Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

6. Willow

CHAPTER 6

WILLOW

NEVER FEEL ALONE - THE DANGEROUS SUMMER

“Wake up, Mrs Sanchez.”

The covers are ripped from my body, exposing violent purple bruises and whip marks. Light streams through my bedroom window, a fiery ball of raw heat breaking the solitude of my sleep.

Mr Sanchez’s harsh voice is interrupted by the wail of Arianna crying nearby. It cuts through my grogginess, forcing my heavy eyelids open.

“Shut that whining kid up before I do it for you,” he threatens.

No. No.

He won’t lay another finger on her.

I’ll take the beating myself.

Casting his arctic-blue gaze around my bedroom, devoid of any personal effects, a sneer overtakes his handsome features. The world doesn’t see him as I do. His picture-perfect exterior hides a devilish truth.

When his eyes stray over to the marble fireplace, my heart erupts in my chest. I’ve been sneaking into his bedroom in the dead of night to search through his belongings for cash. We’re so close to being ready.

“We have a very important gala to attend tonight.” He glances back over me, his lips curled in a sneer. “You need to cover yourself up and put a damn smile on. Don’t let me down.”

Laying still until he gets bored of trying to intimidate me, I breathe out a sigh of relief when he disappears. The moment he’s gone, Arianna comes bounding into the room, her face soaked with tears.

There’s a bright-red handprint on her cheek, and the sight of it drags me from the bed to capture her in a tight hug. She throws her arms around my neck, her shoulders shaking with each sob.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ll make it better, I promise.”

No matter how long it takes.

No matter what I have to do.

We’re getting out of here.

Startling awake, I force my eyes open and blink until my vision settles. Wooden beams are stretched across the ceiling above me, hand stripped and rustic. It takes a moment for the ringing in my ears to die down.

When I try and fail to sit upright, blinding pain rips through me, crackling its way down my spine. I can barely lift a finger, and my eyes flit around the room in search of answers.

I’m in a sprawling family-sized kitchen, laying across a huge table with a pillow propped beneath my head. A multicoloured, knitted blanket is pulled up to my chin, and when I peek beneath it, my blood freezes.

My clothes have vanished, leaving my entire body on display beneath my bloodstained bra and panties. Someone has re- wrapped my ribs and tended to the new cuts and bruises that have appeared.

“Ari!” I shout hoarsely.

Nothing.

I’m alone.

Attempting to work some feeling back into my stiff limbs, I wiggle my toes and try to sit up again. An adhesive dressing has been smoothed over my sternum. My chest still aches, but it isn’t the awful pressure that I experienced before.

That’s when it hits me. Before. The woods. Rocky outcrops and steep banks. Trees. Moonlight. Falling. Screaming. Blood. Water. Voices and hands lifting me.

“Arianna!”

Battling for every breath, I stifle a terrified wail when loud footsteps approach and the door to the kitchen slams open. A very familiar looking stranger arrives like a bat out of hell, following the sound of my yelling.

Filling the entire wide door frame, the wild beast wearing human skin stalks into the room with the ease of a trained killer. His eyes land on me, and I recognise the fiery, burnished-brown depths from my memories of the car ride here.

I’ve seen my fair share of burly, over-muscled thugs who were paid a small fortune to protect my husband, but this mountain of a man is in a whole league of his own. The muscles that carve his frame look like beams of polished steel under his skin.

“Who are you?” I scream at him.

“Stop moving,” he rasps in a smoky voice, reminiscent of aged whiskey. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you’re not careful.”

“Where is my daughter?”

Scraping a hand through his shoulder-length, dirty-blonde hair that looks permanently bleached by sunshine, he sighs. “She’s safe.”

His barrel chest is cloaked in a dirty, red flannel shirt, paired with well-worn blue jeans that boast holes through the kneecaps and a pair of mud-caked outdoor boots. I can see the size of his rippling biceps through the shirt’s material.

With a tangled beard that’s long past fashionably styled and more of an untamed bush, he looks like a rugged outlander with zero regard for society’s standards. Even his wide, strong jaw and straight nose are tanned a bronze shade of brown.

“Where?” I repeat anxiously.

“Take a breath. She’s eating breakfast.”

His chest seems to vibrate with every word he rumbles in that deep, toe-curling voice. It’s almost a drawl, each syllable laden with exasperation, like he views me as nothing but a distraction from his solitude.

“I want to see her right now.”

“You really want her to see you like this?” he counters, lifting a pale brow that pulls at the crinkles framing his eyes. “You should clean up first.”

“I’m fine.”

The giant heads for the kitchen sink built into a row of dark-brown cabinets, and he fills a glass with water. His stroll is so casual, so assured, that the sense of dangerous ease clinging to his oversized frame causes my pulse to skitter.

I couldn’t escape him if I needed to. Someone of his stature could squash my pitiful strength with a single blow. I’m still not sure if he’s a threat or not, even though I know he was part of the group that rescued me.

