Chapter 10
TEN
GAVIN
The lodge is louder than usual.
Not loud like chaos—loud like life. Like the kind of noise that doesn’t raise your blood pressure, it lowers it. Laughter. The soft burble of babies. Harper’s voice doing that bright, sing-song thing she does when she’s talking to Poppi like Poppi is a tiny CEO with very important opinions.
Kayley’s laugh threads through it all—lighter than it was yesterday, still cautious around the edges, but real. It hits me in the chest every time. Like my body recognizes the sound as something it’s been missing.
I’m posted near the table with Rafe and Rhett, pretending to pay attention to Wyatt’s laptop screen while my eyes keep drifting to the blanket on the floor.
Aidan and Poppi are belly-down like two little seals, kicking their feet, occasionally smacking the blanket like it owes them money. Harper keeps adjusting Poppi’s hat every thirty seconds as if Poppi is going to suddenly start taking headshots for Vogue.
Kayley mirrors her without even realizing it—tugging Aidan’s sock back on, smoothing his hair, wiping drool from his chin with a tenderness that makes my throat go tight.
This is what I want.
Not the war room. Not the gear. Not the constant threat assessments.
This.
Warmth. Babies. A woman who looks like she belongs here even though she just arrived, like she’s been a missing piece we didn’t know we had.
Rafe nudges my shoulder with his elbow. “You’re staring.”
I glance over. “I’m not.”
Rhett doesn’t even look up. “You are.”
Wyatt’s mouth quirks. “It’s borderline creepy, Commander.”
“Watch your tone,” I mutter, but my attention is already back on Kayley.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Harper, her cheeks flushed, hair loosely twisted up, wearing one of my old hoodies like it’s hers. She doesn’t look like someone running anymore.
She looks like someone… settling.
And that’s dangerous. Because if she settles, she might decide she can stay. And if she stays, I’m going to want to keep her.
Keep them.
Boyd walks through the room carrying two mugs of coffee and pauses long enough to set one down near Kayley’s knee without saying a word.
Kayley looks up, startled, then smiles. “Thank you.”
Boyd gives a short nod and keeps moving like he didn’t just do something kind and domestic that would’ve made his past self cringe.
Chase saunters by, points at Aidan. “That one’s got Gavin’s scowl.”
Kayley snorts. “Aidan does not scowl.”
Chase crouches and makes a ridiculous face at the baby. Aidan responds by letting out a squeal and flailing his arms like he’s trying to slap Chase into next week.
Harper laughs. “Okay, that’s definitely Rafe’s attitude.”
Rafe grumbles, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kayley looks up at me, eyes warm. “Is this what you all do? Pretend you’re tough while secretly acting like a bunch of… baby uncles?”
“We’re not uncles,” Chase says, offended. “We’re highly trained tactical support personnel.”
Harper deadpans. “For diaper duty.”
The room laughs—actual, full-bodied laughter—and for a moment it almost makes me forget the perimeter test last night.
Almost.
Then Wyatt’s screen pings.
The sound snaps the air back into place.
Wyatt’s posture changes immediately—spine straight, fingers moving fast. Rhett’s gaze sharpens. Rafe’s face closes down into commander-mode even if he isn’t wearing the title anymore.
And my gut tightens.
“What is it?” I ask.
Wyatt’s eyes flick to mine. “Silas is here.”
Like he sensed the shift, the sheriff’s boots thud across the hardwood a second later. Silas steps inside, snow clinging to the brim of his hat, the cold following him like a shadow.
He nods at the men, then his gaze lands on the babies, softening just a fraction. On Kayley, it sharpens again—protective.
He comes straight to me.
“We need to talk,” he says quietly.
I glance at the blanket. Kayley’s still laughing at something Harper said, unaware. I don’t want to bring darkness into that circle.
“Back room,” I tell Silas, and I motion to Rhett and Rafe. “You too.”
We move into the small office off the main hall—the space we use for secure calls and sensitive intel. Silas closes the door behind us, and the warmth of the lodge disappears like it was never there.
Silas doesn’t waste time. “You asked for everything on Mark Renshaw,” he says. “I dug. Deeper than I like.”
