by Stone, Kyla
“Not in my experience.” She felt his eyes on her. “They lessen, though, with time.”
“I hope so.” For her sake and his.
They listened to the rain. She chewed her bottom lip, rocking gently. “You’re a good man, you know.”
He snorted.
“You are.”
She’d read once that people could sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men and women stood ready to do violence on their behalf.
Liam was that man for her, for all of them.
He carried the burden of it all so others didn’t have to. He did the hard things, faced the worst demons from the pits of hell. Her heart went out to him.
She wished she could take it all away, ease the pain he carried, somehow lessen the shadows behind his eyes.
She said, “You help keep the wolves away.”
He said nothing for a while. “I worry it’s not enough.”
“It is. It will be.”
“Something else is out there. Something big. I can feel it, sense it. Like a predator stalking us in the dark. But I can’t see it, I can’t stop it, no matter what I do.”
Someone had set fire to a farm near the outskirts of Niles. A woman who owned a homestead off Old 31 between Fall Creek and St. Joe had been found dead in her home. She’d owned over fifty chickens; they had all been slaughtered.
Despite multiple reports of a large gang moving through the area, Flynn and most of the Community Alliance continued to blame Fall Creek. Yesterday, Flynn had called Dave on the radio in a rage, unleashing a hateful diatribe that included threats to raze the town’s greenhouses in retaliation—and worse.
“You want to starve us, then we’ll starve together!” he’d shouted, throwing Hannah’s words back at them.
Even worse, Dave had shared more reports of violence in Illinois. Towns overrun, women and children stolen, thousands of innocent people trapped in camps or murdered.
Poe’s army was growing more powerful. And they were heading south, inching closer to the Indiana and Michigan borders.
A great storm was brewing over their heads, bringing with it a looming sense of doom she couldn’t shake.
“I feel it, too,” she said. “But if we can work together as a community, we can face it, whatever comes next.”
He grunted, not convinced.
“We can, Liam. We will.”
“The community doesn’t seem to want to work together.”
“Then we’ll make them,” she said with a flush of frustration. “We keep trying. It’ll work.”
“Keep believing, Hannah. Maybe by sheer force of will alone, you can make it happen. I don’t see it, though. We’re too splintered, too divided.”
“I have faith. I have to have faith.”
“Flynn and his people are blinded by their grief. I don’t know if they can’t see the truth or they don’t want to, but they seem to want to cling to their anger. They won’t give it up easily.”
“I know that. That doesn’t mean we should give up on them.”
“It might come to violence,” he warned her. “Are you prepared for that?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m prepared for whatever I need to be. That doesn’t mean I accept it, or won’t fight tooth and nail for a different outcome.” She hesitated. “I mean it, Liam. If we can’t come together, we won’t make it.”
Rain drummed the roof. Ghost chuffed and rolled onto his side. She breathed in the sweet damp air, felt Liam’s warmth beside her, his comforting strength.
Liam said, “I know.”
49
Hannah
Day One Hundred
Hannah watched Liam out of the corner of her eye.
He held the bearing of a soldier. Even now in the dark and the rain, sitting on her backyard porch swing, his eyes darted to and fro, never still, his mind processing information, analyzing, reacting, and preparing.
“You’re still worried,” she said.
“There are other threats still out there.”
“You’re thinking about Sutter.”
“Yes.”
“And Luther.”
Liam nodded.
“Luther won’t come back.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He hesitated. “How was your visit to Luther Senior?”
She let out a hard little laugh.
“That good, huh?”
“They’re cut from the same cloth.”
Determined to keep her promise, Hannah had visited Luther’s father yesterday to check on him and set up a schedule for regular visits. He’d greeted her with bristling anger and resentment, not that it surprised her.
At first, he’d refused the food she brought him.
“I got no need for handouts! I’m doing just fine.” He’d glared at her from his wheelchair. “Leave me alone!”
A quick survey of the empty cabinets revealed the true situation. Without intervention, he’d starve. Wheelchair bound, with no way to leave the house on his own, he needed help.
No matter how much he resented her, once she’d unwrapped the fresh bread, strawberry jam spread, and two boiled eggs, he’d wolfed down the meal like a starving animal.
“This means nothing,” he snapped, his rheumy eyes narrowed. “I don’t owe you people nothing.”
“Of course not.” She hesitated. “I made a promise to your son, sir. I couldn’t keep my promise to Luther to allow him to stay, but I intend to keep this one.”
The old man cursed. “That boy. What the hell was he thinking?”
Hannah said nothing, unsure how to respond.
Luther Senior gestured at the oxygen tank next to his wheelchair and the tubes in his nose. “The oxygen will run out soon. Then what? I’m a dead man walking, anyway.” He sniffed derisively. “I’m not even walking, am I?”
“I’m sorry, sir—”
“Sorry? You’re sorry? What did sorry ever do for anybody? You kicked him out of the only community that can keep him alive—after he gave you the key to save the town. Don’t look like justice, does it?”
“He’s not hanging from a rope, either,” Hannah reminded him.