Returning to my side, he slides a huge palm underneath my head and lifts to bring the glass to my lips. I hate having to be assisted, especially by this abrasive asshole.

“You don’t look fine to me,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’d argue that everything about this situation is pretty damn not fine.”

Draining the glass in several frantic gulps, I could cry from relief. The water feels so good sliding down my raw throat. He gives me a nod of approval and retreats, allowing me to relax a fraction.

“Like I said, I’m fine.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, lady.”

“Where is my daughter? Is she okay?”

“She’s outside with my cousin, annoying the fuck out of him. Little thing has a hell of a smart mouth on her.”

I slump, releasing my held breath. “Thank God.”

“You’ve been out of it for a while. Doc had to sedate you while he patched you up.”

“How long?”

“Twelve hours or so.”

“Shit!” I try to wrench myself up again and fail. “I need to see her.”

Grabbing hold of my hand, he slides his under my left shoulder and slowly helps me sit up. I cling to him tight, my teeth gritted against the searing pain. It takes several seconds of manoeuvring to move me into an upright position.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

“I’m good.”

“Yeah, like you keep saying.”

Once my foggy head clears, I blink as the kitchen settles around me again. It’s neat but well lived in with rows of packed spice racks, clean dishes drying next to the sink and flower-printed tea towels hanging from the oven.

The blanket has slipped down and pools at my waist, revealing my stained underwear. Gooseflesh spikes across my skin as the stranger studies me with interest. He isn’t even pretending not to look at my naked skin.

“Do you mind?” I snap at him.

“Not in the slightest.” He smirks and starts unbuttoning his flannel shirt. “Here, take this.”

Now it’s my turn to drop my gaze with each button that pops open, unveiling his bare chest that’s smattered with a carpet of light-blonde hair. Jesus. This guy has no shame.

Face schooled into a blank expression, he drags the shirt over his wide-set shoulders and wraps it around me instead. The woodsy scent of musk and fresh bonfires envelops me. Gripping the warm material, I slide my arms inside.

My cheeks flush hot as he buttons it up for me. His eyes are downturned to focus on his task, which gives me the perfect opportunity to check him out. I’m only human, and he looks like he was sculpted by the gods.

“Thank you,” I mutter, cheeks flaming.

“Don’t mention it. Give me your hand.”

Daring to place it in his awaiting palm, I grit my teeth again and manage to swivel to the side, setting my feet on the kitchen floor. It’s made from more planks of raw wood, polished to perfection with the odd blood splatter.

“On three,” he directs.

Counting down, he pulls my arms and helps me to stand at last. His shirt swamps my body, falling to mid-thigh and thankfully covering my panties. I clutch his hand tight as dizziness washes over me again, taking a few seconds to breathe.

“Still with me?”

“Yeah,” I force out. “Just dizzy. Where am I?”

“The kitchen.”

Apparently, he does have a sense of humour.

“I’m serious.”

“Briar Valley,” he says reluctantly.

“B-Briar Valley? Really? I made it?”

“You were looking for us then. Wanna tell me why? You’re actually trespassing on private land.”

Releasing my death grip on his hand, I take a tentative step alone. The pain has abated to a dull ache. I’m a pro at plastering on a fake smile and pretending to be alright. This is nothing in comparison to previous states I’ve woken up in.

“Take me to my daughter please.”

“She’s fine,” he growls with a little more fire. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“With all due respect, I don’t know you. I want to see her first, and then we can talk.”

When he tries to grab hold of me, I shudder and immediately back away. My tailbone collides with the kitchen counter. Freezing on the spot, he lets his hands fall.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’d prefer it if you kept your hands to yourself.”

Ignoring his quizzical expression, I drag my battered body from the kitchen and limp away from him as fast as my injuries will allow. Through the door, there’s a long hallway with ceilings that stretch up into the heavens leading deeper into the house.

It looks to be some kind of cabin, but it’s oozing with luxury. The walls and ceiling are made from more carved wood, supported by huge beams built into the ceiling and adjoining panels of tinted glass.

I’ve seen cabins on television, but they didn’t have any of these back home. This place doesn’t look like the off-grid, bare-bones structures depicted in movies. Light is pouring in from every direction, warming the comfortable space.

Limping onwards, I inch towards the front door at the end of the hallway. Other rooms branch off on both sides, but they’re empty and don’t hold my attention. All I can think about is setting sights on Arianna.

“Hey! Wait up!”

Footsteps follow hot on my heels.

“At least tell me your name.”

“And what exactly is your name?” I say over my shoulder. “Why should I trust you?”

Overtaking me to block the door, he pins me with a fearsome scowl. “It’s Killian. Trust works both ways, you know.”

Gulping, I duck my gaze. “I’m Melody.”

“Melody,” he tests, like it doesn’t sit right.

“Uh-huh, that’s my name. Please move out of my way.”

Killian steps aside and motions for me to go ahead. I seize the bronze doorknob and step outside into blazing sunshine that burns my retinas. Darkness has abated, giving way to a crisp, blossom-scented morning.

