Page 35 of Desert Sky (RB MC #4)

JD

T he funeral for her mother was quiet. Skye didn’t cry. Not in front of anyone. She stood beside me at the gravesite, all steel and silence, her black dress tugged by the wind. If there was a reason to mourn—it’d only be for the years we lost.

I didn’t say much. Just placed a hand on her back when it was over. She leaned into me like someone who had no more strength left to stand on her own.

But this wasn’t just her closure. It was mine too.

We returned to the ranch in silence. The second I walked into the study, I picked up my phone and made the first call. Then the second. Then the third.

Clarissa Northport was done.

Her credit cards? Frozen. Her monthly allowance? Terminated. The staff who answered to her? Dismissed. I even had my lawyers remove her access from the family trust and the charitable board seats she used as her social armor.

This was war. And I wasn’t bluffing anymore .

Cal showed up first.

“She doesn’t get to show her face around here,” he said without hesitation. “She crossed a damn line.”

Colton followed close behind, fury in his eyes. “She aimed a gun at Skye. That’s not just evil—that’s insanity. We should change every code, every lock, every gate.”

“Already in motion,” I said. “Security’s been briefed. The compound is no longer hers. She tries to step foot on Northport land, we treat her like a trespasser.”

Cal clenched his jaw. “She ever tries to get near Skye again, I’ll make sure she regrets being born.”

Colton nodded. “We back you. All the way.”

I was grateful, but there was no space for softness in me. Not anymore.

Late that night, my phone rang. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

I answered anyway.

“I know you’re angry,” Clarissa’s voice was hoarse and breathy. “But you don’t mean it. I’m your mother.”

“No,” I said flatly. “You’re a monster with my last name.”

“I was protecting you!” she snapped. “She would’ve ruined you. That girl?—”

“That girl,” I snarled, “was the only pure thing I ever had. And you tried to break her.”

Silence.

Then, something I didn’t expect: a soft sob.

“I made mistakes…”

I hung up.

And then I turned off my phone.

From that moment forward, she was dead to me.

I poured myself a bourbon, stepped outside, and let the desert night soak into my skin. The wind whispered through the mesquite trees, the stars brilliant above the ranch I used to feel trapped on.

Now? I was building something new. Something righteous.

And she was never going to be part of it again.