Page 8

8

HONOR

Un-fucking-believable.

He’s here. Chase Samson.

No change of name. No attempt to erase himself. I didn’t even have to chase him. He has walked straight into my territory. And my God—he’s a presence and a half. Strikingly handsome, the kind of man who looks like he was born to save the day.

I’m pretty sure he was one of the two men I spotted sniffing around Great Falls. He was at a distance, but damn it—I should’ve known then.

Mira Stone sent him, didn’t he say? So the Circle still has him on their leash.

“Honor Deveraux?” His voice is smooth. Like I’m a Chihuahua yapping at a guest, not a woman holding a gun.

I lift my chin, unblinking. “You’re talking to her.”

“Put the gun down, ma’am. We can talk about this.”

Talk. I’ve got to hand it to him—he’s calm.

Back in Kalispell, I called him ‘Junior.’ Big for his age, torn between good and evil, but in the end decided to take a life. But now? There’s nothing junior about him. Late twenties. Broad as a bull. King Kong confidence.

But those eyes? Grayish blue—which I prefer to call stormy sky. Watching me now, hard and unrelenting. No flicker of recognition.

My finger tenses. This is it. Twelve years of imagining this moment, the weight of justice—my justice—bearing down on me. The trigger burns beneath my touch, loaded with choice.

“Put the gun down!” the younger man barks, stepping forward. Unlike his partner, his Glock remains at the ready. Ethan, I think I heard his name is—just a shadow backing up Chase’s towering figure. His sunglasses hide his face, leaving his expression unreadable.

Chase doesn’t flinch, his gun still holstered. Insulting.

His gaze pins me in place. He doesn’t recognize me—not a bit. To him, I’m just another criminal. A kidnapper. His mission is to apprehend me, to “save” Oakley. He doesn’t see me, not anymore. Maybe he never really did.

But my finger refuses to move further. If I shoot Chase, Ethan will take me out. Then what? Oakley will be left alone. And my baby?

A fissure of fear grips my throat, but I force it down.

And then—pain. It cuts through me like a blade, searing and sudden. I gasp, my knees buckling, the gun slipping from my grip as I clutch my belly.

My body betrays me, forcing the choice I’m too afraid to make.

“Honor!” Oakley rushes to my side in a panic. “Is the baby coming?”

Chase steps forward in a controlled rush. “Ms. Deveraux, are you okay?”

Those eyes—damn them. Still as devastating as they were all those years ago. Concern flashes there, swirling with something softer, something I refuse to name. But I can’t forget who he is. What he is. A killer I’ve sworn to destroy.

For now, though, Chase Samson will live another day—and maybe a few more. Like it or not, I need him. Survival means compartmentalizing, and it’s time to start. I force open the box I locked him in years ago—the one labeled Protector . The only moment he’s ever earned that title.

As a kid, the only currency I understood was pain and joy. That man never gave me joy—not once. He gave me the worst pain imaginable, the loss of my parents. But he also kept me from the pain of a bullet hole. In that moment, the currency shifted, became more complicated. I learned there’s a vast space between pain and joy—one of those things being safety.

Now, caught in the grip of a different kind of pain, I hate to admit it—I need him. And the stakes are higher this time. It’s not just me. It’s my baby. It’s Oakley.

“Don’t hurt her!” Oakley cries, shoving himself between us. His small arms spread wide, as if he could shield me from a man three times his size.

I push through the pain, dragging myself upright and pulling Oakley close.

“No one’s getting hurt,” Chase says, his voice steady, almost soothing. Behind him, Ethan eases his grip on the gun, but his stance stays rigid, his eyes locked on me and Chase.

“Let me help you sit.” Chase steps closer, hand outstretched.

I shove up my palm to stop him. “Don’t.” My voice wavers, but I force my feet to move. Every step is war, my body screaming, but I reach the couch and sink into its worn cushions. Shallow breaths keep me from breaking as I glare up at him. “So Mira Stone sent you?”

Chase’s expression flickers—barely—but I catch it. “She’s his mother.”

Physically, I’m no match for Chase Samson. Or his partner. Ethan might lack Chase’s brute force, but his stance speaks volumes. If I’m going to save Oakley, I need these so-called Red Mark men—whatever the hell that means—to believe me. Oakley doesn’t belong to the Stones. He never did.