My jaw tightens. “What’d you find?”
Silas exhales, slowly. “He’s dirty.”
Rhett says nothing, just shifts his weight like he’s ready to move.
Silas continues, “Renshaw’s connected to a trafficking ring. Not rumor. Not maybe. Paper trail. Shell charities. Cash movements. Two property rentals under a cousin’s name that match known transit patterns.”
My stomach turns.
Rafe mutters, “Jesus.”
Silas nods once. “It gets worse.”
I already know it will.
Silas holds my gaze. “We think the baby’s father—Ford—might be using a different name. Devon. Damon. Whatever he’s calling himself, he’s tied to private ops contracting. And we think he’s… grooming women. Getting them pregnant. Then the babies disappear.”
For a second, the room goes very still.
My ears ring.
My mind flashes Kayley’s face—tired, brave, broken open by grief. Sophie’s fear in Kayley’s voice last night. The text: You should have given him to us.
I feel sick.
“No,” I say, voice low. “You’re saying—”
Silas’s expression is grim. “I’m saying there’s a pattern. Girls go missing, or they show up pregnant and suddenly they’re isolated. The kids vanish. Paperwork gets altered. Reports get ‘lost.’ And Renshaw’s name shows up around the edges every time.”
I clench my fists so hard my knuckles ache.
Rafe’s face is stone. Rhett’s eyes are cold. The air in this room feels like it could cut skin.
Silas adds, “We don’t have the whole chain yet. But we have enough to know this isn’t a custody dispute. This isn’t a scared ex-boyfriend. This is organized.”
My stomach rolls again.
A baby being sold isn’t a concept my brain wants to hold. It doesn’t fit with the world I try to believe in. But I’ve seen war. I’ve seen what humans do when they think they can get away with it.
And we built Haven 7 because we couldn’t keep watching innocent people get swallowed whole.
“Not Aidan,” I say, and it comes out like a vow. Like a threat.
Rhett’s voice is quiet. “Never Aidan.”
Rafe nods. “We end this.”
Silas watches me carefully. “You’re taking this personal.”
My jaw flexes. “It is personal.”
He studies me for a beat, then his mouth quirks slightly, like he’s about to say something I won’t like.
“Let me ask you something,” he says.
I don’t answer, but he asks anyway.
“Are you falling in love with her?”
The question hits like a punch.
Not because it’s shocking—because it’s true.
Because it’s already happened. Somewhere between opening that gate, watching her shake with cold while she tried to make jokes, and seeing her smile on that blanket beside Harper like she belonged.
I don’t have time for denial. Denial is a luxury for men who aren’t responsible for lives.
“Yes,” I say simply. “I am.”
Rafe’s gaze flicks to mine, something like approval there.
Rhett huffs a breath. “About time.”
Silas nods once, satisfied. “Then you’ll do what you need to do.”
“I will,” I promise.
“Good,” Silas says. “Because if this ring thinks they can step foot on Wedding Cake Mountain and take a kid—”
“They won’t,” I cut in, voice hard. “They’ll die first.”
The room goes quiet again. Heavy. Certain.
Silas reaches into his coat and pulls out a small folder. “I’ve got a name that connects Ford to Renshaw’s contact chain. A broker. Someone who moves things—people—between towns. We can start there.”
Rhett steps forward. “We handle it quietly.”
Silas nods. “Quiet. But fast. If they tested your perimeter, they might already know she’s here.”
My blood turns cold.
I picture Kayley in my cabin. Aidan asleep. Her laugh earlier still bright in my ears.
And the idea of that being snatched away makes something primal rise in me.
“Then we tighten everything,” I say. “No movement off property without eyes. No outside contact for Kayley unless it’s through us. I want additional cameras on Zone Six. Double patrols.”
Rafe nods, already thinking through logistics.
Silas adds, “And Gavin—don’t tell her the trafficking angle yet unless you have to.”
I’m not sure I can keep that from her forever, but I understand what he means.
If I tell Kayley that someone might want her nephew as a commodity…
It will destroy her.
And she’s just starting to breathe.
I rub a hand over my face. “We handle it. We keep her steady.”
