Run, Little Bird

The screen glowed in the dim room, a rectangle of light illuminating Kade’s face. On it, Amber was laughing, her head tossed back, her long, golden hair catching the late afternoon sun. She was sitting at an outdoor café table with a friend, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Kade’s thumb hovered over the keyboard of his laptop, and with a soft tap, the audio feed from the microphone hidden in her purse came to life.

“...and he just kept asking for my number, even after I said no, like, three times,” Amber’s voice came through, a mix of exasperation and that soft, innate kindness she couldn’t seem to switch off.

“What did you do?” her friend asked.

“I gave him a fake one. I feel bad, but… he was so pushy.”

Kade’s jaw tightened. A low, simmering heat spread through his chest. Pushy. Men like that didn’t understand. They saw the sun-kissed skin, the curves that her modest sundress couldn’t fully hide, the innocent blue eyes, and they thought they could take a piece of her. They thought she was for the taking… but they were wrong—every single one of them.

He’d been watching for three years. Since the day she’d stumbled out of the international airport—a scared eighteen-year-old with a single suitcase and shadows in her eyes—fleeing something he’d later dug up in the police reports of a small town in Ohio. He’d seen her build a life here in this coastal city, get a job at a little bookshop, and make a few friends. He’d seen her flinch when men raised their voices. He’d seen her smile fade when someone stood too close. He knew her coffee order, the way she hummed when she was alone in her apartment, the specific brand of lavender lotion she used. He knew of the loneliness that haunted her.

He knew everything.

And the knowing had solidified into a single, unshakable truth. She was his. She just didn’t know it yet.

The café scene on his monitor dissolved as he switched views, pulling up the feed from the camera disguised as a smoke detector in her living room. Empty. She’d be heading home soon. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking. The plan was in motion. The careful, patient plan he’d been crafting for years.

*

Amber locked the door to her small apartment, the deadbolt sliding with a solid thunk that always brought a sliver of comfort. She dropped her bag on the floor and leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. The city was beautiful, all terracotta roofs and sparkling sea, but sometimes it felt so… big. So full of eyes.

She walked to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and drank. Her reflection in the dark window looked back at her—a pale, blurred ghost. Sometimes she felt like a ghost here, just passing through, unseen—except by the wrong people. She shook her head, dispelling the thought. A warm bath. That’s what she needed.

As she passed her small writing desk, a flash of white caught her eye—an envelope propped neatly against her laptop.

Her heart gave a funny little jump. She hadn’t checked her mail today. The building’s mailboxes were downstairs. How…?

She picked it up and saw her name was written on the front in a strong, slanted script—Amber Rose—with no address, just her name. A subtle chill raced down her spine.

With careful fingers, she tore it open. A single sheet of thick paper was inside. The message was short and typed.

Welcome home, Amber.

I’ve been waiting.

- K

The glass of water slipped from her hand. It hit the tile floor and exploded, sending water and shards skittering across the kitchen. She didn’t move. She just stared at the words, her blood turning to ice water in her veins.

Welcome home.

Someone was here. Someone was in here. Her eyes darted wildly around the room—the bookshelf, the potted plant, the ceiling fixture. Where? How? Panic, cold and sharp, clawed up her throat. She stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall. She fumbled for her phone in her pocket, her fingers numb and clumsy.

She dialed the emergency number, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. It rang once, twice.

A man’s voice, deep and calm, smooth as aged whiskey, came from behind her. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Amber whirled around, a scream trapped in her chest.

He stood in the doorway to her hallway, a silhouette at first, then stepped into the soft light of the living room lamp. He was… enormous. Tall, with shoulders that seemed to fill the space. He wore dark, tailored suit pants and a simple black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and intricate, dark tattoos. His hair was black, cut short, and messy in a way that looked intentional. His face was brutally handsome, but it was his eyes that held her frozen. They were a pale, piercing gray, like chips of winter sky, and they were fixed on her.

“Who are you?” she managed to whisper, the phone still pressed to her ear. A dispatcher’s tinny voice answered, “Emergency services, what is your—”

The man moved and covered the distance between them before she could blink. His hand closed over hers and the phone. His skin was warm, his grip firm but not painful. He pulled the phone from her trembling fingers and ended the call.

“I’m Kade,” he said, his voice low and deep in the quiet room. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“Get out,” she breathed, trying to yank her hand back. His grip tightened, just a fraction.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He said it plainly, a simple statement of fact. He lifted her hand, his eyes dropping to where his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Look at you. Shaking. You’re always shaking when a man gets too close, aren’t you?”

The accuracy of it, the invasion of it, stole her breath. “How do you know that? How did you get in here?”

He finally released her hand, but he didn’t step back. His presence was a wall, blocking her in. “I’ve known you for a long time, Amber. I know you take your coffee with two sugars and a splash of milk. I know you read romance novels, but you hide them behind the classics on your shelf. I know you cry sometimes at night, but never loudly.” Each fact was a little hammer blow, driving her deeper into the wall. “I know the man who was supposed to protect you did the opposite. I know you’re afraid. Of everything.”

