That we’re real.
Bear snores softly at the foot of the bed, his massive body taking up more space than should be physically possible. Chaos is curled in the corner, one eye open, always on guard.
My boys. My team. And now, my woman.
Willow stirs, her body stretching languidly against mine. Even half-asleep, she moves with a new confidence that wasn’t there when I first found her in the Montana snow. She’s softer now in my arms—but stronger in every other way.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep as her eyes flutter open. Green-gold and clear, meeting mine without fear.
“Morning, beautiful.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. “Sleep well?”
She smiles, slow and satisfied. “Eventually.”
The memory of last night flashes behind my eyes—her body arched beneath mine, her wrists pinned above her head, her voice breaking as she begged for release. The way she surrendered to me so completely, her trust a gift I’m still not sure I deserve.
“You did at that,” I agree, my voice dropping an octave as I roll her beneath me.
Her laughter is breathless as my mouth claims hers. Not gentle. Not patient. But hungry in a way that still surprises me after ten days of having her. Of learning her body. Of watching her bloom under my touch.
She isn’t surviving anymore.
She’s learning how to fight.
How to want.
How to live.
And fuck, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
An hour later, freshly showered and thoroughly satisfied, we make our way to the kitchen where the rest of the team has already gathered. Skye stands at the counter, two mugs of coffee in hand. She passes one to Forest, who’s hunched over a laptop, his massive frame somehow managing to make even the high-end wooden chairs look like doll furniture and the coffee mug like a child’s toy cup.
“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” Mitzy calls from her spot at the table, not looking up from her tablet. Her fingers fly across the screen with almost inhuman speed, lines of code reflecting in her glasses.
“Some of us actually sleep,” I counter, reaching for the coffee pot.
Skye snorts. “Sleep. Is that what they’re calling it thesedays?”
Willow’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t shy away from the teasing. Instead, she moves to the refrigerator and begins pulling out eggs and vegetables. “Anyone hungry besides us?”
The casual domesticity of the moment hits me like a freight train. This woman, who escaped a monster, carries evidence that could topple a federal judge and his entire network, yet she makes breakfast as if she belongs here.
Like this is home.
And maybe it is.
Brass strides into the kitchen, data pad in hand. Chaos immediately perks up at his entrance. “Morning, lovebirds. Got the overnight drone footage.” He tosses the device onto the table where Forest can reach it. “Site’s been cleared.”
“Cleared?” Willow asks, looking confused. “What does that mean?”
“Clean. Like it never happened.” Ryan helps himself to coffee. “Cabin too. Professional job.”
Forest’s massive hands dwarf the tablet as he swipes through the images. “They’re spooked,” he rumbles, voice like distant thunder. “Covering tracks means they’re afraid of what could be traced back to them.”
“Good,” Willow says, cracking eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary. “They should be afraid.”
The steel in her voice makes me glance at her, pride swelling in my chest. Every day, she grows stronger. Every day, the woman who was buried beneath years of abuse emerges more fully.
“Any movement on the Reynolds front?” I ask, moving to help her with breakfast, my hand brushing the small of her back in silent support.
