Page 55 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

S unlight filters through the tall windows of the bookstore, dust dancing in the beams. The place still smells of old pages and wood shavings, but it’s beginning to feel like hers now.

Mismatched chairs in shades of lavender and sage. Bookshelves painted in pastels. Plants hang from the rafters, spilling down like vines in a fairytale. Reed’s currently assembling a circular reading nook in the corner, while Maverick is fighting with a box of fairy lights.

I’ve ordered half of Amazon’s inventory. If it looked like something Catalina would smile at, I added it to the cart. Twice.

“This is fucking bullshit,” Maverick mutters, struggling with tangled string lights, holding them up and tugging at them. “I swear, these things tie themselves in knots on purpose.”

“That’s because you don’t know what you’re doing,” Reed says dryly from the other end of the store. “Try not using your teeth this time.”

“I wasn’t using my teeth—” Maverick starts, then stops. “Okay, maybe once. But in my defense, these are slippery little bastards.”

I shake my head, the corner of my mouth twitching. Just barely.

My fucking idiot brothers.

Maverick catches it. “Oh my God. Did you almost smile?” He holds a hand over his chest. “Carter Hayes, are you developing a personality?”

I roll my eyes as I drill the final bracket into the front desk—Catalina’s desk. She wanted a little bell. I bought three. I also built her a custom sign that reads ‘Welcome to Catalina’s Book Nook.’ She’s going to kill me for spoiling her.

I can’t wait.

The store is coming together. But my chest still feels hollow.

Every time I think about her in that house, every time I picture her trapped in some overpriced mansion with that prick of a fiancé, my hands shake.

I keep them busy because if I don’t, I’ll break something.

The drill vibrates to a stop in my grip, and right then, my phone buzzes across the counter.

Amelia.

I answer and press speaker.

“Amelia,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans.

“Hi, baby!” Maverick shouts, winking like a damn idiot.

I sigh, pressing a hand to his face, and shove him to the side. He stumbles backward with a dramatic gasp, sticking out his tongue.

“Tell your brother to stop hitting on me,” Amelia says flatly. “Anyways, Carter, we have news.”

My body stills. Reed slows what he’s doing, but is still focused on his task as he intently listens .

“She’s okay,” Amelia says quickly, sensing it. “She’s barely hanging on, I’m… I’m worried she’ll start using again. Her dad’s not letting us into the wedding. He’s completely isolating her.”

My chest tightens, my fists clench at my sides. The smile I almost had earlier vanishes. “And her phone?” I ask.

“Already taken,” she replies. “He said it was a distraction. Said she needed to focus on ‘duty.’”

My stomach turns. “Amelia,” I growl, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Tell me where.”

She exhales. “The wedding is in three days. At the Ashby Estate, up in the hills above Calabasas. Big place, impossible to miss. Security will be tight—Vartan hired private armed guards. You won’t be able to walk in through the front.”

I reach for the phone. “Text me the address. Every detail you have.”

“She’s holding on. Just… don’t be late.”

The phone beeps, ending the call.

I turn to face them, my blood buzzing. “Pack your shit,” I say, looking between them. “We’re leaving on the next flight to Los Angeles.”

Reed nods immediately.

Maverick raises a brow. “This it?”

“This is it,” I grit out. “We’re getting her back.”

Maverick smirks, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. “Fuck yesssss, I already bought the tickets, fuckers.”

He throws down the tangled lights like they’re yesterday’s problem, clapping his hands together. “Alright, bitches, let’s ruin a wedding.”

I fucking hate airports.

There’s something about the musty environment, the recycled air, and the forced politeness of strangers dragging their luggage across cold tile that makes my fucking skin itch. I’m trapped at gate B22, with nothing but my thoughts and a gnawing fury that won’t quit.

She’s out there, somewhere behind estate gates and designer curtains. She’s alone and fucking isolated as she’s being prepped like a pawn for a man she didn’t choose, in a life that never asked what she wanted.

I’m stuck here, watching a fucking boarding screen cycle through delay notices while I burn alive from the inside out. I scrub a hand down my face, dragging it through my hair, as I press my fingers into the back of my neck to keep from exploding.

My other hand balls into a fist against my thigh, a pulse hammering in my temple with every beat.

“Dude,” Maverick’s voice cuts through the fog behind me, “you’ve circled that trash can six times. You flirting with it, or what?”

I glance back.

He’s grinning, duffel bag over his shoulder, backwards cap flipped like we’re headed to a game of his instead of saving the love of my fucking life. Reed trails behind him, silent and watchful as always.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I mutter, turning away.

Maverick laughs. “Jesus, you’re grumpier than usual. This must be love. ”

“It is love,” I growl. “She’s locked in a mansion with a psychopath and a father who treats her like shit.”

“Fair.” He shrugs, then drops into a seat nearby. “Can you at least stop walking like you’re about to choke the next old lady who rolls past with a suitcase?”

I ignore him. My eyes stay fixed on the terminal door. The second that gate opens, I’m gone.

“You think she’s okay?” Reed asks quietly.

I pause. Swallow hard. “No,” I say honestly.

I’m pacing again. Back and forth in front of gate B22, my boots land hard on the tile with every step. I recheck the departure board—for the sixth time in ten minutes.

FLIGHT TO LAX – DELAYED. ESTIMATED DEPARTURE: 3:45 PM.

Fuck.