Page 35

She leans into the curve of a turn like she’s done it before. Confident. Calm. Fierce.

The kind of woman you fight for.

The kind of woman you kill for.

The kind of woman who could tear you apart if she walked away.

Team W headquarters, a sprawling ranch that acts as a tactical fortress of sorts rises into view, its fences wide and open, the sky burning orange at the edges. The tension in my shoulders doesn’t ease until the gates close behind us and I hear Gage’s voice crackle over the comms with a clear perimeter report.

I bring the Harley to a stop in the packed gravel lot near the main house. She swings off the bike like she’s done it a hundred times. No hesitation. No pretense.

Dalton steps out from the barn, arms crossed, eyes hard.

“This her?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Sutton, this is Dalton.”

She gives him a nod, but her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Nice to meet you too,” she says, then adds with a cheeky grin, “You better not have so much as scratched my Range Rover. I swear, if there's even a squashed bug, I’m making you detail it with a toothbrush.”

Dalton doesn’t answer.

He just watches her, measuring. Typical. He doesn’t trust easily, and Sutton’s not an easy read. I don’t expect him to soften—especially not after losing too many people to trust blindly.

Rush and Cassidy appear on the porch next. Kari’s coming with Gideon and Maggie. They're not here yet, but will be soon.

“Inside,” Rush says, tone clipped. “We’ve got movement.”

I reach for Sutton’s hand and guide her up the steps of the ranch house. Her fingers are cool to the touch, but there’s a steadiness in her grip that anchors me. No hesitation. No flinch.Just her strength aligning with mine. It says more than words ever could, and I like that—a lot.

Inside the ranch house, the living room has been transformed into a full-blown war room. Every surface hums with purpose—walls lined with tactical maps and digital displays, the air thick with the low buzz of comms chatter and the faint metallic scent of spent energy. Gage gives me a nod from his perch near the monitors, his eyes sharp and alert, fingers flying over the keyboard as he adjusts camera feeds and tracks movement. The glow from the screens casts hard shadows across his face, and the set of his jaw tells me everything—this isn’t a drill. We’re already in it.

“The Reaper’s not running anymore,” he says without preamble, his voice low and taut, like a tripwire waiting to snap. His eyes flick to me, then to Sutton, sharp and unreadable. There’s no humor in him now, no relaxed posture—just that cold, focused stillness that only shows when things are about to go sideways. “We’ve got eyes on him moving south, but he’s not alone.”

“Someone’s backing him?” I ask.

“Maybe more than one,” Gage confirms. “Could be a splinter group. Could be a full damn strike team. We’ll know more by midnight.”

Rush turns to me. "You sure this is where you want her when it all goes down?"

“She’s safer here than anywhere else,” I say. “That was your call, remember? You wanted everyone here—Maggie, Kari, Sutton included. We make the stand here, or we don’t make it at all.”

Rush studies Sutton, his expression unreadable. “Fair point.”

Sutton clears her throat, lifting her chin slightly. “What about my father?” she asks. “You think he’s safe in Houston?”

Rush exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “For now. He’s not a target—yet. But we’re keeping an eye on every known associate, just in case.”

She nods slowly, lips pressed into a tight line, but I feel the tension in her hand where it still curls around mine.

Rush finally nods. “Then we plan. Because whether it’s tonight or tomorrow, he’s coming.”

I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back—firm, unshaking, as if we’re already in this together.

Her breath hitches just slightly, and I catch the flicker of steel in her gaze—not fear, not doubt. Readiness. Resolve. And something more primal threading beneath it all.

Ready. Willing. Mine.

And God help the bastard who tries to take her from me.