re losing her, which is something we can’t afford. With the threat looming over us, time is of the essence. To get her to open up, she needs to feel safe, and the only way I know to do that is to slow things down a bit. If nothing else, to make up for the way I spoke to her earlier.

            “Ben, we need a second,” I say, muting the phone and taking it off speaker. He might be my boss, but I’m determined to be the only man who sees her through this. Keeping my palms visible and my movements slow, I approach her gently so as not to spook her. “Trust, remember? For the next few minutes, give me a little more of your trust, and I swear to God, I will take care of you. I’ll keep you safe.” 

Reaching for her, I tentatively place my hands on her shoulders and breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t flinch or pull away. “I know I failed you once, Annelly. But this time, I’m sticking it out. I promise. As long as you need me, I’m not going anywhere.”

What the fuck am I doing?

Making promises and pledging vows of commitment without setting clear boundaries? So much could be misinterpreted from what I just said, and it completely undermines my plans to create safe parameters around our friendship. Yet, what confuses me most is that the part of me that would usually balk at such declarations is eerily silent.  

When she hesitates, her eyes dropping nervously to my phone, I quickly reassure her. “He’s muted. He can’t hear us.”

She gives a small nod, her movements slow, and after a pause, she finally speaks. “What you’re asking—it’s not that simple.”

“I know.” 

Instinctually, my hands reach for hers in a move that catches me by surprise, but I don’t pull away. “I know, angel. I know you’re scared. Of what’s happening. Of whoever or whatever you’re running from. Of me. But you know me. You know what I do—my job, my purpose. Somewhere, deep down, you have to know that I would never let anything happen to you. Not just because it’s not in me to stand by while someone is hurt, but because I care about you, Annelly. Deeply.”

My chest tightens as I wrestle with the weight of my own words, with how dangerously close I am to crossing a line I swore I’d never cross. “I’m here because I want to be. Because I want to help you, protect you.” The words take care of you flicker in my mind, but I shove the thought aside before it can take root. “You’ll be safe with me, Annelly. I need you to trust in that.” Trust in me is really what I want to say, but I hold back, knowing that after all I’ve done, saying the words out loud may ultimately work against me.

For a moment, her posture softens. The tension in her shoulders eases just enough for me to see the slightest crack in her walls. When she offers a faint nod, I take it as a small but significant victory. Wasting no time, I lead her back to the couch and settle beside her. 

With a steadying breath, I unmute the phone. Ben’s voice filters back into the room, calm and purposeful as he takes over. He starts with questions about her time in New York City—the people she knew, the places she frequented, any connections that might exist between her and those we are investigating. Her answers are careful but honest, and as far as we can tell, there’s nothing that ties her to Zappalla’s world. 

As Ben and I agreed, we saved the questions related to Victor Bastille until the very end. By doing so, we hoped to piece together a connection between Zappalla and Bastille based on what she shared. But when that doesn’t happen, it becomes painfully clear we’re likely dealing with two separate issues. Zappalla is undoubtedly tied to Bastille, but Victor’s presence here in Ruby Creek? It’s personal. Whatever his reason, it has nothing to do with Zappalla—and everything to do with her.  

“You’re doing great,” I tell her, my voice soft but steady. With my thumb, I gently stroke the delicate skin of her hand, hoping the small gesture helps keep her grounded. “Now, we need to talk about Victor. Victor Bastille.”

The change in her is immediate. It rolls through her body like an earthquake—tense shoulders, trembling hands, wide, tear-filled eyes that betray a level of fear I haven’t seen since she collapsed in my arms at the diner.

When her breathing shifts to shallow, uneven gasps and her composure begins to crumble, it’s like I’m sixteen again, watching yet another person I care about be taken away from me. That helpless, gut-wrenching feeling rushes back with brutal clarity, clawing at me. My fight reflexes awaken, and the monster rises to the surface, ready to defend and annihilate whatever threat comes near her.

But I can’t unleash that rage. Not now. 

Gritting my teeth, I let out a slow, harsh breath, putting every ounce of my strength into containing the fury boiling beneath my skin before I end up doing something that might scare her. 

The time for fighting is coming… of that, I’m certain. 

But right now, the only thing that matters is getting to the truth, and the only way to do that is to be the man she needs. 

Her pillar of strength.

The warrior at her side.

The dependable friend I should have been from the start.

I glance down at the phone in my hand. “We’ll need to call you back,” I tell Ben, my voice leaving no room for argument as I disconnect the call before he can object.

Crouching in front of her, I link our hands together and then wait. I don’t push. I just sit there, silent and steady, giving her the space to find me in her own time. When she finally looks at me, the sheer devastation etched across her face damn near makes me explode with rage. 

Who could do this to her? 

Who could look at this woman and do anything but cherish her, protect her, move mountains to shield her from even a whisper of pain? The fury claws its way up, a wildfire consuming me from the inside, but then something unexpected happens.

