Page 15 of Comforted By The Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #1)

ASHER

T he gravel crunches under our boots as we gather around Grayson's tactical map spread across the hood of his Jeep.

Twenty-five minutes south of Eden Ridge, we've pulled off the main highway onto an old logging road, close enough to the warehouse to move quickly but far enough away that any lookouts won't spot us coming.

The sun is setting behind the mountains, casting long shadows through the pine trees. In another hour, it'll be full dark, which could work for us or against us depending on how many men they have inside that building.

"Satellite imagery shows three main entrances," Grayson says, pointing to the printout he pulled up on his phone.

"East side has a loading dock, probably the most obvious entry point.

West side has a personnel door, looks like it leads into what used to be the office section.

South entrance appears to be the main shipping area. "

I study the building layout, my hands clenched into fists. Somewhere in that maze of concrete and steel is Ryder, probably scared out of his mind, wondering why his daddy isn't coming to save him.

Because that's what I am now. His daddy. And daddies don't let bad men take their kids.

"How many vehicles did we count on the drive by?" Nash asks, checking his rifle one more time.

"Three. Two motorcycles and a black sedan," West answers. "Could be anywhere from three to eight men, depending on how they traveled."

"Assume the worst," Grayson says. "Plan for eight, hope for three."

Beckett moves closer, his weathered face grim. "Ash, I need you to listen to me. Really listen."

I turn to face my oldest brother, the man who's been our unofficial leader since our parents died. "I'm listening."

"You're not thinking straight right now. None of us would be. But if you go charging in there without a plan, you're going to get yourself killed. And more importantly, you're going to get Ryder killed."

His warning annoys me but I know he's right. The rage burning in my chest, the need to tear those bastards apart with my bare hands, it's not going to help Ryder. It's going to get him hurt.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask.

"Follow orders. Stay with your assigned partner. Don't break formation unless the situation goes to complete hell." Grayson's voice is pure military command now. "This isn't the time for heroics, Asher. This is the time for precision."

I nod, swallowing my pride and my fury. "Understood."

"Good." Grayson hands each of us a tactical radio. "Three teams. Beckett, you're with Asher on the east approach. I know he's family but right now, you're his commanding officer. Don't let him do anything stupid."

Beckett nods grimly. "Copy that."

"Nash and Ezra, you take the west side. Move slow, check every corner. These aren't weekend warriors we're dealing with. They're criminals who've killed before and won't hesitate to kill again."

"What about Holden and me?" West asks.

"You're with me on the south entrance. We go in hard and fast, make noise, draw their attention. That should give the other teams a chance to flank them and locate Ryder."

I check my watch. The GPS tracker in Ryder's toy still shows him stationary at this location but that doesn't mean he'll stay here. Every minute we spend planning is another minute they could be moving him.

"Time limit?" I ask.

"We move in ten minutes. In and out in thirty. If we're not clear by then, local law enforcement is going to start asking questions we don't want to answer."

The next ten minutes pass like hours. We check weapons, test radio communications, and review the approach routes one more time. My hands are steady, my breathing controlled, but inside I'm screaming.

Ryder called me Daddy Asher this morning. Jumped off the counter into my arms like he's done dozens of times before, trusting completely that I'd catch him. And I did. I always do.

Now he's in there, probably wondering where I am. Why I haven't come for him yet.

"Positions," Grayson's voice crackles through the radio.

Beckett and I move through the tree line toward the east side of the warehouse. The building looms against the darkening sky, all broken windows and rusted metal siding. It looks like it's been abandoned for years, which makes it perfect for this kind of operation.

Too perfect. This feels like a trap.

"East team in position," Beckett whispers into his radio.

"West team ready," Nash reports.

"South team moving to breach," Grayson says. "On my mark. Three... two... one... go."

The east entrance is a loading dock with a partially open roll up door. Beckett tests it carefully, checking for alarms or tripwires. Nothing. We slip underneath, weapons drawn, moving into the dark interior.

The warehouse is bigger than it looked from outside. Massive concrete pillars support a ceiling that disappears into shadows. Old machinery sits covered in dust and cobwebs, creating a maze of potential hiding spots and ambush points.

"Clear on the east side," Beckett whispers into his radio. "Moving toward center."

"West side clear so far," Nash reports. "Found some recent tire tracks near the office section."

"South team is encountering resistance," Grayson's voice comes through, followed by the sound of shouting in the distance.

My heart pounds as we work our way deeper into the warehouse. Every shadow could hide an enemy. Every sound could be Ryder calling for help. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant commotion from Grayson's team.

"Movement on the upper level," Ezra's voice crackles through the radio. "Northwest corner, looks like office space."

That's when I see it. A flash of movement in one of the upper windows. Small. Child-sized.

"I've got eyes on a possible target," I whisper. "Upper level, east side office area."

"Confirm," Beckett orders.

I pull out my phone and zoom in on the window. There, pressed against the glass with his hands flat against it, is a small face with familiar dark curls.

"It's him," I breathe. "It's Ryder."

Every instinct screams at me to run toward those stairs, to get to him as fast as possible. But I force myself to stay put, to follow protocol.

"West team, can you get a visual on the upper level from your position?" Beckett asks.

"Negative. Too many obstructions from here."

"South team is fully engaged," Grayson reports, his voice tight. "At least four hostiles, possibly more. We're keeping them busy but you need to move fast."

That's all the permission I need. "I'm going up there."

"Wait for backup," Beckett orders, but I'm already moving toward the metal staircase leading to the office level.