Tears, hot and humiliating, welled in her eyes. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Yes.” No apology. No shame. Just that flat, gray stare.

“Why?” The word barely escaped her trembling lips.

His gaze traveled slowly over her face. “Because the minute I saw you, I knew. I knew I wanted you. I needed you.” He took a half-step closer. The scent of his cologne washed over her. “And I’m going to keep you.”

“You’re insane,” she spat, finding a spark of defiance. “I’m leaving. I’m walking out that door and going to the police.”

“You could try.” A faint, almost unnoticeable smile touched his lips. “The man who followed you from the café last month? The pushy one? He won’t be bothering you again. Or any other man.”

The air left her lungs. She remembered the man. He’d had a cruel mouth. “What did you do?”

“I convinced him it was in his best interest to leave the city.” Kade’s voice was mild, but the implication hung in the air, heavy and violent. “I protect what’s mine, Amber. Even before it knows it belongs to me.”

“I don’t belong to you!” she cried, pushing against his chest. It was like pushing a mountain—he didn’t budge an inch.

“You will.” He said it with such absolute certainty that her defiance wavered. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips grazed her cheek, and a jolt shot through her, making her flinch away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’ll touch you whenever I want,” he replied, his voice darkening. “But not tonight. Tonight, you need to understand.” He finally took a step back, giving her a sliver of breathing room. “Get a bag. Pack some things. Keepsakes. Toiletries. Nothing else.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You are.” He walked to her desk, picked up the note she’d dropped, and slipped it into his pocket. “You have a choice. You can walk out with me now, on your own two feet. Or I can carry you out. But you are leaving this apartment.”

The finality in his tone broke through the last of her shock, leaving her trembling in fear. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.” He turned those pale eyes on her. “My home. Where you’ll be safe. Where no one will ever make you flinch again. Where I can look after you properly.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“It’s a rescue,” he countered, his head tilting. “You just don’t know it yet. Now. The bag. Five minutes.”

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He was going to watch her pack. The insanity of the situation left her mind reeling, her eyes darting to the front door. He saw it.

“The building’s security guard is a friend of mine.” He said calmly. “There’s no way out, Amber. Except with me.”

The trapped feeling was suffocating. It was the feeling from her childhood, the one she’d crossed an ocean to escape. Her tears finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. She hated crying in front of him. Hated that he saw it.

His expression shifted, just a little. The harsh lines of his face softened, not with pity, but with something that looked like… satisfaction. “Good,” he said softly. “You’re beginning to understand.”

Something in her fractured. A strange, exhausted numbness seeped in. What was the point of fighting a force of nature? On weak legs, she walked to her bedroom. He didn’t follow, but she felt his gaze on her back every step of the way.

She pulled a small duffel bag from her closet and began packing reluctantly—jeans, t-shirts, underwear. She avoided the lacy things, choosing the plain cotton instead. It felt like a tiny, futile rebellion. She packed her lavender lotion.

When she returned to the living room, bag in hand, he was standing by the shattered glass. He’d taken a towel from her kitchen and was carefully picking up the larger pieces.

“I’ll have someone come clean this tomorrow,” he said, not looking up. He wrapped the shards in the towel and set them aside. Then he straightened and held out his hand. “Give me the bag.”

She clutched it to her chest.

He sighed, a sound of mild exasperation. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance and took the strap from her. His fingers brushed against hers. “You’ll learn,” he said, his voice a low rumble near her ear. “Fighting me is exhausting. And pointless. And eventually…” He paused, his gaze dipping to her mouth for a heartbeat before returning to her eyes. “Eventually, you won’t want to.”

He shouldered her bag and took her hand again, his fingers lacing through hers. His hand was warm and strong—the hand of a man who had never doubted his place in the world.

“Come on,” he said, and it wasn’t a request.

He led her to the front door. The hallway outside was empty. They walked to the elevator, his grip on her hand unbreakable. She was trembling again, a fine, constant vibration.

The elevator doors closed, sealing them in. She saw their reflection—his tall, dominant form, her small, pale figure beside him, looking like a scared child. His eyes met hers in the mirror.

“It’s going to be okay, Amber,” he said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. The gesture was almost tender. “I promise you. I’m going to take care of everything. All you have to do is be mine.”

The doors opened to the underground garage. A sleek, black SUV was parked nearby, its engine already purring.

He opened the passenger door for her, but she stood still. The cool garage air, the smell of concrete and car exhaust—it was the real world. The world she was being taken from. She looked back at him, at those winter-gray eyes.

“Please,” she whispered one last time.

He didn’t answer her. He simply placed a hand on the small of her back, a firm, guiding pressure.

It was the gentlest push she’d ever felt, and it was the one that finally broke her will as she climbed into the car.