The crisp air bit at your skin; bruises scattered across your body throbbed with every breath, reminders of the violence. Usually, your boyfriend calculated where he pressed hard enough to leave marks that wouldn’t be seen. But tonight was different. Tonight, he snapped. A black eye had left you running, fear pounding in your chest.

The distant clink of horseshoes echoed somewhere far away, an eerie sound that made you shrink against the nearest bush. Fear sharpened your senses, the weight of your situation crashing down like thunder.

And then, there he was.

Simon Riley.

The red skull mask concealed his face, but the intensity of his gaze was obvious. He stopped a few feet away, the rain streaking his soaked cowboy hat and darkened clothes. His presence was menacing as he dismounted with a precise movement, the leather of his boots spreading the mud as he strode toward you.

“Climb on,” he muttered gruffly, voice rough like gravel but steady, unyielding. He placed his hat on your head, the gesture leaving you stunned. His eyes flicked away, but his hand came to rest on your back carefully, as he helped you onto the horse.

He swung up behind you with ease, the press of his chest against your back grounding you against the inner turmoil. His arm brushed yours as he secured your seat.

“Where is he?” The low rumble of his voice brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. You froze, the words caught in your throat. Some deep part of you wanted to tell him. Wanted the protection of the most dangerous man in town.

“Home,” you mumbled, the word slipping out uselessly. How would he even know where that was?

Yet without hesitation, he nudged the horse into motion. The steady rhythm of hooves carried you toward the small house you’d tried so hard to make your home.

Simon dismounted with quiet efficiency, his hand briefly brushing the horse in a calming gesture.

“Stay on the horse,” he said, his voice low and unyielding as he approached the front door.