Chapter 6 Oliver
OLIVER
The silence wakes me before the light. The feel of Avery’s skin against my side grounds me in this buried world.
Heavy, insulated silence follows a storm that dumped three feet of snow. The wind died down, leaving the air still and sharp as a blade.
Beside me, Avery shifts. A warm, soft weight against my ribs, her breathing slow.
My arm drapes over her waist, pinning her to the mattress.
I don't move. I don't want to. The memory of last night—her heat, the tight slickness of her pussy, the way she cried out when I finally broke past her barrier—burns in my brain.
She is mine now. She belongs to this mountain. To me.
Peace makes my skin crawl.
I stare at the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling. The Vanguard instinct is a curse. It refuses to let me rest. It insists silence is just a pause before the next threat.
Carefully, I extract myself from the tangle of sheets. Avery makes a soft, protesting noise, her hand seeking the warmth I just stole. I pause, watching her. Dark hair fans out across my pillow. Lips swollen and pink. Wrecked. Good.
I tuck the heavy quilt around her shoulders and slide out of bed. The floorboards are ice against my bare feet. The fire in the main room burned down to embers, casting a dull orange glow across the rug where we came together.
I pull on my jeans, ignoring the bite of cold denim. I grab a flannel shirt, buttoning it as I move to the window. The world outside is blindingly white. The sun crests the peaks, turning snow-covered pines into jagged shards of gold.
My gaze sweeps the perimeter.
My cabin is a fortress. Situated on a high ridge, it commands a view of the only access road and the valley below. No one gets up here without my knowledge.
My eyes drift lower. Down the slope toward the edge of the property line. Toward the dilapidated shack Avery calls home. It’s barely visible through the trees, a dark smudge of rotting wood against the pristine snow.
Motion.
I freeze. Air stops in my throat. Small, barely a flicker in the distance, but I see it. A flash of unnatural color. Safety orange against the white.
Someone is down there.
Calm shatters. The warmth of the bed, the softness of Avery’s skin—vanished. Cold, metallic rage floods my veins.
I turn from the window and move to the gun safe bolted to the closet floor.
I spin the dial, clicks loud in the quiet room.
I pull out my Sig Sauer P226, check the mag, and shove it into the waistband at the back of my jeans.
Then I grab my hunting knife, the heavy blade sheathed in worn leather, and strap it to my thigh.
I don’t need the gun for what I’m about to do. But I always carry it.
I walk back to the bed. Avery remains deep under, exhausted. I lean down, pressing a quick, hard kiss to her forehead. She sighs in her sleep.
"Sleep, Little Bird," I rasp. "I'll be right back."
I grab my heavy coat and boots by the door. No coffee. The adrenaline flooding my system provides enough fuel.
Thin, frigid air burns my lungs with every inhale. Snow piles thigh-deep in places, but I know this terrain better than the lines on my palm. I don't fight the drifts. I move with them, stepping in the shadows of the pines, silent. Efficient.
I am not Oliver the man right now. I am the Vanguard. The ghost of Grizzly Peak.
I cut through the tree line, descending the ridge toward Avery’s property. Anger sits in my chest, a physical weight. Tight. Hot.
They are on her land.
Her cabin is a wreck. She’s currently safe in my bed. Neither fact matters. It belongs to her, and she belongs to me. That makes this a violation.
As I close the distance, I slow. The crunch of boots on snow and low voices disturbs the woods.
I crouch behind a massive oak, peering through the underbrush.
Two men. Not locals. Locals know better than to wander this deep into Gunnar territory without an invitation. They wear expensive, high-tech winter gear. Brand new. Flashy. City boys. Or worse.
One is tall, lanky, holding a tablet and tapping at the screen. The other is stockier, smoking a cigarette and kicking at a rotted support beam on Avery’s porch.
"Structure is trash," the smoker sneers, voice carrying in the crisp air. "Total teardown. But the location... boss is right. Sightlines are perfect."
"We can run the route right through the back gap," the one with the tablet counters. "Bypass the main road entirely. Who owns this dump?"
"Some girl. City records say she just inherited it. Probably doesn't even know what she's sitting on."
My jaw clenches until my teeth ache.
Outsiders.
We’ve heard the rumors. A crew from the city trying to find new routes for their product—pills, powder, whatever poison they push this week. They think the mountains are just empty space on a map. They assume the lack of patrol cars means no law exists out here.
Wrong. I’m the law.
The smoker chuckles, flicking his cigarette butt onto Avery’s porch. It lands on the wood I fixed for her yesterday.
