Page 27

27

HONOR

Back in Montana, Chase pulls up to a quiet, secluded house. I’ve been trying to shake the memory of yesterday’s fiasco—the nausea, the grilled mahi mahi lingering like regret in my stomach. The fish didn’t remind me of Dad, the herbs didn’t remind me of Mom’s cooking. It was the whole thing! Being with Chase on Santa Sophia was nothing like I’d imagined.

“This is our safe house for now,” he announces.

“We have separate bedrooms, I presume?” I say, stepping out of the car.

Chase slams the door harder than necessary. “Separate rooms? At my mother’s, Honor, you’d have had your own damn cottage. But you asked me to stay with you. You. Asked. Me.”

My cheeks burn. “I know what I asked for, Chase. I wanted it, okay? I wanted you. To feel you. To—dammit—to fuck you! But that’s all it was.”

His laugh is jarring. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ve been through ambushes that stung less.”

I cross my arms, refusing to back down. “I never made you any promises.”

“No, you didn’t. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” His words are like a lash, biting. “No promises, no guilt. You’re not responsible for anything. But don’t stand there and lie to my face. You wanted me. You loved me. Hell, you still do!”

I flinch, but I recover quickly. “I don’t love you, Chase. I never did.”

His expression hardens, and for a moment, the air between us feels like it could split. “That’s a lie, and we both know it,” he says, his voice low but vibrating with conviction. “But fine. Let’s call it what you want—a mistake. Just don’t insult me by pretending you didn’t feel a damn thing.”

Laramie’s cries pierce the quiet as Chase swings the door open for us. Without a glance his way, I stride to the first bedroom I see, cradling her close. I don’t care if Chase had plans for this room—it’s mine now.

“Shh, baby, don’t cry. Momma’s here,” I murmur, swaying gently as her tiny fists grab at my shirt. Her sobs tear at me, raw and unrelenting, echoing how I feel inside.

My life is a collection of boxes, stacked and tucked away. I’ve emptied so many over the years, shredded their contents, but one refuses to budge—the one that holds the truth. Chase Samson, the killer. No matter how much I pretend otherwise, it’s still there. And I have to destroy him before I can do anything else.

Laramie’s cries hitch, a shuddering sound that feels ominous. Maybe it’s this new place unsettling her, or maybe she can sense it—sense me. Sense what’s coming.

Chase appears in the doorway, dropping my bag and Laramie’s things at my feet without a word. His jaw is tight, his eyes unreadable as they flick toward me, then away. He walks off, his footsteps retreating down the hall, leaving silence in his wake.

It takes an hour—an eternity—before Laramie finally calms, her tiny body slack in. Gently, I lay her on the bed.

The house feels oppressive, the walls pressing closer. I hear the faint sound of running water. Chase is in the shower.

I don’t think. I just move. It’s ironic. The bag he just set down like a final offering contains the very thing that will end him.

I carefully push the bathroom door open.

Steam clings to the shower glass, swirling out in lazy wisps, blurring the defined lines of his silhouette. The water is off, but the heat lingers. His shoulders are tense, his head bowed, a quiet groan escaping him. Is it relief? Frustration? Anger? I can’t tell.

And yet, I can’t look away.

As soon as he opens the shower door, I straighten my arms, my Glock in hand. A wave of humid air pushes between my skin and the cold metal, trying to sway my resolve.

“Honor? What is this?” Chase stands before me, staring in disbelief. His flawless form glistens with droplets of water. Naked. Magnificent. His semi-hard cock juts out from between his powerful thighs, a maddening display of his masculinity.

Even in this moment when I’m poised to end his life, I can’t help but appreciate the sheer beauty of this man.

But this moment has been coming, it’s time he appreciates who I really am. “Look at me, Chase.”

“So, not only have you played me, now you’re betraying me too?” He steps out of the shower, the steam parting like a curtain to reveal him, primal and furious. His gaze burns, but beneath the rage, I see something deeper. So this is what Chase Samson looks like when he’s broken.

“Not another step,” I snap, holding my ground.

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “My God, Honor,” he says, his voice heavy with disbelief. “You’ve been pretending—pretending to need me, to be hopeless—and all the while, you were on his side?”

I growl. “I was never needy, Chase. Never. But I was on your side—for a time.”

“For a time?” He laughs, harsh and bitter. “You love him, don’t you? Damon Stone?”

“No.”

“Bullshit,” he spits. He steps closer, ignoring my warning. “I know his type. The charmer. Comes off all smooth and tame, purring like a house cat—until the claws come out.”

I meet his glare head-on, refusing to back down. “I know exactly where his claws are, Chase,” I counter. “I fucked him only to get to you, if you must know!”

His eyes narrow in rage. “Now you want to kill me for him ?”

“I’m killing you for me.”

“What have I done to you, Honor?”

I shake my head slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on him. “You shouldn’t have left any witnesses, Chase.”

His face slackens, a violent shift as if the weight of the revelation is dragging him down. “My God… you’re that little girl?”

“That little girl has a name,” I snap, my voice like a blade. “Her father had a name. Her mother had a name.”

He staggers back, his expression collapsing into something hopeless. Leaning heavily against the shower panel, he whispers, “Honor… it was you?” The words come out fragile, like they might shatter midair. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

I scoff. “Yeah, you said it then, too. Innocent people don’t say sorry. You killed my father.”

