Page 14 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)

Valerie

G ilden showing me the videos really changes the direction of my mood.

I’d been feeling down on myself, wallowing in self-pity, but to know that so many are behind me, that my fans aren’t going to let me down, makes everything seem just a little brighter despite the fact that I’m hiding in a cabin in the mountains with two strange men. It makes some things achingly clear.

I’m Valerie Decatur. I don’t wallow in self-pity. I don’t let someone else control my life. I am a strong, independent woman. I am confident. I am powerful. And the Foundation clearly views me as a threat.

I can work with that.

But for now, I’m trapped in this cabin with no phone and two men. And we have to do something to pass the time.

“You guys wanna play Scrabble?” I ask, pulling the boardgame from the shelf. There are only a few games, and Scrabble has to be better than Backgammon or a deck of cards.

“Yes,” Gilden declares the same moment Knox says, “No.”

“Oh, come on,” I say to Knox, holding up the game. “This is literally the easiest game in the world. You just spell words.”

Knox glances up at me. “First, you puke in my shoes. Then you try and force me to play boardgames. Will the torture never end?”

I deflate, my smile falling at his words.

Gilden shoots a furious look at his partner when I set the board game down on the table.

I’m not under the impression that we’re all friends.

Gilden’s flintiness makes it easy to forget I’m a paycheck and not their bestie.

Still Knox’s words are like ice water. There I went thinkin’ this is something it’s not.

I’m hiding in the fucking mountains because someone is trying to kill me. Get a grip, Valerie.

“You’re right,” I mumble. “Sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

I take a seat at the table and push the game away, focusing instead on the coffee mug I still need to wash. Maybe I’ve had enough caffeine.

“Ignore him, mon rossignol . Knox’d bark at a sunrise if it dared shine too bright. Ain’t your fault he doesn’t know how to act,” Gilden encourages. “I’ll play Scrabble with you. It can be a two-player game.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, “but it’s okay. It’s just easy to forget you’re here on business, not because we’re friends.”

“We’re friends,” Gilden says adamantly. “No matter what Knox says.”

I don’t believe him, but that’s okay. His job is to keep me safe, not entertain me. I’m not a child. I can figure something else out.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m fine.”

Gilden’s eyes glitter dangerously and it reminds me that he’s here with Knox because he knows what he’s doing, too, but his words always seem to deflect from the danger in his eyes. It doesn’t help that he’s always dressed like he’s ready for a night out in Miami. The loafers really sell the look.

“You want me to fight him?” he asks playfully. “I could fight him. I could lose real pretty, too. Might even guilt him into an apology.” The way he grins gets a small laugh out of me.

“That’s sweet,” I murmur. “And I might actually be interested in seeing you two fight. . .”

Knox glares over at Gilden who only wiggles his eyebrows.

“Want me to be shirtless? Let me see if we got any pudding or Jello. We could wrestle in that shirtless,” Gilden teases.

This time, the laugh that slips out isn’t small. “I like pudding.”

Gilden stands up. “For the lady’s honor. Stand up, mon couillon . Face me like a man.” He holds up his fists mockingly, clearly not in any sort of way that reflects a true fighting stance.

“I’m not fighting you,” Knox rumbles, his eyes on Gilden.

“Afraid?” Gilden goads.

“Yes, that’s it,” Knox replies mockingly.

I sigh. “Who hurt you?” It’s a question meant as a joke, almost like a tease about how displeased he seems to be with everything. I’m not prepared for his answer.

“Everyone,” he replies nonchalantly, as if it’s a cold hard fact. There’s zero emotion in that single word. Nothing.

My eyes meet his, my chest aching at how much was unsaid in that word despite his lack of emotion. “I’m sorry the world was nasty to you.”

Knox looks at me, really looks at me. Those dark eyes trace my face, taking in my expression and the way I’m wringing out my hands to try and keep from offering him a hug. He doesn’t seem the kind to enjoy that.

He sighs. “Set up the game.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“Set the fucking game up,” he growls. “Before I change my mind.”