That’s it.
No warning shout. No shot in the air. I simply step out from the trees.
Six-foot-five of beard and muscle. A nightmare made flesh.
The lanky one spots me first. He freezes, eyes widening as he takes in my size, the knife on my leg, the violence on my face.
"Hey," he stammers, dropping the tablet to his side. "We didn't know anyone was—"
I keep walking. I don't rush. I move with the inevitable momentum of a landslide.
The smoker turns, reaching inside his jacket.
Mistake.
I close the distance in three long strides. Before he can clear his weapon, I grab his wrist. I twist sharply, forcing the joint against its natural range of motion.
A sickening pop echoes through the clearing.
He screams, dropping to his knees in the snow. I don't let go. I wrench his arm behind his back and shove him face-first into the railing. The wood creaks but holds.
"Don't," I growl at the lanky one.
His hand hovers halfway to his belt. He stops, pale and shaking, staring at his partner groaning against the porch.
"We... we're just hiking," Lanky lies, voice cracking.
"Hiking with a tablet? Mapping routes?" I stare at him. "You think I’m stupid?"
I release the smoker, shoving him down into the snow. He curls up, cradling his wrist, whimpering. I loom over them, blocking out the sun.
"Who sent you?" I demand.
"Nobody," the smoker gasps. "We're just—"
I step forward, boot crushing the cigarette butt he threw. "You littered," I state. "And you're trespassing. On private property. On Gunnar land."
The name registers. Recognition floods the lanky guy’s eyes. Fear. Real fear. They’ve been briefed. They know who runs these mountains.
"We didn't know," Lanky babbles, hands up. "We thought it was abandoned."
"It's not." I point to the cabin. "A woman lives here. She is under the protection of the Broken Halos MC. Do you know what that means?"
They nod frantically.
"It means if I see you here again," I drop my voice to a whisper far scarier than a shout, "I won't just break a wrist. I will disappear you. The snow is deep. It takes months for the thaw to reveal what gets buried out here. By then, the wolves leave nothing but bone."
The smoker turns pale, sweat beading on his forehead despite the freezing temp.
"Give me the tablet," I order.
Lanky hands it over with trembling fingers.
I look at the screen. A topographical map with a red line drawn right through Avery’s property, leading up the ridge toward the pass. My pass.
I drop the tablet onto the frozen ground. Stomp on it. The screen shatters with a satisfying crunch. I grind my heel into the electronics until nothing remains but plastic shards and silicon dust.
"Go back to whoever sent you," I say. "Tell them this route is closed. Tell them the Vanguard is watching. Tell them if they send anyone else near this cabin, I’ll send them back in pieces."
"We're going," Lanky breathes, helping his partner up. The smoker clutches his wrist, face gray with pain.
"Run," I bark.
They scramble. Stumbling through deep snow, slipping and sliding in their haste to escape. They don't look back. They head toward the road where they must have parked a vehicle hidden in the trees.
I watch them go until they vanish from sight. I wait until the distant roar of an engine starts up and fades down the mountain.
Only then does the tension in my shoulders loosen.
I look at Avery’s cabin. Fragile against the backdrop of the wilderness. The railing I fixed holds, but the rest... a death trap. And now, a target.
They think she’s an easy mark. A girl living alone in a wreck. They think they can roll over her.
My hands curl into fists.
Not happening.
I pull my radio from my coat pocket.
"Logan," I say into the receiver.
Static hisses, then my cousin’s voice comes through, clear. Commanding. "Go for Prez."
"Two scouts just came through the lower ridge. Outsiders. Mapping a route through the Nolan property."
Silence on the line. The airwaves hum with the threat of violence. "Did you handle it?"
"They’re gone. One broken wrist. One broken tablet."
"Good." Logan’s tone turns grim. "They’re getting bold."
"They think the girl is vulnerable." Saying it out loud tightens my chest.
"Is she?"
I look up at my cabin on the ridge. Smoke starts to curl from the chimney. She must be awake. Adding logs to the fire.
"No," I say. "She’s not vulnerable. She’s mine."
"Copy that," Logan replies, a hint of amusement entering his voice. "Does she know that?"
"She’s learning."
"Keep your eyes open, Oliver. If they’re scouting, they’re planning a move. We’ll double the patrols on the main road. You hold the ridge."
"Always."
"And Oliver?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't scare the girl off. Mom’s been dying for grandbabies, and you’re the only one of us acting like a human being lately."
I grunt and click the radio off.