“I’m not innocent,” he says, his voice trembling, “but I didn’t kill your father. I swear it, Honor.”

I step closer. “You could’ve shot Stone instead of my dad! You made your choice.”

“Honor, I swear, it wasn’t me. Bomber shot him. Bomber, I mean?—”

“I know who Bomber was, Chase,” I cut him off. “I remember every single word you three said back then.”

He exhales shakily. “I shot your father to distract Damon. He was thorough, Honor. He was checking your mother’s body. He was going to find out you were still alive. I swear, your father was dead when I shot him.”

“You said it yourself—my dad moved!” My voice cracks, anger and anguish colliding.

“It was a lie!” His words tumble out, desperate. “It was a lie, Honor. I swear, Bomber got him straight in the heart.”

My body trembles as his explanation sinks in, vivid, but offering no solace. Tears spill down my face. “It’s my dad you’re talking about, Chase. How would you feel if I talked about yours like that?”

He winces, his face crumpling. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just want you to know the truth.”

“I don’t believe you,” I grit out, my breaths shallow and ragged. “But let’s say that’s true. Then answer me this—why did you shoot Bomber but not Stone?”

He freezes, his mouth opening, then closing. No words. Just silence.

“Answer me!” I scream, my grip tightening around the weapon in my hand.

“I don’t know!” he blurts.

“Don’t you fucking say, ‘I don’t know!’” My voice is an unbridled roar. My finger moves on the trigger. He has to see it—he’s a former SEAL, a rescue-and-protect specialist. He knows what’s coming. He must know.

But he doesn’t move. Not an inch. He just stands there, staring at me, as if accepting whatever comes next.

Slowly, he restarts, “Damon Stone saved my life once. I was sixteen—no loyalties, bouncing between gangs. Not that there were many in Bozeman. Everyone knew everyone. But I crossed the wrong one, pissed off their leader.”

“And Damon Stone came to you like your knight in shining armor?”

“He risked his life to get me out. We’d known each other then, but we belonged to two different gangs. Perhaps he just saw a potential in me, to exploit it for his own gain. Or maybe there was a human side to him then.”

“There was never a human side to Damon Stone,” I snap. “And you? You were too weak to save yourself?”

His lips draw into a line, disappointment shadowing his eyes. “Really? Must you play the sarcastic angle?”

“So you were weak and scared.”

“I had this tough-guy act down during my rebellious years, but I was just a kid—sixteen and scared out of my mind. I was on the verge of being sliced alive. I’m not exaggerating, Honor. I was facing three men with carving knives in their hands.”

His description lands hard, stirring a pain eerily close to what I feared when this man first invaded my life.

He adds, “Getting chopped into bits while you’re still breathing? It was a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And as much as I hate to admit it—I owed him for that.”

For the first time, I’m truly speechless. Words fail me, leaving only the thunderous pounding of my heart.

Chase swallows. “Honor, I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not afraid to die.” His voice comes out raspy, as if his throat has been scraped dry. “I won’t stop you from pulling the trigger. But as long as Damon Stone is breathing, you and Laramie will never be safe. Let me end this—end him—once and for all. Then, I’ll come back to you, kneeling. And you can finish it. You can end me.”

The heat of his words prickles beneath my skin, leaving an ache I can’t shake. But I don’t flinch. I won’t.

I won’t.

I won’t…

Damn those eyes.

And that body. Laramie rested against it, against him. The safest haven she’d ever known. And beyond that body lies a heart—one that beats for her.

A scream tears out of me, raw and helpless, shattering the suffocating silence.

“This is who I am now,” Chase says, his voice unsteady. “I’m not that boy who felt indebted to Damon Stone anymore. I’ve changed—but I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you, to your parents. I don’t expect you to forgive me either, but please… don’t walk away. Not now.”

To forgive is to forget. But no one forgets forever. Santa Sophia proved that. One memory, one spark—and it all comes rushing back. And when it does, what happens to forgiveness?

“Since that day, all I’ve wanted to do is lodge a bullet in your head—just like you did to my father. You. Just you. Damon Stone was a monster, yes, but at least he never hid behind kindness. But you?” My voice breaks. “You saved me because you didn’t want me weighing on your conscience.”

“You’re right about that,” he whispers, his face stricken.

“I saw him, Chase. I saw my father lying on that floor.” My grip tightens around the gun, shaking with the memory. “You told me to run, but I didn’t. I stalled when I reached the living room. I saw what you did. I saw where you’d shot him.”

“I’m sorry, Honor. I’m so damn sorry.”

I step back, tears breaking free despite my fight to hold them in. No matter what I do, it’ll feel like a betrayal. If I walk away now, I betray my father. If I pull the trigger, I take the life of a man who has given me everything.

A sob wrenches from my chest, my lungs straining with the force of it. “I’m changing my mind, Chase.”

“Honor, put the gun down. Come back to me.” His eyes pleading, his outstretched hand shaking.

His desperation pulls at me, but I keep moving, keep breaking.

I nod stiffly, forcing out the words. “I’ve changed my mind.” I’m barely holding together as every remnant of his touch, his protection, his everything crashes over me. “Don’t follow me. Don’t try to find me. You’ll never know what I’ll decide when that time comes.”

His lips part as if to keep pleading, but no sound escapes. The space between us feels infinite, like a chasm neither of us can cross.

“Goodbye, Chase Samson.”

I turn away, leaving him standing there, frozen as if this moment could hold back time—a monument to the end of us.