Page 5 of Echoes and Oaths (Guardian Security Dynasty #4)

E ira Isaacson rocked gently back and forth on the weathered wooden swing that hung from the covered porch of her farmhouse.

The creaking of the chains blended with the soft hum of cicadas and the distant rustling of cattle shifting in the pasture beyond.

Dusk had begun its slow descent, painting the Venezuelan sky in hues of amber and violet.

The scent of hay, sun-warmed earth, and distant woodsmoke lingered in the air, grounding her in the world she’d built with her own two hands.

Cradled in her arms, her son Teo dozed, one tiny fist curled against her chest. His weight was warm and reassuring, a steady heartbeat against her own.

Her gaze swept over the land. The rolling fields of deep green, the modest barn with its fresh coat of red paint, the chicken coop alive with content clucks, and the dairy shed where her cousins were finishing the evening milking.

It wasn’t the animal hospital she’d dreamed of during long nights at veterinary school, but it was real.

Tangible. A living, breathing thing she’d carved from hardship and heartache.

Dreams, she had learned, often clashed with reality in brutal, unforgiving ways.

As she rocked with her child nestled close, Eira wondered if the foolish dreams of a headstrong woman were always destined to teach humility.

When she’d returned from school, her heart had burned with purpose.

She would save animals. She would build a sanctuary.

Her affinity for creatures, wounded, wild, or unwanted, had never waned.

There had never been a question of who she would become.

From the moment she could walk, she’d tended to injured birds, bottle-fed abandoned kittens, and whispered to horses.

Her mother had once dreamed big, too. She’d married a foreigner swept into Venezuela by the booming oil business.

They’d met in the city, fallen in love, and married within three months.

But her father’s promises had faded fast. Venezuela hadn’t been for him.

He’d left, first emotionally, then physically.

He’d sent money, yes, but never returned.

Heartbroken, Eira’s mother had retreated home to the small community tucked at the base of the Cordillera mountains. And that was where Eira had been raised, among strong women, hard workers, and the quiet resilience of people who didn’t expect anything they hadn’t earned.

Now, Eira was back in the same village. History repeating.

The dream of a modern veterinary hospital had evolved into something more practical.

More necessary. Since Mateo disappeared, she'd turned her animal rescue clinic into a functioning, self-sustaining dairy farm.

She raised chickens for eggs and meat. Sold cheese and milk.

Employed her aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Every cent went back into the land, and into securing a future for Teo.

The man she’d fallen in love with had also vanished. Mateo Rivas.

But maybe he hadn’t just disappeared. Maybe he’d died in one of the countless cartel wars that swallowed men whole. She didn’t know.

The only thing she did know was that her son had no father.

She’d made the same mistake her mother had made. Trusted a man who didn’t stay .

But Eira wouldn’t make that mistake again.

She would raise Teo to be strong. To stand on his own. To avoid the cartels at all costs. To build something real, something enduring, something no man could take from him.

The cartels wanted everything. They wanted men for their wars.

Women for their beds. But they needed food.

And Eira provided it. Her dairy, her chickens, her eggs fed men who made war.

And not surprisingly, due to Ortega’s interest in her, she was paid a fair price.

The arrangement bought her peace, for now.

Her gaze dropped to the black lab mix lying at her feet. The dog thumped its tail when her eyes met his, and she reached down to scratch behind his ears.

He’d been brought to her by Mateo. Horribly wounded, the poor creature had dragged itself halfway to death before being found. The leg had been too far gone to save. She’d had to amputate, but the dog had healed because Mateo had brought him to her.

Staying by its side, day and night, his gentleness had been undeniable. Mateo understood animals with a depth that seemed almost otherworldly.

He’d calmed a panicked bull with nothing more than a quiet presence and slow breaths. He’d haltered a wild horse that had thrown every man who dared approach it. Strays followed him like loyal disciples. And the first time she saw him holding that broken dog in his arms, she’d felt her world shift.

She closed her eyes and rocked slowly, letting herself remember him.

Mateo had been tall, at least six feet, with strong shoulders and a quiet intensity. His hands were calloused and rough, but his touch with her and the animals had always been gentle. Tender.

He’d lived with her, staying in her home whenever work didn’t call him away.

And, of course, she’d known. Everyone in the region knew. Seventy percent of the men there worked for the cartels in some capacity. It was impossible not to.

But enforcer?

Her uncles had only told her after he’d left, or after he’d been killed. No one knew for sure.

They’d said he’d risen in the Montoya faction. That he’d been feared. That he’d had blood on his hands. That he’d been cold, calculated. Deadly.

She blinked hard, refusing to cry.

Murderer .

That word didn’t fit with the man she’d known. The man who’d whispered to her beneath the stars, who’d kissed her with reverence. She didn’t know that man they feared. She’d only known Mateo. And she’d loved him with her whole damn heart.

Then, the Montoya faction had imploded.

It had happened fast. It was violent and chaotic. Hundreds had been killed in a matter of weeks. Montoya himself had been the first to fall, gunned down in his compound, his blood painting the marble floors he’d once ruled from like a king.

The scramble for power had been ruthless. Men Eira had grown up with were buried in mass graves or had disappeared into the jungle. Former allies turned enemies, and friends had become corpses.

Eventually, the Ortega faction had emerged from the carnage with bloodied hands and ruthless efficiency. They’d taken control, and the region had settled into a tense, uneasy truce, well…less peace and more submission under new rule.

