“They’re not an army,” he mutters.
“Do you give them names?”
“I swear to God, Shadow?—”
“Oh, hell. You do, don’t you?” I sit up, grinning now. “What’s your favorite one called? Be honest. It’s something dumb like Baa-ttle Commander.”
Angus is silent.
I burst out laughing. “No, wait. General Hoofington? Captain Bleat? Rambo the Ram?”
“Are you done?”
I smirk, swirling the whiskey in my glass. “I dunno. You tell me. You gonna start hosting goat yoga next? Maybe launch a luxury skincare line? ‘Havenridge Ranch: Where Tough Men Make Goat Soap.’”
Angus exhales hard. “You’re a goddamn idiot.”
“What about a goat-themed bed-and-breakfast?” I lean forward, thoroughly entertained now. “Guests wake up at dawn, get served fresh goat butter on homemade biscuits, then spend the afternoon cuddling with General Hoofington.”
“There is no General Hoofington.”
“There should be.”
“Jesus Christ, you're still the same pain in my ass you were in Kandahar,” Angus mutters.
I stretch out on the bed. “You love me. Almost as much as you love your little farm of emotional support goats.”
“I called you for a reason.”
“Yeah, yeah. What’s the favor, goat whisperer?”
There's a hesitation on the line. “You working right now?”
“In between jobs.” I take another swig of whiskey, feeling the familiar burn. Something clicks in my brain. Despite all the banter and goat jokes, this isn't a social call. Angus doesn't do catch-ups. Never has.
Angus grumbles something unintelligible before cutting to the chase. “I need an extra set of eyes around the ranch. Strange shit’s been happening. Fences cut, livestock going missing. I don’t think it’s just bad luck.”
The whiskey suddenly tastes sour in my mouth.That sobers me up a little. Angus Sutton doesn't scare easily. Never has. But I can hear it now, that edge of raw fear beneath his words.
“You got enemies, Sutton?”
A dark chuckle. “More than I’d like, it seems.”
I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. This isn’t my problem. I should tell him no. Should let him handle his own shit like I handle mine. But I'm already sitting up, already mentally packing my bag.
Non-paying job. A favor for an old friend. But it doesn't matter. I'd approach it with the same precision and commitment as any contract that comes with a hefty deposit. Maybe more. Money buys my skills but not my loyalty. That's a currency far rarer in my world.
“You’re one of the very few people I trust, Shadow. You saved my life.”
And just like that, I’m back there.
Heat. Blistering, suffocating heat. The kind that clings to your skin and seeps into your bones. The kind you can’t shake, even years later.
Our team was deep in enemy territory, gathering intel on a high-value target. Simple in theory. A fucking disaster in reality.
The ambush hit before we even had time to react.
One second, we were ghosts. The next, we were prey.