Luther Senior opened his mouth to argue, gnarled lips pulled back in a sneer, but then something in him sagged. Whether he saw the truth in her words, he didn’t admit it.
“I’ll return tomorrow.”
He glared at her, bitter and resigned. “Like I told you, don’t come back here.”
“And I’ll have Evelyn Brooks check on you as well. She’s an excellent nurse.”
He coughed, a ragged phlegmy sound that set her teeth on edge, looking utterly miserable. “There’s nothing you can do for me. Nothing.”
Though she intended to return as promised, he wasn’t wrong. Nothing she could do could fix him, provide the proper medical care he needed, rend the rift the militia had caused, or bring back his son.
Hannah’s chest had contracted, filling her with pity, with compassion, and more than a bit of guilt.
She’d left feeling worse than when she’d arrived.
“He’s suffering,” she said now. “And he’s angry.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
She knew they were both thinking of Quinn. “Yeah, there is.”
The chill sank through her skin, into her bones. Beneath her jacket, she wore only flannel pajamas and a hoodie. She shivered.
“Here.” Liam shrugged off his raincoat and draped it around her shoulders, propping the hood over her head. She couldn’t see his features in the dark, could barely make out the shape of him, but she could feel him.
Even wounded, his every move radiated strength, competence, and power. Her pulse quickened, her stomach doing a strange somersault.
He hesitated, so close his warm breath touched her cheek, sending sparks shooting through her body from her fingers to her toes.
“You do that for me, too,” he said, so quiet the rain nearly drowned him out. “You keep the wolves away.”
She stopped
breathing.
Liam reached out and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. He touched her face, his trailing fingers like fire on her skin. “Hannah—”
Pike’s face flashed before her eyes. His red slash of a mouth, his empty eyes. Her bones cracking. The pain.
Fear scythed through her.
Before she could think it, before her brain could sort the myriad thoughts and emotions firing her synapses, instinct took over. She shied away like a frightened horse.
She leapt to her feet, cradling her bad hand. “I…I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. I’ll wait, Hannah. I—”
Hannah didn’t hear the rest. She shrugged off Liam’s raincoat and fled into the house, almost slipping on the wet porch in her haste.
Ghost squeezed in beside her, the screen door rattling in the wind. The door slammed shut.
She collapsed to her knees in the middle of the dark kitchen. Sobs wracked her body.
Ghost licked her face and pressed his great head against her shoulder, offering her comfort as best he could. She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his barrel chest, burying her cheek into his wet fur, her bad hand clutching at his ruff as she inhaled the damp doggy smell of him.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, afraid she already knew the answer.
She was broken.
No matter how much she cared for Liam, how deep her feelings were growing for him—and they were; she felt it with every beat of her heart.
Pike was not dead—not inside her mind. Far from it. He was gone, but his power remained, like some perverse and sadistic ghost, a malevolent demon from the depths of hell still haunting her.
The damage he had done lived on in the innermost parts of her being. The fear and pain instilled across days, months, and years had invaded her soul, knit itself into her very bones.
She’d fought to kill Pike, to rid the universe of his malignant presence, but that act was only the first step in a journey of healing that would take years, maybe forever.
Fighting that fear. Facing that pain. Again and again and again.
It was overwhelming.
How could she give a man like Liam Coleman a fraction of what he deserved?
She couldn’t. This was the truth she couldn’t bear to face. She couldn’t.
50
Liam
Day One Hundred and One
Liam stood in front of Molly’s fireplace, studying the fire flickering cheerily, feeling anything but cheerful himself.
The living room was redolent with the smells of baking bread and wood smoke. Though it was dark outside, another storm on the way, kerosene lanterns hung on the walls cast a warm glow. Laughter and low voices filled the house.
While endless tasks filled their days, once the sun went down, their little community relaxed and enjoyed each other’s company with games, conversation, and good—if limited—food.
Tonight, everyone had gathered at Molly’s place. Her house was small but cozy, and no one seemed to mind being squeezed into close quarters.
Evelyn helped Molly in the kitchen, joined by Reynoso. It turned out that the big shy cop had a thing for cooking. He crafted a mean pinto bean soup with a side of twice-baked potatoes and green beans.
Bishop made his usual rounds, chatting with everyone, offering generous encouragement and compliments, his frequent booming laugh rising above the buzz of conversation.
Dave and Annette were discussing the next Trade Day and the best methods to expand the community gardens. They sat close to each other on the couch, knees almost touching.
Perez was engaged in an animated game of checkers with Travis. Milo had played a few games, even smiling a little, but he mostly sat in the kitchen by himself.
After being passed around and loved on, the babies played on their bellies on a blanket spread in the center of the living room. Liam had spent a good part of the evening holding them both. They smelled of baby powder and sweet milk, their skin velvet soft.
His heart swelled with fierce affection every time Charlotte wrapped her tiny starfish hand around his finger or L.J. giggled, blowing raspberries from his perfect rosebud mouth.
In the last two weeks, L.J.’s ragged cough had improved. With Hannah’s milk, plus the homemade formula and Molly’s garlic cough syrup, he’d gained a pound and was filling out.
For the first time, he looked healthy. Lincoln’s son was flourishing in Fall Creek.
