Page 7

chapter

four

Boone didn’t say much as they pulled back onto the gravel road that wound toward the ranch. Just drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the open window, like he hadn’t just dragged Jax back from the edge of walking away for good.

The bunkhouse came into view, and his gut coiled tight. He wasn’t sure why this felt worse than walking into prison. Maybe because then, he’d had no choice. Now, he could’ve walked away, and he hadn’t.

Boone parked the truck beside a horse trailer and climbed out. “C’mon. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Jax thought of the men he’d caught glimpses of as he raced out of the bunkhouse that morning and didn’t move from his seat. He wasn’t interested in making friends.

Boone paused, unreadable as ever, then shut the door and started toward a barn like he knew Jax would follow him eventually.

He should’ve stayed back in town, jumped on a bus to nowhere.

But he hadn’t.

And he couldn’t stay in this truck forever. The sun was barely up, and it was already uncomfortably hot.

“Hell,” Jax muttered under his breath and slammed the truck door open.

They moved past the bunkhouse, where a couple of men loitered with coffee mugs, casting curious glances.

Jax kept his eyes forward, on Boone’s broad back, and tried not to think about them closing ranks, sharing whispers about the new guy who didn’t have the guts to stay gone.

They passed a barn and a series of paddocks, where horses and a shaggy cow watched from behind the fence. Hens strutted across the yard like they owned the place, clucking smugly to one another, and one massive, beady-eyed black rooster perched atop the chicken coop like a sentry.

He wasn’t just watching them. He was glowering , his iridescent feathers catching the sun in flashes of green-blue, one thick talon clenched around the edge of the roof like he was daring them to make a wrong move.

Jax slowed. “Is that thing… glaring at me?”

“Keep walking and don’t make eye contact,” Boone called over his shoulder. “That’s General Mayhem. He don’t like… well, anyone.”

“I thought this was a dog ranch.”

“We don’t only rescue dogs. Mayhem and his hens came from a hoarding situation.”

The rooster narrowed his eyes. Then, with a sharp, rasping screech, he launched himself from the coop.

Jax instinctively ducked. “Shit!”

General Mayhem dive-bombed him, talons flashing, beak aimed like a dagger. He flapped once, twice, then landed heavily on Jax’s shoulder, puffed up to twice his already terrifying size.

“Don’t move,” Boone warned, deadly serious.

The rooster let out a low, rattling growl—a grrrrrk sound that made Jax freeze—then jabbed his beak at Jax’s ear like he was tagging his new territory.

“Fuck! What the hell kind of chicken is this?”

“The homicidal kind,” Boone muttered and approached with his hands up like he was wrangling a raptor. “Don’t flinch. He smells fear.”

Jax stood still as stone, muscles locked tight. How had he gone from war zones to being held hostage by a goddamn chicken?

Another peck. He swore and nearly took a swipe at the beast, but Boone was suddenly there, plucking the giant rooster from his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned.” Something dangerously close to a smile twitched at the corner of Boone’s mouth. “He likes you.”

General Mayhem flapped furiously, letting out a squawk as Boone lobbed him back toward the chicken coop like a football.

He landed with a thump, ruffled feathers flaring, and slowly, deliberately, turned on Boone, letting out a sharp, guttural krawk .

It was the kind of sound that belonged more in Jurassic Park than a barnyard.

Boone arched an eyebrow. “You wanna be dinner?”

The rooster narrowed his eyes… but then, with exaggerated dignity, climbed back onto his perch, shaking dust from his wings like a man brushing off an insult.

Jax rubbed his ear and eyed the rooster warily. “How do you know he likes me?”

“He didn’t draw blood.”

“If that’s what he does to the people he likes, I’d hate to be his enemy.”

Boone chuckled under his breath as he turned away. “Ask River. He’ll tell you all about how much fun that is.”

There was a story there.

He didn’t want to be curious about these people or this place, but… fuck it, he was. He jogged to catch up. “Who’s River?”

Boone hitched his chin toward the bunkhouse. “One of your bunkmates.”

“That a nickname?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

Jax grunted, filing away the information without commenting. He didn’t plan on getting close enough to anyone to learn their stories. Names were enough.

Boone cut behind the barn to a long, low building with chain-link fencing extending from its side.

The barking started before they even reached the door, a chorus of different pitches and rhythms.

“Fair warning,” Boone said as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “These aren’t your average shelter dogs. Most of them have histories. Bad ones.”

“Like the psychotic rooster?”