“You said you’re with some rescue firm?” I say. “The Stones must’ve paid you handsomely.”

“Red Mark Rescue and Protect,” Chase replies, unflinching. “I’m Chase Samson. My partner, Ethan Connor.”

“Then let me make something clear, sir.” My voice rises—partly to make a point, and partly to mask the pain wrecking me. “This isn’t a rescue mission. And if you’re a real protector, you should know—his home isn’t safety. Mira Stone isn’t safety.”

I tug Oakley’s arm forward, turning it to show the scar that snakes along his forearm. “Last summer his father broke his arm. You want to know why? He spilled a few drops of gas refueling his old man’s Harley.”

Chase doesn’t move. His gaze lingers on the scar.

“And this,” I press on, my hand trembling as I point to the faint stitch line along Oakley’s nose, “was from his mother slamming his head into a table.”

I wait, studying Chase. No one says a thing.

Then I reveal, “No reason. She was just drunk.”

Oakley flinches. The betrayal flashes across his face, but I had no choice. Chase has to hear it.

“Please.” Oakley’s voice is small, desperate. “Don’t take me back to my mother. Don’t.”

My belly hardens. Pain ripples through me again—relentless. I grip the couch for control, clenching my teeth so hard I taste blood.

Not now. Not now.

I lock eyes with Chase, desperation cracking through me like glass. “If you have any honor, you’ll give Stone’s money back and walk away.”

Chase doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze weighs on me, as though he’s assessing everything I’m made of. Then, finally, he nods. For the first time, I believe he’s really on our side.

“We’re here for Oakley,” he says, his tone resolute. “Money doesn’t drive our decisions, Ms. Deveraux. But here’s the situation—his home isn’t safe, his mother isn’t safe, and neither are you.”

The truth of his words hits me like a hammer, just as another contraction claws through me. I bite back a cry. Whatever happens next, Oakley can’t see it. He’s too young to watch me unravel like this.

Chase steps forward, solid as a rock. “Oakley will go with Ethan. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Ethan straightens beside him, his voice firm but gentler than I expect. “I promise, Ms. Deveraux. He’ll be safe with me.”

Safe. It’s unfamiliar, but I can only hope they mean it.

“You go with Ethan, okay?” I whisper to Oakley, loosening my grip on his arm. My voice trembles, but I force it steady. “I’ll be fine.”

“Honor, no!” Oakley’s face crumples. His wide eyes search mine, begging me, as if letting him go will be the worst mistake I ever make.

I cling to him for a heartbeat longer, torn.

Chase doesn’t take his eyes off me, his jaw locked tight. “Oakley will be safe with Ethan,” he repeats, like his assurance alone could shield the boy from every danger in the world.

But I have to be sure. “Do you even know who you’re dealing with, sir?” I snap, my voice raw. He should know already. He was one of them, once. And he needs reminding. “It’s not just Mira Stone—it’s the whole Stoneborn Circle.”

Chase doesn’t flinch, saying, “We know exactly how the Circle works, Ms. Deveraux.” Then he adds, “Have you ever heard of The Mosaic?”

I blink, disbelief battling through the pain. “Everyone knows The Mosaic,” I hiss. The name conjures images of Montana’s darkest empire—fentanyl kings thriving on fear, money, and death.

“Ethan was one of them,” Chase says flatly. No hesitation. No shame. “He got out. Turned his life around. And now he’s with us.”

For a second, I stare at Ethan, his quiet strength suddenly carrying new weight. Maybe the big man standing before me has done the same. Maybe he’s more than the Circle made him.

“Trust me,” Chase adds, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “We know what we’re doing.”

I swallow hard, turning back to Oakley. “Go with Ethan.” I rub his arm, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance I can muster into the gesture.

“Honor?” Oakley whispers but his voice is fierce. “Have you forgotten? Mom sent them!”

“I’ve changed their minds.” My voice breaks slightly. “Trust me. These are good men.” I grip his arm tighter. I’ve got to make him believe, or he may do something stupid. “Now go.”

Oakley hesitates, his face etched with fear, but slowly, he lets me go. Chase tosses Ethan the car keys, and the younger man moves to the door, one steady hand on Oakley’s shoulder.

“Promise me,” Oakley says, his voice trembling as he looks back at me. “Promise me you’ll come get me. After the baby.”

I force a smile that feels like breaking glass. “I promise.”

