Chapter 294

Chapter 294
TAMARA

The moment I was dragged into the clearing and saw Isaiah held between two armed men, I felt something inside me give way. It snapped clean, sharp and final, like a bone breaking under too much weight.

It was bad enough that Maggie was somewhere behind me, still bleeding with no medical attention. I had managed to slow it, to bind the wound as best as I could with shaking hands, but only God knew how long it would hold before it started again.

And now Isaiah.

There he stood—restrained, surrounded, dangerous even in captivity—and the last thread holding me upright finally tore.

I was tired. Not just exhausted—bone-deep tired. The kind that settles into your marrow and makes even breathing feel like work.

When he mouthed are you okay? and I shook my head no, I saw it—the way something cracked in his eyes. Like that single, honest answer was enough to kill him. It hurt to do that to him. But it was the truth. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t keep lying and saying I was fine when I was slowly losing my grip on reality.

“Tell me, brother,” Tom drawled, circling Isaiah and pressing the gun closer to him.

My heart lurched violently with every careless movement of the weapon.

“How does it feel?” Tom continued, grinning. “Do you finally understand what it means to want to protect someone but can’t?” His smile widened, cruel and satisfied. “You want to kill me, don’t you? You want to get to her so badly it hurts.”

Isaiah didn’t answer.

He just stared straight at Tom, his face carved from stone, every muscle pulled tight. Anyone else might have thought he was calm. I knew better. I knew that look. He was furious—past rage, past reason. He was holding himself back by a thread.

“Come on, brother,” Tom pressed, irritation creeping into his voice. “Give me something, huh? You looked ready to jump her bones the second she showed up, and now suddenly you’re mute?”

Then he turned to me.

For a split second, his gaze softened—just a fraction—before it hardened again into something cold and ugly.

“Look at you, gorgeous,” he said lazily. “You fell
in love with a monster with no feelings.” Tom tilted his head, studying me like I was an interesting experiment. “Look at him. He doesn’t even look at you. He doesn’t care.”

I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting blood, forcing the words and screams back down my throat. Isaiah still didn’t look at me—his eyes burned straight through Tom instead, dark and dangerous, and I knew exactly what he was doing.

He was detaching.

Isaiah did that when things got too close, too personal. When emotions became a weakness, he buried them. If he kept his eyes on me, he would break. So he didn’t. And somehow, that hurt worse than if he had.

“That’s not true,” I rasped, my voice coming out thinner than I wanted. “You’re lying.”

Tom laughed softly. “Am I?” He gestured lazily toward Isaiah. “He hasn’t said your name once. Not begged. Not pleaded. Not even threatened me properly. Disappointing, really.”

My chest ached so badly I thought my ribs might cave in. I wanted Isaiah to look at me. Just once. I needed to know he was still here, still holding on.

“Isaiah,” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched against the grip of the men holding him. But still—he didn’t turn.

Tom noticed. Of course he did.

“Ah,” he murmured, pleased. “See? That right there.” He leaned closer to Isaiah. “She needs you, brother. And you’re failing her.”

That did it.

Isaiah finally lifted his eyes—not to me, but to Tom. And whatever Tom saw there made his grin falter for half a second.

“You talk too much,” Isaiah said calmly.

The men restraining him stiffened. Even Tom paused, eyes narrowing.

“You think you’re still in control?” Tom scoffed, lifting the gun slightly. “You’re outnumbered. Your wife is broken. Your sister-in-law is bleeding out somewhere behind you. You’ve already lost.”

Isaiah smiled.

It was slow. Cold. Empty of humor.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’ve just mistaken patience for weakness.”

My breath caught.

Tom laughed again, louder this time, but it sounded forced. “Still pretending you’re untouchable?”

Isaiah’s gaze flicked—just once—to me.

And in that single glance, everything he’d been holding back crashed into me. Fear. Rage. Love. Regret. A promise.

Before I could even react, Tom snapped his fingers sharply.

“Enough talking,” he barked. “Bring the girl closer.”

My stomach dropped.

The men gripping my arms tightened, dragging me forward despite my resistance. My legs nearly gave out, but I forced myself to stay upright, my eyes locked on Isaiah’s.

“Don’t,” I breathed. “Please—don’t.”

Isaiah’s body went rigid.

“Touch her,” he said, his voice deadly calm, “and I swear to God, I will tear this entire field apart with my bare hands.”

Tom leaned in, his lips curling into that infuriating, predatory smile, his breath brushing my ear.
“That’s the reaction I’ve been waiting for,” he whispered, low and deliberate, like a promise and a threat rolled into one.
“Now that I know you’re capable of feeling… real things, I can finally go ahead with what I want.”
Isaiah’s gaze snapped to him, dark and taut with barely restrained fury, but Tom didn’t even glance at him. He was focused entirely on me. He circled until he was inches from my face, black eyes softening—if only for a heartbeat. Then his hand rose, hovering near my cheek. I recoiled, a tremor running through my spine, but he ignored it, drawing me closer until the warmth of his fingers brushed my skin.
I froze, every nerve screaming, my chest tightening. My body wanted to run, to sink into the dirt, to disappear—but I couldn’t. I was rooted there, trapped under the weight of his stare and the terrifying intimacy of his touch. Behind him, I heard Isaiah growl, low and dangerous, and my eyes darted to him, wet and pleading. For what? For him to do something? For someone to save me? I didn’t know.