Gilden grins and leans over the table. His whisper is loud enough for Knox to hear. “It’s to avoid fighting me. Clearly.”

I laugh and glance over at Knox as he sets aside the journal he’d been flipping through. “Yeah,” I muse, “that must be it.”

But it’s not, and the mystery that is this man only digs deeper into my skin.

* * *

“That’s not a word,” I growl. “It doesn’t count.”

“Oxters is definitely a word,” Knox argues. “It’s in the dictionary.”

“Okay, smart guy. Then what the hell is it?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Armpits. In the Scottish dialect,” he answers, no nonsense. Just fucking quiet smugness. He’s gruff, unamused, and apparently deadly serious about winning. He’s well on his way to wiping the floor with Gilden and me.

“You’re makin’ that up,” I laugh. “No one’s ever said that on purpose!”

The next time it’s his turn and he puts down the word, “xystus,” I can’t help but stare at the Scrabble blocks in disdain. I’ve never fucking been murdered this thoroughly in a boardgame.

“Did you sneeze while spellin’ that?” I accuse, squinting at the word.

His eyes flicker and the barest movement at the corner of his lips makes my heart flutter. The fuck.

“It’s a garden walk lined with trees. Look it up,” he says gruffly, but that sparkle is still there in his eyes and goddammit if I don’t want to make him full on smile.

“You’re cheatin’ somehow,” I grumble. “You really expect me to believe ‘oxters’ is a word?”

Knox looks at me, deadpan. “Means armpits. I told you. Want me to use it in a sentence?”

“Please don’t,” Gilden says from the side as he slowly plops down the word “boobs.”

These two men are from vastly different walks of life, because holy shit. They couldn’t be more different from each other.

Knox eyes Gilden’s word, lips twitching just slightly, like he’s fighting a war behind his eyes and almost losing.

“Real mature,” he mutters, but there’s a dry edge of amusement in it.

Gilden leans back in his chair like he just played a master move. “Boobs always score, couillon .”

I snort, shaking my head. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

Knox finally glances my way again. Just for a second. Just long enough for the corner of his mouth to lift—barely there, more ghost than grin—but it’s real. It’s quiet.

And it hits me like a kick to the ribs.

That tiny, rare smile is a glimpse of something warm under all that stone.

And just like that, I forget what score I’m losing by.

Something catches in my throat. I don’t know if it’s surprise or that low, slow heat blooming in my chest like I just looked too long at something I shouldn’t. Like catching a flash of skin I wasn’t meant to.

I look down at my tiles because it’s my turn now. My hands are trembling, just a little. How ridiculous of me.

“It’s still your turn,” Knox says, voice low, smooth as bourbon, but a little rough on the edges.

“I know that,” I snap, a little too fast, a little too loud. My face heats up immediately. “I’m just thinkin’.”

“Sure, you are,” Gilden drawls. “Just don’t stroke out tryin’ to spell ‘tractor’ again.”

I glare at him, grateful for the lifeline, even if it comes wrapped in nonsense. “At least I ain’t out here spelling ‘boobs’ like a thirteen-year-old.”

“Boobs is timeless,” Gilden says solemnly, holding up his hands. “Boobs is universal.”

But Knox hasn’t looked away from me.

Not even once.

And when I glance back up, he’s still watching me with that same quiet intensity. His smile’s gone, but something in his eyes is softer now, curious even. Like he’s not just watching what I’ll play, but each inner working of my brain.

I drop a tile and miss my slot completely, the wooden square slipping into the wrong spot.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Take your time,” he says, still watching.

And I swear to god, I might combust right here on this chair.

I scramble to gather my tiles before my fingers betray me again. Knox doesn’t say anything else, but I feel the heat of him across the table, steady, grounded, impossible to ignore.

My heart’s still tripping over itself when Gilden whistles low.

“Well, damn,” he says, breaking the silence like a rock through a glass. “This is somethin’. I ain’t seen a woman flustered like this since Miss Dottie caught her preacher husband in the communion wine with his pants down.”

I groan and cover my face. “Please stop talking.”

