Page 57 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

T he engine hums beneath us, low and constant — a dull, vibrating thrum that crawls up through the metal floor and into the soles of my boots. Some people find it calming. The steady white noise lulls anxious travelers into thinking everything’s fine.

Not me.

To me, it sounds like a clock ticking, growing louder with every second. A metaphorical countdown I can’t fucking stop. While we’re up here, floating in the fucking clouds, she’s still down there.

Every minute I’m in this seat is a minute too fucking long. I hate it. I hate how powerless it makes me feel.

The seatbelt cuts into my lap like a restraint I never agreed to.

My leg won’t stop bouncing, my jaw’s locked up so tight I can feel the pressure building behind my teeth, and I’ve checked my phone enough times to wear a hole through the screen, even though I know damn well there’s no signal thirty thousand feet in the air.

I should already fucking be there. I should be tearing those doors off their hinges, I should be dragging her out of that nightmare with her hand in mine.

The armrest groans beneath my grip as I squeeze it harder, like it’s the only thing keeping me from putting my fist through the cabin wall.

Maverick sprawls across the three seats he requires for his large frame, across the aisle.

He kicks his feet out, sighs dramatically, and pulls his backwards cap into his lap. “You know they’re gonna arrest you if you try to tackle the pilot, right?”

“Wasn’t fucking planning on it.”

Maverick raises a brow. “Your shitface says otherwise.”

He’s trying to be funny. He’s desperately trying to break through the tension building behind my ribs with sarcasm, dumb timing, and that stupid voice of his that always manages to get people to laugh.

Reed sits next to me, quiet as ever. His elbows rest on his knees, his fingers laced together, and his eyes fixed on the clouds outside. He doesn’t say anything for a while, breathes, calm and steady in that way that somehow makes me feel worse.

“She’s strong.” He says quietly, as he stares outside the cabin window.

Two words.

They hit harder than anything else could’ve. I nod once, but my throat’s too tight to let anything out. I know she’s strong. She’s always been strong, stronger than anyone gives her credit for. Stronger than she even knows.

But even the strongest people start to break when they’ve been locked in the dark too long, and that’s exactly what he’s done.

I grunt in agreement and drop my head into my hand, pressing a fist against my mouth, trying to breathe through my nose like that’s enough to keep it all in.

Maverick sighs loud enough for the entire plane to hear, kicking one leg out. “You’re gonna walk in there and wreck his whole life, huh?”

“Not if I kill him first,” I mutter.

He lets out a low whistle. “Fuck yeah. That’s the spirit. I, for one, am prepared to throw hands, shatter glassware, and carry her bridal ass out like a fucking rom-com finale.”

Reed doesn’t look away from the window. “You’re not carrying anyone.”

Maverick smirks, unfazed. “I’m emotionally carrying the team. Honestly, you’re both welcome.”

A laugh slips out. It’s not loud or joyful. It’s cracked, thin, and buried beneath too much weight to sound like anything real. But it’s there, caught somewhere between my throat.

Then just as fast, it’s gone.

“I’m going to get her out,” I finally say, “even if I have to drag her out through that goddamn estate.”

Maverick exhales with exaggerated flair, throwing a hand over his chest. “That might be the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard.”

I glance up, meeting his eyes, and the look I give him is sharp enough to cut through whatever sarcasm he’s about to throw next. “When we land, we go straight there. No bullshit.”

Reed nods once, his expression unreadable.

Maverick’s grin returns. “Perfect,” he says. “Let’s go fuck some shit uppppp.”

The seatbelt sign chimes overhead as a flight attendant rolls past with a cart full of ginger ale and pretzels like it’s just another Thursday in the sky .

I close my eyes and let out a ragged exhale.

Hold on, baby. Just a little longer. I’m coming for you, and I’m not leaving without you.

The moment the plane’s wheels kiss the runway, I’m on my feet.

I don’t wait for the seatbelt sign to turn off.

I don’t give a damn about the soft, polite voice over the intercom asking everyone to remain seated.

I’m already grabbing for the overhead compartment when Maverick beats me to it, yanking my duffel bag free and tossing it at my chest.

“Suit up,” he says, grinning.

Reed moves in behind us, silent as ever, his bag slung over his shoulder like he’s walking into a wake. And honestly? If I don’t get to her in time, that’s exactly what this could fucking turn into.

We’re in a black SUV fifteen minutes later. Maverick pulled strings for the car, and I don’t waste a breath thanking him. My focus is locked on the dash, where the GPS glows with the destination I’ve burned into memory.

Ashby Estate.

I’ve stared at that address so long it’s etched into my brain.

Every red light, every turn, every second feels like sand slipping through my fingers.

I don’t register the glass towers or the billboards flashing things that don’t matter.

All I see is the road ahead and the clock blinking mercilessly on the dash.

God, baby. Just hold on. I’m almost there .

The estate appears like something out of a designer fairytale—massive hedges, white roses lining the drive, and gold gates swinging open as the car approaches.

Classical music floats through hidden speakers, soft and elegant, like the place is trying to lull everyone into silence while it strangles you with beauty.

The second the wheels hit the driveway, I don’t wait.

I throw the door open before we’ve even stopped, and my boots hit the gravel with a hard crunch. The sun is brutal overhead, hot against my back, but all I see is the front entrance—and the two security guards standing just beyond it.

I’m running. Maverick’s beside me in seconds, matching my stride, his breath ragged but still finding room for commentary.

“You sure you don’t wanna try asking nicely first?” he pants between steps.

“Fuck no,” I snap, never breaking pace.

“Cool. Me neither,” he grins. “Was just hoping I could punch someone in a tux today.”

Behind us, Reed’s voice cuts through like calm steel. “Then keep moving.”

We hit the doors hard, slamming through the first set of glass, charging into the outer corridor. The sound of our boots echoes off marble as two security guards step forward, their hands outstretched like they think they can stop what’s coming.

“Sir, this is a private?—”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I snap, my voice rough, nearly shaking with fury.

They don’t move.

Maverick steps in between us. “Look, I’d love to stay here and debate protocol, but unless you want me to repaint this lobby in blood and regret, I suggest you move. Now.”

One of them reaches for his earpiece.

I lunge a step forward, teeth clenched, rage pulsing in every vein. “She doesn’t want this wedding,” I growl. “She’s being forced into it! If you keep me from her, I swear to God, I’ll tear this place down—brick by fucking brick!”

More movement draws my eye. Another guard rounds the corner. Then another. They fall into place like chess pieces, now standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the ballroom doors.

Music filters through from the other side, delicate strings floating above the disaster that’s unfolding.

The wedding march.

No. No. No.

I push forward, but one of the guards grabs my arm.

I tear out of his grip and swing, my fist cracking against his jaw.

He drops like a dead weight. Another lunges for me, but Maverick intercepts, slamming him into the wall with a grunt so forceful the mirror above the console table shatters on impact.

Voices rise—security radios crackle and somewhere down the hall, someone screams.

Reed bolts to the car, starting the engine, getting ready for our escape.

Just beyond those double doors… she’s there. I feel her, like an invisible string pulling every part of me forward. I surge toward the doors.

A sharp metallic click rings through the corridor.

“Don’t you take another fucking step,” a voice barks.

I freeze.

A security guard stands just ahead, gun drawn—aimed not at my chest, but at my head .

Maverick’s right beside me, panting hard. His voice comes low, urgent. “Carter…”

All I can think in this moment is, she’s right there.

I’m one fucking breath away.