As Liam had hoped, so were Jessa’s parents. The starved, hollowed look was fading from their faces, replaced with something vibrant and thriving.
Evelyn was brisk and no-nonsense, where her husband was softer, kinder, and gentler. He told marvelous stories with a wry sense of humor that everyone appreciated. Evelyn brought her medical skillset, and Travis added a keen intelligence and willingness to learn.
They helped where needed with enthusiasm and never complained. They were where they belonged.
Watching the three of them, his chest expanded, some broken piece inside him knitting itself back together.
For you, Lincoln, he thought with a pang. I brought them home, Jessa.
Charlotte’s ringing giggle brought him back to the moment. Ghost’s tail swishing just out of their reach utterly fascinated both babies. The mischievous cat Loki was equally fascinated with them and kept batting at their little kicking feet, much to L.J.’s delight.
Thor and Odin slept by the fireplace, while Valkyrie prowled the house, sniffing people’s legs suspiciously. As usual, Hel, the fluffy white Ruler of the Underworld, held court atop the fridge.
Liam enjoyed the company more than he thought he would. Still, something was missing.
His gaze kept straying across the room to Hannah, who flitted among the group much like Bishop, her voice bright and animated, her head tilted as she listened to Travis’s stories or laughed at one of Reynoso’s rare jokes.
They’d hadn’t spoken all night. A few times, he’d caught her tentative, pained glance; the heartache in Hannah’s eyes nearly killed him.
He could take a bullet—hell, he’d taken several—but causing the woman he loved distress was something he could not abide.
Last night, he’d screwed up. Inwardly, he kicked himself for moving too soon, for being an idiot and opening his big damn mouth.
In one fell swoop, Hannah had undone him and knit him back together.
It was a painful thing, coming back to life. Like his frozen, hypothermic limbs thawing, prickling and stinging as the numbness withdrew and sharp glorious warmth pressed in.
The pain was worth it.
She had shown him a glimpse of what a meaningful life could be—what love could be.
He wanted it. Wanted her.
Liam longed for more, but he would accept whatever she gave him. She needed to know that. No matter what, for as long as he lived and breathed, he would be here for her.
Once the guests had departed for the night, he would talk to her. He needed to figure out a way to say it aloud without sounding like a complete idiot. He’d be damned if he lost her to his own knuckleheaded stupidity.
After checking the windows and doors yet again—no movement outside, the sky black as pitch, no stars—he wandered into the kitchen. The delicious smell of fresh baked bread mingled with spicy bean soup.
“Haven’t seen Quinn for a bit. She feeling okay?” he asked Molly, trying to distract himself.
Quinn hadn’t shown up for their training sessions for the last few mornings, which wasn’t like her.
“Where is that child?” Molly muttered, stirring the soup on the woodstove and glancing out the window for the tenth time. “I’ve been expecting her for hours.”
A knock sounded at the door. Liam stiffened, instantly on alert.
Molly glanced around, as if surprised that Quinn still wasn’t home to answer it, set down the wooden spoon, and reached for her cane resting against the kitchen cabinets next to her trusty Mossberg.
> “I’ve got it,” Hannah said. “You’re doing enough already, Molly.”
Hannah wiped her hands on a towel and strode across the living room, stepping over the cats attempting to wind around her ankles.
Bishop, already at the living room window monitoring the main approach to the house, glanced back at Liam with a nod of his chin. Whoever approached wasn’t a threat.
Liam kept one hand on his Glock, anyway.
Opening the door, Hannah stepped back with a smile. “Hey, Jonas. Nice to see you.”
From the kitchen, Molly huffed. “Finally! Thought I’d never see my granddaughter again. She’s been shirking chores all weekend. Came just in time for dinner, I see. Hope you brought a deer with you, or at least a wild turkey or two.”
Hannah beckoned Jonas inside and stepped out of the way. Jonas wiped his feet on the welcome mat. He wore an Old Navy hoodie beneath an army green canvas jacket and scruffy jeans. And he was alone.
His gaze darted around the room, a polite smile on his lips. “Hey, Miss Molly, Miss Hannah, Mr. Coleman, Pastor Bishop. Looks like I’m missing out on a party.”
Molly waved her cane. “You two get your butts in here and I’ll show you the party! I’ve got a load of dishes that won’t do themselves.”
Jonas frowned, his brows knitting in confusion. “I stopped by to see if Quinn wanted to hang out and play some Monopoly Deal. I sure won’t say no to dinner, though. If you don’t mind, I’ll take it back to my mom.”
With a peevish grunt, Molly shuffled into the living room. “What the heck are you going on about, boy? Quinn’s been with you and that Whitney girl for three days straight.”
Bewilderment flared across the boy’s face. “What? No, she hasn’t.” He glanced at Liam. “She said she couldn’t go hunting with us because she had too much training to do.”
Liam shook his head. “She hasn’t trained mornings for the last three days. Or the group security sessions in the afternoons.”
Molly went still. “She spent the last few nights at Whitney’s. She needed a break, to be a teenager again. She was supposed to check in, but I thought she was safe. She was with you.”