Page 22 of Bound to the Minotaur (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #2)

Kess

The truck rumbled back onto the pavement, and the trees peeled away like curtains, revealing the edge of town.

Hillcrest Hollow looked… still. Too still.

Not a soul on the sidewalks, not even lights on at the plumber’s store we’d visited or in the diner.

The only sign of life was the warm glow coming from the general store.

For a second, I thought I saw someone peer out from the upper window—a shadow shifting against the light—but it vanished before I could be sure.

The truck swerved down a narrower road, its tires crunching over gravel, past houses that looked more abandoned than lived in.

They pulled up to a cabin at the very edge of the town, the outskirts.

It was more like the ghost of a cabin. The stones along the dirt path were cracked and uneven, the fence crooked and leaning like it had given up years ago.

Moss clung to the siding, and the roof sagged in one corner, black with water stains.

The place looked tired, angry.

Two men flanked the door, rifles slung over their shoulders, eyes scanning.

They didn’t look at me, just reached in and hauled me out.

My feet hit the ground hard, and my knees nearly gave out.

The guy who’d caught me in the woods still had dried blood under his nose and claw marks on his chest. I hoped they stung.

His grip was bruising as he shoved me forward.

Just before we hit the porch, I caught movement; low, fast. A blur of silver-gray fur disappeared around the back corner.

Avis. I was sure of it. He was here, watching, waiting.

Good—that meant Gregory knew where I was, too.

I had to believe he was coming. Maybe the danger I was in meant Gregory knew even without Avis’s help, and there was no doubt: I was in serious danger.

They forced me inside. The house smelled like old tobacco and lemon polish.

The living room had been awkwardly staged, like someone had tried to dress it up for a photoshoot.

Fancy rugs were laid out on top of an uneven, unpolished hardwood floor with more scratches than smooth spots.

A high-backed chair—clearly expensive and wildly out of place—sat like a throne in the center of the room.

And in it: my father. Romano. The man who haunted half of New York with a smile.

He looked relaxed, one leg draped over the other, fingers steepled.

The gray in his dark blond hair was perfectly sculpted, his suit spotless despite the setting.

His bodyguards stood behind him, wide-shouldered, blank-eyed.

To his right stood a man I recognized from old family functions: Luca, his second.

All scars and slicked-back hair. He grinned at me like he was already unwrapping a wedding gift. My stomach turned.

“Kestrel,” my father said, his voice like velvet draped over a knife. “You look well.” As if we were at a family reunion, exchanging pleasantries. Next, he’d ask me how I was doing, like he didn’t already know. I didn’t respond.

“You’re coming home. We’ll have the wedding next week—Luca’s waited long enough.

Haven’t you, son?” So he skipped right past the fake pleasantries and straight to the stick, the punishment.

The fate I’d known was hanging over my head all this time, one I could not put off much longer. And so, I’d run.

“Long enough,” Luca said, that grin twisting.

“She’s a peach.” The scar at the corner of his mouth made his grin tilt strangely upward, crooked, like the crook that he was.

Darkness coiled in his eyes—eyes that spoke of possession, of avarice, and nothing of the warm, passionate feelings that go with love.

“I’d rather stay here,” I said, forcing the words past my dry mouth.

“With Gregory.” I knew what to look for in a man now—how one should treat me—and I was never going back.

Never falling in line, even at the cost I knew I’d pay for defying him.

I didn’t know whether I wanted my minotaur to hurry or to stay away.

Still didn’t know if he was hurt or not, but I did know that he would come if he could, because that was the kind of man he was.

Romano’s smile didn’t falter, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not one of your options. You know better.

” He gestured casually toward the floor, beneath it.

“You’d rather be six feet under?” I swallowed the lump of panic in my throat.

My heart pounded like it wanted out of my chest. I knew he’d utter the threat, knew he’d expect me to fall in line, like I always would.

A shift against the wall caught my eye. A man I hadn’t seen before.

Tall. Handsome in a shadowed sort of way, with olive-toned skin, dark hair swept back neatly, and a sharp pinstripe suit, like something out of a noir film.

He didn’t speak or move, he just watched.

I didn’t know who he was, but he didn’t look like the others.

Before I could ask—

Knock, knock.

Three sharp raps echoed against the door.

Everyone stilled. Romano raised his eyebrows slightly.

One of his men moved toward the front. “Who is it?” he barked, strong and clear, demanding answers from this unseen intrusion.

A deep furrow of distaste sat on my father’s face, anger that he’d been interrupted.

“This is Sheriff Jackson,” came the answer.

“We got a call about a disturbance. We’re here to check things out.

” I looked at the door, heart thudding. My fingers clenched into fists.

Romano’s lips pressed into a thin line, not from fear, but irritation.

His little town play had just been interrupted, and he really didn’t like that.

His bodyguard looked to him, awaiting orders.

Romano’s nostrils flared. He didn’t move at first, didn’t blink, just stared at the door like it had personally offended him. Then, slowly, he shifted in his seat, spine straightening like a cobra rearing to strike. “Do not let him in.”

The goon at the door didn’t hesitate. “We’re all good here, Sheriff. You can head on back.” He even settled his shoulder against the warped door panel, as if he intended to physically keep the sheriff on the other side out.

But this man, Jackson, didn’t leave. “Afraid I need a visual. Protocol and all that,” he called, casual as anything.

I could almost see the shrug in his voice.

