Page 14

14

HONOR

I wake up feeling something I haven’t in what feels like years—rested. Really rested. The mattress beneath me is soft, the sheets clean and fresh. Even Laramie seems to still be deep in her marathon of sleep.

The scent of breakfast drifts in, teasing me. It’s not overpowering—just a whisper of something familiar, like mornings from a different life. I know the kitchen is far from the bedroom, but my imagination fills in the gaps: the sizzle of something in a pan, the clink of a plate being set down. And Chase, moving around the house—maybe in something more casual than his usual suit? I’ve never seen him out of that polished armor, and the thought of him in t-shirt and shorts feels oddly… domestic .

I sit up, letting the morning light seep into my thoughts. My gaze falls on the mirror across the room, and for a moment, I hesitate. I can’t remember the last time I looked at myself properly. My reflection stares back, worn but still mine. My hair’s a mess, and there are faint smudges under my eyes.

And then, uninvited, the thought creeps in. How do I look to him? The idea tugs at a part of me I’d rather ignore. I hate that I care—hate the tiny spark of self-consciousness that flares when Chase is around. But there it is, undeniable.

I push back the covers, my feet hitting the cool floor as I stand. A bath sounds good. Lavender. That bottle I spotted last night might be worth a try, even though I practically rolled my eyes out of my head when Chase mentioned it yesterday. Honestly, I’ve never been one for the whole essential oil sorcery. If lavender is supposed to soothe the soul, mine’s about to stage a rebellion just to prove a point.

No bath today. Instead, I need to take stock of what’s actually happening. What box should I put Chase in now? Protector who just happens to be attractive? Gah! No. I’m not taking accountability for this. I’ll blame hormones. Hormones don’t care about boxes, don’t care about the past, and definitely don’t care about my sanity.

I decide to keep it simple—comb my hair, slap on some moisturizer, and call it a win. I sniff my shirt. Baby powder. That’ll do. Lavender can wait for another day. Maybe forever.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Breakfast’s ready, if you’re up for it.”

Is he kidding? My stomach growls so loudly it could’ve answered for me. Turns out, daydreaming about Chase doesn’t count as a balanced meal.

I glance at the mirror, smoothing my hair into something that looks slightly less like I’ve been wrestling with a pillow. Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself. I’m not exactly thrilled about the idea of being close to Chase. In a normal situation, I’d label him as ‘complicated.’ But he’s so much more than that—he’s someone I’ve sworn to take revenge on. Getting close to him is a disaster waiting to happen, no matter how this plays out.

But then the smell of breakfast hits me again. And just like that, I open the door and step into the hallway, bracing myself for whatever comes next.

I find Chase standing by the stove, flipping something in a skillet with a casual ease that seems at odds with the man I’ve come to know. He looks up when I enter, offering a small smile that’s almost disarming.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the table. “It’s just eggs and toast. Nothing fancy.”

I slide into a chair, careful not to let my guard down too much. “You cook?”

“Occasionally,” he replies, plating the food and setting it in front of me. “Survival skill. Can’t live off takeout forever.”

He sits across from me with his own plate, and for a few moments, it’s just the sound of silverware and the hum of the coffee machine. It’s almost... normal.

We talk about the usual things—weather, how we slept. I tell him the truth, minus the part where I almost caved to the lavender bath.

“Your house is pretty modern,” I comment, letting my gaze wander. “Not exactly the Montana vibe.”

“What can I say? It’s one of a kind,” he replies, looking pleased. “Built it last year.”

My eyes linger on the sleek lines and spotless surfaces. “Very… clean. Not cozy like a country house, but not entirely uncharming either.”

He smirks. “Not entirely uncharming? High praise.”

“I’m just a guest, Chase. My opinion doesn’t count.”

“It’s the safest house in Bozeman. Trust me,” he says with a wink.

I arch a brow. “Should I be worried? Are you hiding from someone?”

“Nope. I just take security seriously.”

“Work-related?” I ask, pretending not to pry.

“Yeah.” His head bobs a couple of time.

“So, you’ve been doing this rescue and protect thing like… forever?” I continue.

“Not full-time,” he says with a small shrug. “I bounced between contracts. Mostly behind the scenes.”

“How did you end up with Red Mark?”

He leans back slightly, his fork resting in his hand. “Before the HQ here in Bozeman, I was a contractor for Red Mark out of Helena. The Bozeman office is pretty new, so I only went full-time with them recently.”

The answer clicks into place like a puzzle piece. No wonder I hadn’t found anything on him before. If he’s only recently gone full-time with a high-profile organization like Red Mark, his contract work wouldn’t have left much of a trail. From all the Chase Samsons I managed to dig up, they were peaceful office workers or businessmen—not the man sitting across from me.