"Asher, goddammit, wait for me!"

I hear Beckett following but I can't slow down. Ryder is up there, twenty feet away and I can see him crying through the window. Every second I wait is another second he's scared and alone.

The stairs are old and loud, each step echoing through the warehouse despite my attempts at stealth. But I don't care about noise anymore. Let them know I'm coming. Let them try to stop me.

The upper level is a maze of cubicles and abandoned office furniture. Fluorescent lights hang dark and broken from the ceiling, creating patches of deep shadow between the few working emergency lights.

I move through the maze toward the room where I saw Ryder, my weapon raised, finger on the trigger. Behind me, I can hear Beckett's heavier footsteps and the occasional burst of radio chatter from the other teams.

The door to the office is closed but light spills out from underneath. I pause just outside, listening. Voices. At least two men, maybe three. And underneath their conversation, a sound that makes my vision go red.

Ryder crying.

"Please," his small voice carries through the thin door. "I want my mommy. I want to go home."

"Shut up, kid," a gruff voice responds. "That puta’s gonna get what's coming to her."

That's it. That's all I can take.

I key my radio once. "Going in now."

"Asher, wait for–,"

I don't hear the rest of Beckett's transmission because I'm already moving. I take three steps back and then launch myself at the door, hitting it with my shoulder. The cheap hollow core door explodes inward, splintering off its hinges.

Three men turn toward me, all of them reaching for weapons. The closest one has a gun already in his hand, raising it toward me. I don't give him the chance to aim.

I tackle him hard, both of us crashing into a metal desk. His gun goes flying, skittering across the floor. My fist connects with his jaw and his head snaps back with a satisfying crack.

"Daddy Asher!" Ryder's voice cuts through the chaos. He's huddled in the corner behind an overturned chair, tears streaming down his face but he's alive, he's whole, he's okay.

The second man lunges at me with a knife but I'm already spinning away from his clumsy attack. My elbow catches him in the solar plexus and he doubles over, gasping.

That's when I see the third man. He's bigger than the other two, with arms covered in tattoos and a face that belongs in a nightmare. He's got a pistol in his hand and it's pointed directly at Ryder.

"Back off," he snarls. "Or I blow his fucking head off."

Time slows to a crawl. I can see Ryder's terrified face, the man's finger tightening on the trigger, then Beckett appearing in the doorway behind me with his own weapon drawn.

"Drop it," Beckett orders, his voice carrying all the authority of his years as a firefighter.

The tattooed man swings his gun toward Beckett instead. "Fuck you."

That's when everything goes to hell.

The first gunshot is deafeningly loud in the confined space. I throw myself toward Ryder as the muzzle flash lights up the room like lightning. More shots follow, some from Beckett's rifle, others from somewhere deeper in the building.

I cover Ryder's small body with mine, feeling him shake against my chest as bullets fly over our heads. The man with the knife tries to get up and I kick him in the face hard enough to put him back down.

"Status report!" Grayson's voice crackles through my earpiece, nearly drowned out by the gunfire.

"We have him," I manage to say, even as more shots ring out. "But we're pinned down. Multiple hostiles, unknown number."

"Copy that. South team is moving to assist."

Beckett fires three quick shots and I hear someone scream in pain. But there are more men coming up the stairs now, their boots pounding on the metal steps.

"We need an exit," I tell Beckett.

"Working on it," he replies, changing position to get a better angle on the doorway.

That's when I hear them. Car engines starting up outside. They're running but not all of them. Enough stay behind to keep us busy while the others escape.

"This isn't over," the tattooed man shouts from wherever he's taken cover. "We know where you live now. We'll be back for the bitch and her brat."

The threat sends ice through my veins but I push it aside. Right now, all that matters is getting Ryder out of here safely.

"Daddy, I'm scared," he whispers against my chest.

"I know, buddy. But you're safe now. I've got you and I'm never letting go."

More gunshots echo through the warehouse, closer now. Beckett curses as wood splinters explode near his head.

"How many rounds you got left?" I ask him.

"Enough to get us out of here."

From somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens approaching. Real ones this time, not just Grayson's bluff. Someone must have called in the shots fired.

"Police are coming," I tell Ryder. "Everything's going to be okay."

But even as I say it, I know this is far from over. The MC knows where we live now. They'll be back and next time, they won't make the mistake of underestimating us.

The gunfire intensifies and Beckett drops behind cover as bullets punch through the drywall where his head was a second before.

"We’re pinned in!" His voice is urgent on the radio. "We need a distraction."

I bend, brushing Ryder’s tears from his cheeks. “I need you to stay with Beckett, bud.” Ryder shakes his head, clinging to me. “I need you to be brave, okay?”

There’s no time. I pick him up and hand him to my brother.

“Go,” I say, checking my ammo and moving to the door behind us.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Beckett yells behind me. “Get down.”

“You need a distraction,” I say, mind focused on the task ahead of me. “When I shoot, you go. Get Ryder out of here and back to Sierra.”

I narrow in on my target, a mini propane cylinder on a shelf next to a fire extinguisher. The men closing in are reloading in the same room.

“Daddy Asher,” Ryder cries.

“I’ll be right behind you, bud,” I lie, before meeting Beckett’s eyes. “When I shoot, you go.”

Beckett gives a single nod and I pull the trigger, grateful like fuck our dad used to take us all hunting growing up. As expected, the shot lands. The propane cylinder explodes on impact, hitting the fire extinguisher. Dry powder and gasses fill the room.

“Go,” I yell.