“Worse.” Boone unlocked the door and pushed it open. “These dogs have been through hell. Abused, abandoned. A lot like the men who come here.”

Jax stopped at the threshold, pulse suddenly loud in his ears. The whole place looked like a prison block.

Because it was.

Smaller cells. Same story.

“Hey.” Boone still held the door open. “You good?”

No. Not even close.

But he nodded anyway.

Boone led him down the line of kennels, past a few curious eyes and hesitant wags, until they reached the very last one. Far corner. Out of the way. Forgotten.

She was curled tight, muzzle to tail, wedged so deep into the corner it looked like she was trying to disappear. Blue merle coat, patchy and dull. Bones jutting from her hips. Muzzle scarred and scabbed.

She didn’t lift her head when they stopped. Didn’t growl. Didn’t move. Just watched with eyes that said she’d already made her peace with whatever came next.

Boone crouched beside the cage. “This pretty girl came in a few days ago. The fuckers who had her lost their farm to foreclosure and left her in a cage barely big enough to turn around in, and I don’t suspect they were too kind to her before that.

Most likely, she was a bait dog for fighting.

Nobody’s been able to get close to her. Lila, our vet, had to sedate her with a tranq gun just to examine her.

” He raised his hand toward the kennel’s latch, and the dog flinched so hard she banged her head.

Her lips peeled off her teeth in a snarl.

Boone’s jaw tightened, and he lowered his hand.

Jax crouched beside him and studied the dog. “Why me?”

“Walker thinks you can get through to her. Called you kindred spirits.”

Jax almost laughed. Kindred spirits. Meant they were both fucked, didn’t it? His eyes stayed on the dog. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s usually right.”

The dog inched further away, as if hoping to melt straight through the wall. She was all desperation and sharp angles, a broken thing feral enough to bite and fragile enough to shatter if pushed too hard.

He shifted back on his heels. “What’s her name?”

“Echo.”

It knocked the air from his lungs, and he flinched. The name cracked something open in his mind. Something that he’d spent the last thirteen years trying to forget…

“RPG incoming!” he shouted, but it was too late.

The explosion tore through the air, sending a shockwave that knocked him backward. He scrambled to his knees, repositioning his rifle as his ears rang with the sound of the blast. Smoke and flames consumed the compound, obscuring his team from view.

“Echo One, report!”

No response.

“Echo Six is down!” Mack’s voice, strained and panicked. He was the only other one of their six-man team who had stayed back to provide overwatch and act as Jax’s spotter. “Three is—oh, fuck!”

Jax’s breath hitched as he scanned the carnage below through his scope, finally finding Echo One, Shane, on the ground, rolling, trying to put out the flames engulfing him.

Echo Three—Alejandro—was just… gone. Echo Four, Zeke, was obviously dead, his face peeled off his skull by the explosion.

Further out, Echo Six, Rylan—young, eager Rylan, the newest member of their team—was sprawled out, unconscious, blood soaking into the dirt around him, a ragged pulp of flesh where his arm had been moments ago.

“Six is still alive! I’m going in for him.

” Mack broke cover, sprinting toward Rylan, but he didn’t even make it halfway before bullets tore through him.

He staggered a few more steps and, through the scope, Jax saw the spray of blood and bone as a final round blew past the protection of Mack’s helmet.

The big man collapsed forward into the dirt and didn’t move again.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He couldn’t lose them. Not like this. He took his eyes off his teammates—his brothers—long enough to call in the Quick Reaction Force for an exfil. “Hang on, guys. QRF is inbound. Hang on. Help is coming. Fuck!”

His rifle barked again and again, picking off hostiles with one well-placed shot after another. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how many he dropped, more kept coming.

“Echo Two,” Shane’s voice crackled faintly in his ear, weak and ragged with pain. “Fall back.”

“No! I’m not leaving you.”

“Steady, that’s an order. Get out of here,” Shane rasped. “Jax. We’re already dead.”

A dog barked from a nearby kennel, snapping Jax back to the present.

Steady. His teammates used to call him that because he’d never lost his cool no matter how hot the firefight got. Now the nickname felt like a cruel joke. He was anything but steady.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the memory.

Boone turned. “Got a problem with her name?”

“No.” The word scraped out of him. “Not a problem.”

Boone’s gaze lingered, and he opened his mouth like he was about to say something more, but then he shook his head and let it drop. He stood, filling the space with his shadow. “Let’s give her a minute to get used to you. Meet me outside when you’re done.”