An expansive wraparound porch hugs the entrance to the cabin, stained a dark shade of cherry red. Wicker furniture sits atop, offering a perfect, undisturbed view of the mountain range surrounding the valley on all sides.

Squinting in the daylight, I stumble a few more steps before dread nearly runs me over. From the grassy clearing in front of the cabin, dozens of eyes are locked on me—including my bare legs on display and the huge shirt barely covering my modesty.

“Asshole,” I curse under my breath.

Killian chuckles behind me. “You wanted to come outside.”

“Could’ve warned me.”

“Welcome to breakfast time. You might want to cover yourself up.”

Tugging his shirt even lower to make sure it’s covering as much of my body as possible, I stare at the huge clearing stretching out in front me. Two long tables have been built into the ground, carved from slabs of roughened wood.

At each table, a small group of people has gathered, chatting as they share steaming mugs of coffee and trays of breakfast sandwiches. Every single one of them is staring at me with varying degrees of shock.

“After you,” Killian invites with a grin.

I remain frozen on the spot. “Uh.”

“Problem?” he taunts.

Interrupting his little game, someone rises from the table on the left. He has a headful of luscious, light-brown hair the hue of rich, molten caramel, and a rough scruff of stubble covering his jawline. His curious green eyes burn a path over me.

He’s a little shorter than Killian but built with the same stockiness afforded by their rural home. Ropey lines of muscle threaten to burst through his V-neck white t-shirt and jeans, all the way down to his generous, rounded butt.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

A blonde angel shoots up next to him, dressed in another child’s clothes. Her hair has been neatly braided in two, and the streaks of tears and dirt are gone from her sweet face.

“Arianna!” I shout back.

She races across the grass, flying up the wooden steps with a squeal. Before she can collide with me at high speed, Killian steps in and grabs hold of her to block the collision.

He swings Arianna around in a circle, causing her to happily bellow his name at the top of her lungs. She’s never been one to let other people touch her—especially not men.

“Careful, peanut.” Killian places her back on her feet. “You don’t want to hurt your mama now, do you?”

“No, Killian,” she recites obediently.

He casts me a smug look before releasing her. “She’s all yours.”

Arianna throws her arms around my waist and buries her face in my stomach. I cuddle her close, letting the exhausted tears roll down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, beautiful girl. I’m here now.”

“You s-scared me,” Arianna cries.

“You’ve been so brave, baby.”

Fisting handfuls of my borrowed flannel shirt, her gaze trains on me, full of fierce defiance. Sometimes, she looks a little too much like her father. Arianna has his fire and determination, but unlike that monster, hers is borne of innocence.

“We made it,” she says with an excited smile. “I saw the lights down the mountain and found this giant to help. We’re here, Mummy. Home.”

I shush her, but it’s too late.

“Home?” Killian echoes.

He fixes me with a stare, and I nudge Arianna behind me. There’s an air of danger that suffuses his entire frame. I know men like him. They use the threat of violence to bend others to their will.

I’ve spent half of my life living in that state of abject fear. Never again. Inching away from him, most of the people wander off, leaving a small group to approach the porch. I recognise a couple of the men next to the shorter guy that held Arianna.

Everyone wears wary smiles, studying us closely.

A short, elderly woman walks up the wide steps. She must be in her seventies at least, but she’s fit and wiry beneath her floral blouse and skirt. Like everyone else, her skin is a golden bronze, seeming to shine with the gleam of the sunlight above us.

“This lady owns the town,” Arianna whispers shyly. “She said she’ll help us.”

I keep her trapped behind me, a fine quiver racing over my skin. She may be an old lady, but everyone is forming around her with obvious respect and deference. I can recognise power when I see it. She’s in charge of this place.

“Please, I mean you no harm,” she placates, stopping beside Killian. “My name is Lola. You’re safe, and no one will harm you here.”

“You’re Lola?” I ask hopefully.

She watches me closely. “Yes.”

Clutching Arianna’s tiny body even tighter, I need her strength to ground me before I collapse into a relieved puddle. I’ve thought of this moment for so long, and for many of those years it felt like a childish fantasy.

“What’s your name?” she asks gently.

Staring into her kind eyes, framed by deep smile lines and papery wrinkles, I feel no threat. For the first time in so long, I want to throw myself into someone’s arms. No one has ever caught me before.

“This is Arianna.” I try to steady my voice. “My daughter.”

Sneaking out from hiding behind me, Arianna gives her a wave, even though they’ve already been acquainted. Lola beams, and there are tears staining her cheeks. She knows who we are. I can see it in her eyes.

I glance at Killian.“My name isn’t Melody.”

His scowl deepens, burning with mistrust.

“So much for trust,” he deadpans. “Who the hell are you then?”

Twisting the thick, golden wedding band I still wear on my ring finger, I clear my throat. “I’m Willow Sanchez.”

“Sanchez?” Lola notices the ring.

“Formerly Willow Castlemore. I’m your granddaughter.”