When the dust had finally settled, it was no longer about loyalty. It was about survival. But Mateo was gone. Her world had crumbled, and so had her heart. Never again would she allow herself to hurt like that. She would never let another man break her like that again .

Eira had discovered she was pregnant with Mateo’s child three months after he’d vanished.

Gone. Without a trace. No goodbye. No explanation.

Just silence. She firmly believed he’d died.

If he could’ve come back to her, he would have.

She knew it in her heart. They were soulmates, destined to be together.

She had wanted forever, a commitment and marriage, but he’d never made that promise.

When she was with him, she never doubted he loved her, not once.

But the commitment never came, making her wonder if she was enough for him.

After he disappeared and she learned what he truly was, she understood why he couldn’t. His life was always at risk.

She looked down at the boy in her arms, her heart aching and full all at once. Teo’s soft lashes fluttered against his cheek as he slept, unaware of the legacy that stirred in the knowledge around him.

He was her only connection to the man she’d loved. The only proof Mateo had ever truly been hers. Her son would never know about the other side of his father. The whispered rumors of bloodshed, the name spoken in fear across cartel lands. No one in her family would breathe a word of it to him.

She would raise Teo on stories of kindness. Of quiet strength. Of how his father could soothe a wounded animal with a touch and calm a frightened mare with nothing more than a murmur. She would protect his memory the same way she protected her son, with fierce, unrelenting devotion.

A plume of dust rose in the distance, catching her eye. It twisted up from the dry road to her farm, curling in the hot Venezuelan air like a warning.

Vehicles.

Moving fast.

She stood up, gently shifting Teo against her shoulder, and walked to the front door, her voice firm but calm as she called through the mesh screen.

“Mom, come get Teo.”

Moments later, her mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted towel from the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her gaze already following Eira’s nod toward the road.

“Vehicles,” Eira said quietly. “And they’re coming fast.”

Her mother’s breath caught. “Do you have your gun?”

Eira gave a single nod. “Always.”

“Do you want me to get your Uncle Juan?”

She shook her head, eyes hard. “No. I’ll handle whatever’s coming. ”

Her mother reached out, took the sleeping child from her arms, and cradled him protectively. “Be careful, mi amor.”

Eira stepped off the porch and watched as their converted milk truck, a battered, rusted-out military vehicle with a five-hundred-gallon stainless-steel tank welded to its back as it rumbled away from the dairy yard.

The thing looked like it had survived three wars, and maybe it had.

But it did the job, hauling milk to the nearby village where her uncle turned it into cheese in his shop.

After the painfully slow milk truck passed through the narrow front gate, three black SUVs skidded to a halt and lined up in front of the house. They hadn’t come to barter. They hadn’t come for cheese.

She didn’t wait for an invitation.

Eira walked straight toward the middle SUV, full skirts swaying with every purposeful step.

Her boots crunched over gravel and dry grass.

She stopped as the vehicle door opened and one of Ortega’s enforcers stepped out.

Marco, the bastard. Oh, she knew his type.

Clean beard, pressed shirt, combat boots. Dangerous in all the wrong ways.

He let his eyes rake over her body like she was property. Eira slipped her hand into the deep pocket of her skirt and curled her fingers around the grip of a small revolver. It was the only thing Mateo had ever left her. That and her son, who was now safe inside her house.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

The man sneered. “If it weren’t for Ortega, you wouldn’t be so disrespectful.”

“If it weren’t for Ortega, you’d be dead,” she shot back, her tone like steel wrapped in velvet.

His face twisted into something feral, his upper lip curling to show his teeth.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“What. Do. You. Want?” she asked again, sharper that time.

He hissed something low in his throat but motioned toward the back seat of the SUV. The rear door opened, and inside was a beautiful Belgian Malinois. The dog was trembling violently, thick foam leaking from its jaws.

Poison.

Eira’s chest tightened, but she didn’t show it.

She turned her gaze to the driver, the quiet one, the one who hadn’t spoken yet. “You,” she said, pointing. “Pick him up. Carefully. And bring him with me.”

Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and headed toward the small stucco building beside the main house. A simple, two-room structure with whitewashed walls, tiled floors, and metal fans spinning lazily from the ceiling. It was small, but it was hers. It was enough.

The driver followed, carrying the dog as gently as he could manage.

“Put him on the table,” she instructed, pulling gloves on and snapping the light above the exam table into place.

Her hands moved with purpose, her voice firm. She checked the dog’s pulse, felt the trembling muscles, and lifted the dog’s lips to expose the gums and check their color. Then she pried open the jaw to inspect the foam and vomit at the back of the throat.

“He’s been poisoned,” she said without hesitation.

The talkative enforcer scowled, glancing at the driver. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t even look at him. “Yes, I’m sure,” she snapped. “Now, get out of here so I can work.”

They hesitated. She didn’t.

Eira was already reaching for activated charcoal, drawing a syringe, and grabbing the saline drip. She didn’t have time to suffer fools. Not when an innocent animal was fighting to breathe .

She worked on the animal and stabilized it.

Giving it a sedative, she made it as comfortable as possible in her limited space.

She stroked the dog’s fur as she glanced around the small clinic.

Her dream had been to help animals for as long as she could remember.

She’d nursed squirrels that had fallen out of nests, tried to fix broken wings on birds, brought every stray animal she’d ever come across home, and loved and cared for them all.

The biology of animals was an immediate curiosity for her, and it formed her path as an adult.

Animals had no one to protect them. Man was the ultimate predator, and she was their guardian, at least in this small portion of the world.