The door shuts behind them, sealing us in.

The scream tears out of me—a sound I’d swallowed down for Oakley’s sake, but I can’t hold it anymore. I don’t want Chase to hear it either, but the dam breaks, and so does everything else. My water.

Chase is at my side in an instant. For all his size and unshakable calm, I see it—the flicker of fear, raw and startling. He’s a man who looks like he’s faced down hell and walked away victorious, but the puddle spreading on the floor and me, in labor, unravel him.

“You keep him safe.” My voice comes out low, a growl tangled with pain as another contraction claws through me. “Do you hear me? Not to Stone. Or I swear I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life—starting now.”

I mean every word, and maybe he knows it, but he doesn’t answer. There’s something else brewing in his stormy eyes—shock, confusion—and somehow, I forgive him. Not because he deserves it, but because for all his bravado, he looks like a man who’s never been here before.

Another wave of agony rips through me. I clutch the couch, my knuckles white, and scream, “Get me to a fucking hospital!”

“Right… right,” he stammers, his voice unsteady in a way I never thought possible.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, Chase moves—strong, measured, and decisive. He helps me up, his arms solid as steel, but careful, too. It’s only when I hook my elbow around his biceps that I feel it—corded, unyielding muscle, so defined it feels like I could hang on forever and never fall.

“Easy. Easy,” he murmurs, like he’s guiding a fragile thing that might shatter at the slightest misstep.

He carries me out, and as the pain pulses through me in waves, I force myself to look at him. I know his résumé. I know what he’s capable of. But there’s so much I don’t know. When did he join a rescue company? Does he have a kid of his own? A family?

I cling to him tighter, the moral dilemma gnawing at the edges of my mind as another contraction crashes through me. From his initial shock, I’d like to believe he doesn’t have children. It would make things simpler—cleaner. When the time comes, when I destroy him, I won’t leave a child fatherless. Unless, of course, he’s like Damon Stone. Damon, who wouldn’t blink at a woman bleeding out on the floor.

But then Chase opens the car door, his arms strong as he lowers me into the seat with such care, I falter. He may be a beast, but he’s not Damon. Not even close. The gentleness he shows can’t be faked.

He drives. The hum of the engine barely registers over my ragged breathing. The doctor warned me to keep my blood pressure in check, but how? None of this is how I imagined it—alone, yes. Angry, yes. But with a man like him by my side? Never.

A hand brushes mine. I jump, startled.

“It’s okay,” he says.

I grip his hand instinctively, desperate for something to anchor me. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He just holds on, firm but careful, as if my hand is something worth protecting.

Damon Stone would never do this—not in a million years. Damon wouldn’t see me, wouldn’t care if I was dying. But Chase? I feel it in the strength of his grip, the way his eyes flick back and forth—road to me, road to me—as if afraid to miss a second. He’s scared out of his mind, I can see it, but he’s here.

“Hang on,” he murmurs, his tone soothing even as tension bleeds into it. “We’re almost there.”

For just a second, I let myself believe him.

The car jerks to a stop outside the hospital, and Chase is out before I can register it, rounding to my side like he’s been doing this his whole life. “Come on, we’re here. Can you walk?”

I try to answer, but all that escapes is his name. “Chase…”

He doesn’t hesitate. His arms sweep me up, lifting me, like I’m something precious. Me, the baby inside me, and the storm of panic I’m trying to swallow whole. His strength surrounds me, a wall against the fear inside.

“I need some help here!” he calls out, his voice booming.

The medical staff swarm us, efficient but detached, peeling me from his arms.

I should feel safe with these nurses. I should. But I don’t. I feel exposed—vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with my body and everything to do with the man still standing at the edge of the chaos, watching, ready to let me go.

I reach for him without thinking, my fingers grabbing hold of his hand. “Swear to me,” I choke out, my voice splintering under the weight of it all. “Swear Damon Stone will never get near my baby. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” His voice is low.

“Swear it!” I demand, my grip like iron.

“I swear,” he says, and this time his other hand closes gently over mine, sealing the promise like a vow.

The stretcher jolts forward, the world moving too fast. I don’t want to let go, but my body is done fighting. Exhaustion swallows me, but not before I let myself believe him. For the first time in years, I trust someone.

And it terrifies me.

But for now—for just this moment—it’s what I have.