Dalton chuckles from the front seat. “You two need separate vehicles or just a referee?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter.
Sadie leans closer, voice low and honeyed. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t glued to your side.”
She’s teasing, but the words strike deeper than she realizes. My wolf prowls in the darkest corners of my mind, restless and hungry, and it takes everything in me to keep him from coming forward. I lock my jaw, fix my stare on the window, and count the lights along the causeway to keep from looking at her again. I lose track at twelve. It rattles me more than it should, and I unclench my fist slowly, hoping she does not notice the slip.
The drive out to the ranch is long and quiet, the causeway giving way to flat stretches of land and pockets of trees. The city lights bleed away in the rearview until it’s only the black stretch of highway and the hum of tires on concrete. The causeway arches over the water, the Gulf glinting silver under a pale moon. On the far side, neon gives way to flatland—wind-bent grass, scattered cattle, oil pumps bowing like sentinels. The farther we go, the darker it gets, the kind of dark that eats headlights. Sadie stares out the window, but I catch the way her reflection tightens each time the horizon empties further.
Sadie keeps her chin high, pretending she’s indifferent, but every now and then I catch the way her hands tighten in her lap or how she blinks longer than she needs to, as if holding herself together by sheer force of will. She wants me to think she’s brave, and she is, but I can sense the cracks forming beneath that polished armor.
The ranch that serves as the Galveston headquarters isn’t pretty. It’s not ugly either, just another working spread you might find anywhere in the county. Built for security, not charm. Concrete walls, bullet-resistant windows, layers of surveillanceinside and out. When we finally roll through the gates, Sadie lets out a low whistle.
“Cozy,” she says. “Like a luxury prison.”
I help her out of the SUV. “As safe as Rush and Cassidy's penthouse was, this is safer by a long shot.”
"And so much more room and privacy to bury the bodies," adds Dalton with a chuckle.
“Maybe, but at least in the penthouse, I had a view.”
“You’ve got a view here. Just instead of the ocean and the lights of the boardwalk, you've got rolling hills, blue skies, horses, cattle and miles and miles of miles and miles.”
Sadie tilts her head, a hint of mischief lighting her expression. “So romantic.”
I catch the spark in her eyes but keep my tone steady. “It’s not romantic, but it is solid and beautiful in its own way. You’ll have your own room with an attached bath and enough space to feel comfortable. Every inch of it is locked down. My team runs shifts around the clock, and every system has been upgraded. No one gets within striking distance of the ranch house without me knowing first.”
Her eyebrows arch. “So I’m supposed to sit in a gilded cage and… what? Knit?”
“If you like, but your main focus is to stay alive,” I say flatly.
She rolls her eyes and sweeps past me towards the house. The sway of her hips is either deliberate torture or an accident I can’t unsee. Either way, it makes my jaw tighten.
The ranch house itself sprawls across one level, wide and imposing with seven bedrooms, each with its own attached bath, an enormous chef’s kitchen at the heart, and a great room big enough to hold the whole team when strategy demands it. Off to the side there’s a den lined with books and maps, a space Rush uses when planning long nights.
I steer Sadie into the room assigned to her. It’s spacious enough not to feel like a cage, with its own sitting area and plenty of light. Dalton checks the windows while Deacon sweeps electronics. We control this place, but I want to do everything I can to ensure her safety. Sadie tosses her bag on the couch and spins once, arms wide.
“All this effort just for me. Admit it, Remington, you enjoy playing bodyguard.”
“I don’t play,” I say, dead serious.
She stops spinning and studies me. “That’s the problem. You don’t play at all.”
Dalton coughs to hide a laugh, shoulders shaking as he tries to hide his amusement. My glare nails him in place until he mutters something about checking the perimeter and makes a hasty exit. Deacon lingers just long enough to trade a knowing look with me, then shakes his head and slips out as well. The room goes quiet, and suddenly it’s just me and Sadie, the air heavier for their absence.
Sadie glances at the clock and shakes her head. “Too early to sleep. Too late to argue.” She pushes up from the couch, bare feet silent on the floorboards. “Come on, Ranger. Even you need caffeine.”
Against my better judgment, I follow her out the side door to the porch. The night is velvet-dark, the fields spread wide under a thin sweep of stars. She pours two mugs from the thermos someone left near the steps, then hands one to me.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she says. “I know where the kitchen is.”
I take the cup, steam curling up between us. For a long moment we drink in silence, listening to the quiet hum of insects in the grass. The porch light throws a soft glow across her hair, turning it bronze at the edges.
“This,” she says at last, “doesn’t have to feel like prison.” She gestures at the wide horizon. “If you want me to stay alive, I need to believe I have some control. Otherwise I’ll push until something breaks. That’s who I am.”
Her words land harder than she probably intends. My wolf stirs, restless at the honesty. I keep my voice steady. “Define control.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, steady and unflinching. “I choose when I work. I choose how people see me. If I have to live inside your perimeter, then I need a say in how that looks. Even if it’s small.”