That was brazen, or it was stupid, but if he was anything like Gregory…

maybe he had something extra up his sleeve that gave him that kind of casual confidence.

My pulse beat against my ribs like a war drum. Romano didn’t look at me, but I felt the air tighten around him, the invisible weight of authority clamping down. He didn’t like being challenged, and Jackson had just lit a fuse.

I edged back half a step and felt the press of cold steel against my spine.

“Don’t,” Luca whispered beside me, breath hot near my ear.

I hadn’t even seen him move. His fingers curled over the pistol resting just beneath my ribs.

“Smile for the sheriff, bella. We wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

” His eyes glinted, and something flickered there, brief and reptilian. Serpentine. My skin crawled.

A hiss from the window caught my attention, and I tilted my head away from Luca with relief.

It was Avis. Perched on the sill like some judgmental gargoyle, his silver-gray fur fluffed against the breeze, blue eyes sharp.

Watching. Waiting. My heart surged. He was alive.

That meant Gregory knew. That meant I wasn’t as alone as I felt in that moment.

The man at the door—massive, blank-eyed—looked back at Romano one more time. A silent question. When my father gave the faintest nod, he straightened away from the door and pulled it open with a creak.

Sheriff Jackson strolled in like he owned the place, his boots dusty and worn, badge gleaming, posture relaxed.

His gaze swept the room like it was all perfectly normal.

“Evenin’,” he said with a tight smile. “Sorry to bother y’all.

Got a call about some gunfire out in the woods, just wanted to check it wasn’t anything… untoward.”

He was too calm. Too practiced. The kind of calm you wore only when you knew you were already in the lion’s den and had to pretend you’d brought the tranquilizer gun.

Then he saw the man in the pinstriped suit against the back wall. His stride faltered—just for a second—as his gaze landed on the olive complexion of the man’s face. I saw it. That flicker of recognition. Of surprise. Jackson recovered quickly and cleared his throat.

“Didn’t know we had visitors from out of town,” he said mildly, nodding toward the unknown man who remained perfectly still, hands folded before him like a model in a funeral ad; watching. It was clearly a question meant to fish for answers, the sheriff’s curiosity fully piqued.

“Old family friend,” Romano said smoothly, his voice like silk over steel. “Private gathering. Nothing to concern the law.” It was a sharp cutoff from further questions, his expression closed to discourage the curious gaze of the invading officer.

Jackson’s eyes ticked to me then—just a glance, then a wink. Fast enough that I almost thought I imagined it. Then, with a smile still in place, he tipped his hat and turned back toward the door. “Well, I can see everything’s fine here. Apologies for the interruption.”

My breath caught in my chest when he turned, his uniform stretched tight over his shoulders.

I hadn’t expected him to acquiesce like that, to just leave.

But there he went, without another backward glance, striding from the derelict cabin like there was nothing wrong at all.

Hadn’t he seen the gun prodding into my ribs or the way Luca was holding my arm so tight it made my fingers tingle?

The door closed behind him with a soft snick, and I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or cry. That wink; was it reassurance? A plan? Or just a bluff to keep me alive long enough to make one?

My father’s hand slammed down on the armrest of his chair, making me jump.

“You will end this farce.” He rose, and the space between us vanished in two quick strides.

His hand seized my upper arm, his grip bruising; a mirror of the grip Luca still had on my other arm.

“You will stop pretending you have a choice. You are my daughter, and you will do what is required of you.”

His face was inches from mine now, his breath sour with coffee and rage. My voice locked behind my teeth. I didn’t want him to see me break. I didn’t want him to know how much he scared me and how much I loathed what he had become since my mother died when I was little.

A rustle of fabric. That man again, the stranger in the pinstriped suit. He moved with the unbothered grace of a jungle cat as he stepped away from the wall. “Romano,” he said, his voice light, almost bored. “I came here to discuss business, not to watch a domestic spat.”

Romano’s jaw clenched. He didn’t let go of my arm, not yet.

He smiled at his guest, but his eyes stayed cold as ice.

“You forget yourself, Kiran. Or perhaps you forget whom you asked to assist you.” The air in the room changed, tightened like a string pulled taut between them.

“We all have our roles to play. Let’s not waste my time. ”

For a second, I thought Romano might actually raise his hand and hit him, this Kiran.

From the look in the guy’s amber eyes, he saw it too, almost relished it.

But instead, my father released me, sharp and sudden, like I’d burned his hand.

He stepped back, smoothing the front of his suit, like that would restore order.

Luca’s gun vanished, tucked away again with slow menace, but my skin still felt the ghost of it.

Inside me, something had shifted. There was a ray of hope now, a crack in their control.

A breath of space. And with Jackson gone, Avis watching, and Gregory somewhere out there, I knew the game was far from over.

They thought they had me cornered, but I wasn’t done yet.

I just needed to stay on the lookout for my opening, and then I’d leap at the first chance.

My dad didn’t realize that I had allies here, that Gregory wasn’t your average man.

The maze had only proven that to me. All I needed to do was stall.

Locking eyes with the stranger, Kiran, I saw something in his tigerite eyes that made me wonder if I did have another ally right here.

But that might be wishful thinking on my part; he had to be criminally connected, or he wouldn’t be here with my father, after all.

I couldn’t trust him, but I could trust Avis, and I’d just seen the cat shimmy his way through a cracked windowpane.

Now he was inside with me. Yes, things were going to work out; I just needed to hold on.