“And before Red Mark? Before your contract work?” The question leaves my mouth before I can think better of it.

His expression shifts, a slither of unease passing across his face. “Before that, I was a SEAL.”

I freeze, my fork pausing midair. “A SEAL?” For a brief, wild second, I wonder if he’s skirting around the truth to avoid something bigger—like being connected to the Stoneborn network. But no, you don’t lie about something like being a SEAL. That’s as real as it gets. The most lethal weapon the U.S. military can produce. A flicker of respect fills my chest despite myself.

He nods, his tone calm but weighted. “Yeah. A few deployments. Mostly overseas.”

My thoughts spiral—picturing Junior as a man in a wetsuit, charcoal smeared across his face, a heavy rifle in his hands, emerging from the dark water. But then the reality hits me harder. While I was desperately chasing every thread, clinging to nothing but a face and those unforgettable eyes, he was off being a Navy SEAL. No wonder I kept hitting dead ends—he wasn’t even in the country.

“You must’ve seen a lot,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods again, his gaze drifting slightly, like he’s staring at something far away. “Yeah. A lot.”

I want to press, to ask more, but there’s a heaviness in his words that makes me hesitate. This isn’t something you unpack lightly. And now here I am, planning to avenge my father’s death with a SEAL? God, what have I gotten myself into?

I take another bite of toast, letting the silence settle between us.

Chase looks back at me. “What about you? You’ve heard my story. What’s yours?”

The question startles me. For a moment, I don’t know how to answer. My story? It’s not the kind you drop over breakfast, not with a baby sleeping in the other room and the scent of eggs still in the air.

“Nothing to report,” I say finally. “I’m just the stupidest woman who thought Damon Stone was my knight in shining armor.” It’s a lie, but one that sounds close enough to the truth that my breakfast companion will believe.

Chase studies me, his gaze patient, like he’s waiting for more.

“Well,” I add, my voice turning gentler, “don’t get me wrong. Laramie is a miracle. I never regret her.”

“I understand,” he says simply. “From now on, live as if Damon Stone is out of your life. We’ve got a lot of work to do, but keep that in your head.”

The conversation fades into silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s something about the moment that feels stable, almost like we’re bonding—though I’d rather not admit it.

As I finish the last bite of my eggs, I glance at him again and catch the faintest trace of a smile on his face. So this is what it feels like to splinter under a man’s spell. Damn it.

Almost as if he knows what I’m thinking, Chase gets up, giving me space. He clears the table, then motions for me to take my time or do whatever I need.

Before I head back to my room, he stops me and places my gun in my hand. My trusty Glock lies sideways in my palm, but my focus is elsewhere—those damn eyes. Stormy sky. They still hold that weather warning edge, but now there’s a pull to them, dragging me in, spinning me in circles.

“Do you trust me with this?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says easily. “We won’t always be inside. You need to be able to defend yourself.”

Against who? That’s the real question.

I don’t linger. I retreat to my room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me.

A few minutes later, the sound of the shower running fills the quiet house. He’s shown me the combination to the front door—he trusts me to stay. But trust is a fragile thing, and right now, mine feels as sturdy as glass teetering on the edge of a table.

I could take the opportunity. Now that Laramie’s in the world, I have more flexibility to go farther. I could leave this place, grab Oakley, and make a run for Canada. Start fresh somewhere no one would ever think to look. Maybe even that town I once dreamed of as my escape.

Aunt Beth—my mother’s stepsister—visited us in Kalispell once. She was kind to me, always talking about how I should come see her someday. I don’t know exactly where she lives, or if she’s even still there, but I know it’s somewhere in Canada.

And if not there, I could find plenty of other places to start over. Whether I’ll return to this man to finish what I started is a decision for another time.

My fingers wrap tighter around the Glock as my mind spins, my steps light as I make my way toward his room. He left the bathroom door slightly ajar, steam curling out.

The doorway looms closer, every step pulling me into a dangerous possibility. I could end this right now. One shot, and the stormy sky, the questions, the doubts—all of it would go back into the box where it belongs. Chase Samson would be nothing more than a dead man, and my revenge would be complete.

But I stop. My hand lowers, the weight of the Glock suddenly heavier in my grasp. A long, silent sigh escapes my lips as reality sets in.

Escaping is always easier in your head than in the real world. I’m no superwoman. I can’t single-handedly take down the Stoneborn Circle’s army if they decide to catch up with me. I still need Chase. There’s a reason lionesses keep a male lion in the pride. It’s not for his charm—it’s for his strength, his ability to protect. Security.

I know I can unleash hell on Damon, but keeping myself, Laramie and Oakley safe? That’s a battle I can’t win alone. Having Chase in my corner makes it easier, less risky.

For now, I’ll let him be my pride leader.