“I heard an explosion and then gunfire,” she whispers against my chest. “I thought?—”
“I’m here.” I tighten my grip, one hand cradling the back of her head. “I’ve got you.”
She pulls back just enough to look at my face, fingers gently touching the cut on my eyebrow. “This is yours,” she accuses softly.
“Barely a scratch.” I capture her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, then stiffens as voices in the main room register. “Who’s here?”
“Reinforcements.” I keep my tone reassuring, though I can feel the questions building in her. “They’re here to help.”
Fear flickers across her face. “Can we trust them?”
The question cuts deeper than it should, reminding me that her experience with men in positions of power—men who should protect rather than harm—has been nothing but betrayal and pain.
“With my life,” I say simply. “And more importantly, with yours.”
She studies my face, searching for deception, for the cracks that would reveal a lie. Finding none, she nods once, decision made.
“Is Drake…” She can’t seem to finish the question.
“Alive.” For now, I don’t add. “We’ll question him, find out if more teams are coming.”
Relief and dread battle in her expression. “And then?”
“And then we take the fight to your husband.” The promise in my voice is iron-clad. “This ends on our terms, not his.”
Fear ghosts across her features, but beneath it rises something stronger—determination. The same steel that helped her survive three years of abuse, that drove her to gather evidence against a powerful, connected man who thought himself untouchable.
“Together?” The single word carrying the weight of so many questions. So muchtrust.
“Together,” I confirm, sealing the promise with a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Now come meet the team that’s going to help us burn your husband’s world to the ground.”
I lead her into the main room, where four men in tactical gear have established a temporary command center on my dining table. Maps spread across the surface, communication equipment set up, weapons checked and rechecked with practiced efficiency.
All conversation stops as we enter, four pairs of eyes instantly assessing Willow, noting her injuries, cataloging the protective way I position myself slightly in front of her. Ryan—ever the XO—speaks first.
“Ma’am.” He inclines his head respectfully. “I’m Ryan Ellis. That’s Cooper, Martinez, and Jackson. Formerly of the 5th Special Forces Group, now private contractors with Cerberus Security.”
“Willow,” she replies, her voice steadier than I expected. “Thank you for coming.”
“Ghost calls. We come.” Ryan shrugs as if it’s the simplest equation in the world. For men who’ve bled together, I suppose it is.
“Ghost?”
“That’s me.” I turn to Willow with a smile.
Cooper eyes our joined hands, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So, Ghost finally found someone worth haunting for, huh?”
I feel Willow’s questioning glance but ignore it for now.
“Status report.”
Ryan takes over, all business. “Five hostiles neutralized. One dead, one critically wounded, three secured for questioning. Immediate perimeter secure, drone surveillance active.” He gestures to the maps. “We’ve established a secure corridor to the extraction point. Chopper on standby, wheels up as soon as weather permits.”
Martinez chimes in, tablet in hand. “Preliminary intelligencesuggests Judge Reynolds has at least two more teams on standby. One local, one coming in from out of state.”
Willow pales but stands her ground. “He won’t stop. Even if we get away, he’ll keep hunting. He has connections everywhere. Police, FBI, local courts…”