Our gazes lock, and for a moment, she looks at me with such desperate vulnerability that it stops me cold. The anger—the monster that’s been raging for release—sinks back into the shadows, retreating to the farthest recesses of my soul to make room for the quieter, steadier part of me, that man who would do anything for her. The man who will always choose her over everything, even my own discomfort… my own wrath.

“Breathe for me, Annelly,” I whisper, my tone calm but insistent. “Like this.” 

I take slow, deliberate breaths, exaggerating each inhale and exhale as I encourage her to follow my lead. For a few agonizing seconds, I wonder if she’ll hear me through the chaos in her mind. But then, to my relief, she matches me, breath for breath. With each exhale, I watch the fear and anxiety slowly recede.

“He’s here for me, isn’t he?” Her voice is small, fragile, but determined. As she searches my eyes, a solitary tear slips down her cheek. She wipes it away with trembling fingers, doing everything she can to hold herself together. 

            “Angel…” My chest constricts at the feeling of helplessness that shrouds me. It’s a feeling I hate—loathe. A feeling that has me wanting to claw off my skin, but with her looking at me like this, like she’s trying so hard to trust me, I push through it. I won’t let her down. Not this time. “Yes,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “We think so. We’re just not sure why.”

“Oh God,” she breathes, launching to her feet so suddenly it catches me off guard. She moves past me before I can stop her, heading for the stairs. “I have to go. I have to get out of here.”

She’s halfway to the steps when I catch her, my hand gently wrapping around her arm. “No. No, Annelly.”

“You don’t understand,” she pleads, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation. Her fingers pull at mine, frantic to break free, as though her survival depends on it. “He wants me, James. I can’t let him take me. I can’t. I just can’t.” Her voice rises, the scream starting as anger, but unraveling into something far more raw. Desolation. Hopelessness. 

 I can’t take it anymore. Desperate to console her, to stop her spiral, I pull her into my arms as if my body alone could shield her from the storm raging inside her. 

 “It’s over. He’s done waiting, and he’s here to take me. He’s going to hurt me, James. Oh, God, he’s going to hurt me.” Her voice breaks, her sobs wracking her small frame as she collapses against me. Her fists cling to my shirt like I’m her only tether to safety, her face buried against my chest as though hiding from the world could somehow make it all go away.

The sheer intensity of her fear is suffocating and fuels the monster inside me. My body trembles with the overwhelming need to crush and destroy him—Victor Bastille. To break him into a million pieces as punishment for whatever he did to put this kind of fear into her.

“He won’t,” I vow, my voice a low, dangerous growl. “He can’t. Because I won’t let him. Do you hear me, Annelly? He won’t touch you. Not ever.” 

I feel the raw, primal edge of my words vibrating through my chest as I fight to contain the fury threatening to boil over. The monster is right there, flailing just under the surface of my skin, but the warmth of her body pressed against mine keeps it at bay. The way she clings to me, trembling and broken, reminds me that this moment isn’t about my anger or that dreaded feeling of helplessness—it’s about her. She needs me. And as long as she does, Victor Bastille can wait. 

“You don’t understand…” she sobs, her voice muffled against my chest. She shakes her head as if denying even the possibility of hope. 

“Look at me, angel.” Desperation laces my voice as I cradle her face in my hands, willing her to come back to me. To pull herself out of the storm she’s drowning in. Her tear-filled eyes, wide and brimming with anguish, finally meet mine, and the intensity of the connection that sparks between us nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. It’s electric. Grounding. Strong enough to somehow soothe us both. Slowly but surely, I see the panic begin to fade, piece by piece, as she settles under my gaze.  

“You’re safe with me, Annelly. I swear it. Keep your eyes on me and hear my words.” 

Her lips part in a shaky, breathless gasp, and something primal stirs inside me. The sound, so vulnerable, so raw, ignites a fierce need to protect her at all costs.   

“I will not let anything happen to you,” I vow, each word a solemn promise. “Now or ever.”

Her brows knit together as her lips tremble, and then she shakes her head, her voice barely a whisper. “You don’t get it—”

“No,” I cut her off gently but firmly. “You don’t get it. You have no idea what I’m capable of when it comes to protecting someone I care about. And I care about you, Annelly.” My tone is pleading… bordering on begging, but I don’t care. I need her to believe me. “I care about you, and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever let that man anywhere near you again. Not if this is how he makes you feel.”

“You can’t promise me that—”

“Wrong again,” I interject, my hands sliding from her cheeks to her jaw, my thumbs brushing softly against her skin as I tilt her head up. “I can.” My voice is unwavering as I guide her gaze to mine, making sure she sees the truth in my eyes. “Trust, remember? Can you give me a little more trust?”

One breath. Two breaths. Three. The silence stretches, her hesitation palpable. And then, finally, a whisper so soft it barely reaches my ears. “I’ll try.” 

It’s not a yes. Not the full trust I need. But it’s a start. It’s enough—for now. Until I can find a way to show her, to prove to her, that I will never, ever let her down again.

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