“Can’t help it, mon rossignol . I live for moments like this. Watching you two eye-fuck each other across a Scrabble board is one of the most erotic things I’ve seen since I found those bread cuttin’ videos.”

Knox exhales sharply through his nose. Almost a laugh. Almost.

I throw at tile at Gilden’s chest. He catches it one-handed like he’s been waiting for it. I’m about to call him ridiculous again, open my mouth to do just that, but I’m interrupted.

Knock. Knock.

The three of us freeze.

My blood runs cold.

That’s not possible.

This cabin is nearly two hours up from anything with a paved road, and we didn’t pass a soul on the way in. There’s no delivery service, no hikers, no neighbors. Nobody should be out here.

Nobody .

Knox is on his feet in a second, chair scraped back, hand going to the small of his back where he keeps his gun.

Gilden straightens, that easy grin gone in a blink.

He meets my eyes. “Alright, cher, ” he says softly. “Why don’t you go stand in the kitchen where the light don’t reach, yeah?”

Another knock.

Heavier this time. Slower.

Knox doesn’t speak, doesn’t move from the door. He just stands there, stone still, listening. The door creaks once under the weight of another knock, and Knox moves first. He draws his gun, silent and deliberate, eyes flicking to Gilden in some unspoken language as I move into the kitchen.

Gilden nods once, stepping sideways to cover the front window. He’s all coiled muscle now, no more jokes, all that golden boy charm gone tight and razor-sharp.

“Valerie,” Knox says without looking at me, “back. Now.”

And I go. Because we’re deep in the mountains. There’re no roads, no emergency service up this high. No one can be here quick enough to be of use so no help is coming. If the experts tell me to get back, I better get fucking back.

My mouth’s gone dry, my heart thundering against my ribs like it’s already halfway to bolting.

Gilden shoots me a glance, quick and serious. “Anyone know you’re up here?”

I shake my head. “Just the two of you and probably Hank.”

Knox’s jaw flexes. He steps toward the door—silent, methodical—and positions himself to the side. The knock doesn’t come again.

But the handle turns.

It’s not fast like a threat. It’s worse.

Slow and sure.

Like whoever’s out there knows they’re welcome.

The door opens and standing there, framed with pine and the cold air from the mountain, is a man I do recognize, after all.

Wolf.

There’s no mask now, no crowd or party lights or half-sipped drink between us. It’s just him, real and present and utterly calm.

He’s not armed—at least, not visibly—but something about the way he stands sets every nerve I have on edge. He’s still, stiller than anyone should be. Not like a man, but like a creature waiting for permission to move.

It takes a beat to register. The dark eyes, the way his mouth curves, soft and secret.

“Evening,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Knox’s gun comes up so fast, I almost miss it, aimed square at his chest.

“Wait!” I say, stopping Knox from shooting him right here on the doorstep.

Gilden doesn’t say a word, but his gun is in his hand now, too. Wolf’s eyes never leave mine.

“You remember me,” Wolf says. It’s not a question, or even a statement. It’s almost a command, like he can force me to remember him if I somehow forgot.

But I do remember him. How could I forget? The bar, the music from that party, the mask with the low wolf snout. Hell, he’d been the one to get me through the crowd for me to escape. Above all, I remember his words that had left such an impact on me, I’m working on writing a song inspired by them.

You’re the prettiest bouquet of dying flowers I’ve ever seen.

“Wolf,” I murmur. To the others, I add, “he was at the party I livestreamed. Helped me escape.”

That small, unreadable smile again flashes across his Wolf’s face. “I told you I’d see you again.”

Knox doesn’t look away from Wolf, his gun still trained on his chest. Gilden’s mouth tightens as he turns to me, trusting Knox to protect me in a way that only real partners can do. The air shifts, heavy with questions and something sharp underneath that I don’t exactly understand.

“Val,” Gilden says, voice low. “Who the hell is this?”

I can’t answer.

Because I don’t actually know.

I just know he shouldn’t be here.

And somehow, I’m not sure if that terrifies me. . .

Or makes me feel safer than I have in days.