Jackson looks up from checking his weapon. “With respect, ma’am, so do we.”
“The USB drive,” Ryan says, eyes sharp. “Cooper says you have evidence that could take the judge down.”
Willow hesitates, then reaches into her pocket, producing the small device that’s cost her so much. “Three years of documentation. Financial records, witness tampering, weapons deals with terrorist organizations. Everything.”
Martinez whistles low. “No wonder he wants you dead.”
“He doesn’t just want me dead,” Willow says quietly. “He wants me to suffer first.”
The room goes silent, tension thickening the air. These men understand violence and comprehend the darkness humans are capable of inflicting on one another. But the clinical brutality of domestic abuse—the prolonged, calculated torture disguised as marriage—hits differently.
Jackson breaks the silence, voice tight with controlled rage. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Cooper nods toward the back room. “Drake’s secured. Chaos is guarding him. Want first crack at him?”
Willow flinches at the name, her grip on my hand tightening. I squeeze back reassuringly.
“Wash up first,” Ryan suggests, eyeing the blood on my face. “You look like hell.”
I lead Willow back to the bedroom. She’s silent, then turns to me with questions in her eyes.
“Ghost?” she askssoftly.
“Call sign. Not important.” I move to the bathroom, wetting a cloth to clean the blood from my face. The cut on my eyebrow has already stopped bleeding, but I’ll need stitches eventually.
She follows, taking the cloth from my hand with fingers that tremble just slightly.
“Let me.”
I let her. Let her blot the blood from my temple, let her clean the graze on my cheekbone like I’m something fragile instead of someone forged in violence. Each touch carries a reverence I haven’t known in years—maybe ever. Not even Rachel, for all her sweetness and submission, ever looked at me like this. Like I’m something worth saving.
Willow swallows hard, eyes flickering between the blood and my eyes. “I thought what we had… What happened between us—was just adrenaline and circumstance. Escapism.”
“Was it?” I keep my voice even. I won’t push her. She needs to arrive at her truth without being cornered into it. “Just comfort in crisis? A distraction?”
Her gaze drops to our hands—her small, strong fingers wrapped around mine.
“No,” she whispers. “It’s more, and that terrifies me almost as much as Steffan does.”
I tilt her chin gently. “I terrify you?”
“Not you.” Her head shakes instantly, a crease forming between her brows. “The way you make me feel.” Her voice cracks. “Like I could trust again. Like I could want something more than just surviving. That kind of hope feels dangerous.”
Understanding hits low and sharp. “After what he did… After everything he stole from you… Of course it feels dangerous.”
Tears glitter in her eyes, and one escapes, sliding down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away.
“What if I’m broken? What if I don’t know what I wantanymore? I want to trust what I feel, but I don’t know if I should.”
Her honesty guts me.
“We probably shouldn’t have crossed that line,” I admit. “It was too fast. Too raw. Hell, we barely knew each other’s names. I don’t regret it.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I meant what I said. Even if we had slept on opposite ends of this cabin, I’d still be standing between you and them. That doesn’t change because we happened. That’s just who I am.”
Her lower lip trembles. “I can’t believe any of this. You risked your life. You called in a team. You didn’t even know me.”
“We already talked about this.” I cup the side of her face, thumb catching a fresh tear. “But I get it. This is intense. You’re scared. Your emotions are all over the place. And you don’t know what’s real.”
She nods. “Exactly. I don’t know if I can trust myself. What if I’m doing it again? Jumping headfirst into something dangerous because it feels better than being alone?”