“Good,” Silas says. “I’ll keep digging. You keep her safe.” Silas opens the door, and the warmth and noise of the lodge rush back in like a wave.
The babies squeal.
Harper laughs.
Kayley glances up—catches my eye—and smiles like she’s been waiting for me to come back.
And something in me breaks and seals at the same time.
I walk back into the main room, forcing my face into calm. I can’t bring the darkness into her eyes. Not yet.
Kayley stands, scooping Aidan up with practiced ease. “Everything okay?”
I nod, stepping close enough that my hand brushes her hip as I pass. A small touch. Grounding—for both of us. “Yeah,” I say, voice steady. “Just work.”
She studies me like she doesn’t quite believe that, but she doesn’t push. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
Harper lifts Poppi onto her shoulder and smiles at Kayley. “You’re welcome here, you know.”
Kayley’s throat bobs. “Thank you.”
Chase calls out, “Careful, Harper. Next thing you know she’ll be reorganizing our pantry and teaching Boyd how to smile.”
Boyd’s voice is flat. “I don’t smile.”
Kayley surprises everyone by turning toward Boyd and saying, “Yes you do.”
Boyd pauses like he’s been shot.
The room laughs again, and Kayley’s smile widens, and for a few seconds… I let myself stand in it.
Let myself imagine this as normal.
But the folder in my mind stays open.
Mark Renshaw.
A trafficking ring.
A baby broker.
A father who might not be a father at all—just a hunter.
And Kayley and Aidan are the prey.
Not if I have anything to do with it.
By the time we leave the lodge, it’s late.
The compound is quiet again, lights glowing in windows like watchful eyes. Snow hushes the world, turning every sound soft. Kayley’s exhausted—she hides it well, but I see it in the way her shoulders sag when she thinks no one is looking.
Aidan’s asleep against her chest, little mouth open, drool shining on his chin.
I take him gently without asking. She lets me.
That trust still hits me like a blade.
We walk to my cabin, and I keep my body angled between her and the dark treeline. Old instincts. New stakes.
Inside, the warmth wraps around us. I lock the door, check the windows, and set Aidan in the bassinet. Kayley shrugs out of her coat and stands there a moment like she doesn’t know what to do with herself when she isn’t in motion.
I step close. “Come here.”
She hesitates for half a second, then melts into me. Her arms slide around my waist. Her cheek presses to my chest. And I feel it—how much she’s been holding up alone.
I kiss the top of her head. “You did good today.”
She exhales, shaky. “It felt… normal.”
I tighten my hold. “Yeah.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me. “Is that dangerous? That it felt normal?”
I brush my thumb over her cheek. “No. It’s what you deserve.”
Her eyes glisten, but she nods like she’s determined not to cry.
We move to the couch, and she curls into my side as if she’s done it a thousand times. I pull a blanket over us both. Aidan’s soft breaths fill the cabin, the fire crackles, and Kayley’s hand rests on my chest like it belongs there.
She tilts her head, looking at me through her lashes. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
I could tell her the truth. I could crack the dam and let all the horror spill out.
But she’s warm right now. Safe. Soft. And I’m not going to put that fear back into her unless I have to.
So I tell her the truth I can tell.
“I’m thinking about how I want this,” I say.
Her breath catches. “This?”
“This.” I tuck her closer. “You. Him. Here.”
Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to figure out if it’s allowed to believe me. “I’ve never had a place,” she whispers. “Not really.”
I kiss her forehead. “You do now.”
She shifts, her lips brushing my jaw as she nestles closer. The contact is innocent, but it lights a slow, steady heat in my gut anyway—because everything with Kayley feels like it matters.
Even the quiet moments.
Even the way she breathes against my skin.
I hold her tighter, listening to the storm outside and the baby inside, and I make a promise in the dark that no one can hear.
Not Renshaw.
Not Ford.
Not any ring or network or monster hiding behind a badge.
No one is taking them.
Not while I’m alive.
Kayley’s eyes flutter closed. Her breathing evens out.
And as she drifts to sleep against my chest, I stare into the firelight and plan.
Because family isn’t just the thing you want.
It’s the thing you fight for.
And I’m ready to burn the whole world down to keep mine.