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Shiloh

The shot echoes off concrete walls, but I’m already moving. My body knows this dance—the same instinctive reaction that’s saved me from countless dangerous horses. As Walsh’s finger tightened on the trigger, I was already dropping and rolling, using the momentum he created when he grabbed my arm.

The bullet impacts above my head as I slam into his knees. Walsh goes down hard, his grip on the gun loosening just enough. I drive my elbow up, a precise strike to the pressure point I learned in self-defense class. The gun clatters across the bloody concrete.

“You little—” Walsh’s fist catches my ribs, but the angle is wrong. No leverage. I use his own momentum against him, just like handling a rearing stallion.

Walsh lunges for the gun. I kick it further away, toward where Lucas emerges from the shadows like death in an Italian suit. The gun skids to a stop at his polished boots.

“Now, that’s just sloppy.” Lucas’s drawl carries a lethal edge. He kicks the gun toward Ryder, who catches it under the toe of his boot.

Walsh tries to scramble up, but I drive my knee into his spine, pinning him the same way I’d control a thrashing colt. “The problem with men like you,” I say, letting him feel my weight, “is you never expect the prey to fight back.”

“Enough.” Jackson’s voice carries that command that makes my spine shiver, but it’s not directed at me. His eyes are fixed on Walsh with predatory intent. “Let him up, sweetheart. We need to have a conversation about debts.”

I roll away, letting Wyatt and Ryder haul Walsh to his feet. His nose is bleeding from where I drove my head into it. Good.

I recognize their rhythm from watching cutting horses work a herd—each rider knowing exactly where to position themselves, how to move in perfect sync to isolate their target. These men might wear designer boots instead of working leather, but they’re still cowboys at heart.

“See, you made three mistakes.” Jackson begins circling Walsh, each step measured and precise. Like a wolf circling wounded prey. “First, you tried to collect a debt I’d already bought.” His hand catches Walsh’s chin, forcing eye contact. “Second, you damaged my property. That truck was a gift.”

“The debt wasn’t yours to buy!” Walsh spits blood, defiant despite Ryder’s hand on his shoulder. “Foster owed?—”

“Foster’s dead.” Jackson’s voice could freeze hell. “And everything he owed now belongs to me. Including his daughter’s safety.” Those ice-blue eyes flick to mine, carrying a heat that makes my breath catch. “Which brings us to your third mistake.”

Lucas casually examines his cufflinks, but I catch the subtle way he shifts to block the exit. “You touched something that belongs to Jackson.”

“Some one ,” Jackson corrects, never taking his eyes off Walsh. His voice carries that dark edge that used to terrify me. Now it just makes heat pool low in my belly. “My woman. My protection. My responsibility.”

“You gonna kill me?” Walsh tries for bravado, but his voice shakes. “Over some girl?”

“No.” Jackson smiles, and my heart stutters at the predatory edge. “She’s going to decide what happens to you. That’s what partners do.” He holds out his hand to me, an offer rather than a command. “Your call, sweetheart. We can handle this officially.” His other hand curves around Walsh’s throat. “Or unofficially.”

“You think I don’t know what happened to Victoria Reeves?” Walsh spits blood, defiant despite Jackson’s grip on his throat. “How you put her down like a rabid dog?”

“No.” Jackson’s voice is dry and emotionless. “She died like a snake—quick and clean, once I was done showing her why she deserved it.” His smile shows teeth. “Would you like me to explain why you deserve the same?”

I step closer, letting Jackson’s heat seep into my skin. Let Walsh see the marks on my throat, the ones Jackson left with lips and teeth rather than fists. “You know what I learned training dangerous horses?” I catch Jackson’s subtle flinch at the word ‘dangerous.’ “Men are worse. And sometimes, they deserve to be put down.”

Jackson looks at me for a long time, then nods sharply. He maneuvers our bodies, so I can’t see anything but his broad chest. A gun fires. A body falls to the ground and then he’s kissing me, his lips covering mine like he’s starving for a taste of me, like he was a sinner, and I was his salvation.

When he finally lets me go, Ryder and Lucas are dragging Walsh’s body away. Lucas follows with that casual grace that makes boardroom rivals surrender before the first offer.

“You’re hurt.” Jackson’s hands skim my ribs, finding the bruises Walsh left. His touch is gentle despite the violence thrumming beneath his skin.

“Just bruised.” I lean into his warmth, and the trembling starts—the kind I usually hide in my truck after a dangerous horse nearly takes me down, the kind I never let anyone see. But Jackson’s arms tighten instantly, one hand cupping the back of my neck while the other pulls me closer. His heartbeat is strong and steady against my cheek, anchoring me as the shakes work through my system.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair, and something breaks loose in my chest. The careful control I’ve maintained since Walsh ran my truck off the road crumbles. I press my face into Jackson’s chest, breathing in leather and cedar and safety as tears dampen his shirt. He doesn’t try to shush me or tell me everything’s okay—he just holds me, letting me process the fear in my own way.

When I finally look up, his eyes hold nothing but fierce tenderness. “I knew you’d come,” I whisper, voice raw. “That you’d find a way to keep an eye on me.”

His body tenses slightly, but he doesn’t look away. “I installed a GPS tracker on your truck.” He swallows hard and presses his lips together before confessing, “I needed to know you were safe.”

I should be angry. Should rage against the invasion of privacy, the continued surveillance. But all I feel is a complicated mix of relief and understanding. I trace the line of his jaw. “You never really stopped protecting me, even when I hated you for it.”

“Never will.” His voice carries an edge of that dangerous possession that used to terrify me. Now it just makes me feel secure.

“Take me home, Jackson.”

His kiss is possession and pride, claiming and cherishing. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with promises. “Always.”

We’re silent, as he drives us home. Jackson’s hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing comforting circles over the denim. Every touch carries the reminder that I chose this—chose him.

As we pass through the ranch gates, his grip tightens on my thigh. “You know Walsh won’t be the last one to come for you. These debts, the danger—” his voice breaks. “Fuck, Shiloh!”

“I won’t try to handle it alone anymore,” I promise.

Jackson slams on the breaks, the back of the truck sliding out in the dirt, then shifts to face me.

“Promise me, Shiloh. That whatever comes next, we face it together.”

I bite my lip, every cell in my body straining toward him as he leans over the console to cup my cheek, his rough fingers catching in my hair. “Jackson, I need?—”

“As partners. As my wife.”

I choke on nothing at all. “That’s the least romantic marriage proposal I’ve ever heard,” I answer drily, trying to slow my galloping heart.

Jackson gives me a long look, then hops out of the truck, jogging around to yank my door open.

He unbuckles my seatbelt, then swings me around so my legs dangle out the door, before dropping to his knees. He slides off his hat, revealing salt-and-pepper hair, and his ice-blue eyes cut through me as he stares up at me.

This powerful man—made of violence and obsession and cruelty—is on his knees for me. He wraps his fingers around my calves.

“Shiloh Foster, marry me.”

“I was coming back to you,” I whispered. “When they caught me.”

His eyes soften and he drops a kiss against my shin. “I know. But I won’t—” He stops himself. “I want a partner. I want you to be my partner.”

Jackson Hawkins—the man who needs to control everything in his empire—offering true partnership. Not just protection. Not possession. Equal ground.

His smile holds equal parts sin and tenderness as he pulls me closer. “What do you say, hellcat? Partners?”

Heat pools low in my belly as he leads me inside. Some men need to break everything they touch. But Jackson? He’s learned to cherish what he possesses.

“Yes.”