Chapter 10
Ten
J ack
"Jack!"
Delaney's scream cuts through the morning air, yanking me from sleep like a physical blow. I'm on my feet before my eyes fully open, grabbing the Glock from the bedside drawer, bare feet silent on the wooden floor as I move.
"Jack, he's here!" Her voice breaks on the last word, high with panic.
I streak through the cabin, weapon raised, finding her backed against the kitchen counter. Her eyes are fixed on the window, face drained of color. She's wearing just my t-shirt, the gray fabric hanging to mid-thigh, hair wild from sleep.
"Where?" One word, deadly quiet as I reach her, pushing her behind me with one arm.
"Black car," she whispers, fingers digging into my back. "Coming up the road."
My jaw locks, fury pumping through my veins. The fucker's watching my woman.
But she called for me. Didn't freeze. Didn't hide. Called for her protector, her Daddy, her mountain.
I press my lips to her forehead, gun still ready. "Good girl for getting me right away. Stay here."
"No." She grips my arm, those big eyes finding mine. "Don't leave me alone."
The fear in her voice stokes something primal in me. I slide my flannel from the hook by the door, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Behind me. Every second. No arguments."
She nods, slipping her small hand into mine as I pull her toward the front door. My body's on high alert, combat instincts kicking in—assessing, planning, scanning for advantage points. Fifteen years of special ops taught me how to hunt. How to kill. How to protect what's mine.
The morning sun blinds me momentarily as we step onto the porch. I feel Delaney press close, her breath warm against my back, trembling but not running. Not anymore.
Blood in the water. That's all I can think when I see the shiny black Audi creeping up my mountain road, moving slow like it's stalking prey. My prey. My woman.
"Jack, I ran once. I'm not running again." Her voice trembles, but not with fear—with fury. "Not from him."
Every protective instinct in my body roars to lock her inside, but the look in her eyes stops me. Something's shifted in her since yesterday. Since I made her crawl, since I put my cock in her mouth and told her that's where safety lives. She's standing straighter. Chin up. Eyes clear.
Mine. But stronger.
I don't have time to process it because the car door opens, and he unfolds himself like some bargain-basement Ken doll. Pressed khakis, polo shirt, designer sunglasses. The kind of man other men instinctively want to punch just for existing.
My fists clench at my sides, knuckles popping loud enough to hear over the engine's dying purr. Every combat-honed sense in my body calculates distance, identifies weaknesses, plans the most efficient takedown. Fifteen years in special ops taught me exactly how to make a man disappear.
But Delaney steps forward before I can move, her voice carrying across the yard, sharp as a blade.
"You have exactly five seconds to get back in your car, David."
He smiles—smug, practiced, the smile of a man used to getting his way—and holds up a folded paper. "Now, Laney, is that any way to greet your doctor? I've got the paperwork right here. Sheriff's waiting down the road." He taps his temple. "Psychotic break. Grief-induced delusions. Dangerous flight response. It's all very tragic."
I feel her tremble beside me, but her voice stays steady. "Did you show them the videos you took without my consent? The ones where you recorded me in the shower? Or did you leave that part out of your diagnosis, Doctor ?"
That wipes the smile off his face. "You erased those."
"The copies on my phone, yes." Her smile is cold, nothing like the sweet curve I've tasted every night. "But cloud backups exist for a reason, don't they? Every threatening message. Every illegal recording. All safely stored where even you can't delete them."
The stiffening of his shoulders tells me she's hit a nerve. Good girl.
"You're coming with me, Delaney. This little mountain vacation is over." He takes a step forward, and that's when I move.
Not rushing. Not charging. Just stepping fully into view, letting him see exactly what he's dealing with. I outweigh this prick by seventy pounds, all of it muscle built hauling timber and hunting these mountains. I stand between him and what's mine, letting the silence stretch until it's a living thing.
"That's not happening," I say, scratching the side of my head, voice deadly quiet.
His eyes flick from Delaney to me, then back. "You don't understand. She's not well. Her father's death—"
"Her father was my brother, my best friend," I cut him off. I take a single step closer, watching him flinch. "You really think I'd let you touch what's mine?"
His face flushes, anger overriding caution. "Yours? She's barely legal. You're, what, twice her age? The judge will love that. Little girl lost her daddy, goes running for another one? Fucking deviant pervert, I’ll have you locked up as a bonus."
I smile then, slow and mean. "Courts need evidence. Witnesses." I gesture to the empty mountain around us. "All I see is a trespasser on private property. I’m just holding my ground. You wanna keep coming?"
That's when Beau's truck rounds the bend, dust kicking up behind him. Perfect fucking timing. He pulls up hard, gravel spraying, and steps out with a shotgun braced against his shoulder. Not pointed. Just present.
"Problem, Jack?" he calls, eyes never leaving the doctor.
"Just taking out some trash," I reply.
David's eyes dart between us, the false confidence crumbling. "You're making a mistake, Delaney. I'm trying to help you."
"By threatening to have me committed?" She steps forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with me now. Not hiding. Not cowering. "By stalking me? Taking pictures of me without my knowledge? You never wanted me. You wanted a puppet.”
The wind shifts, carrying her scent to me—vanilla and woman and something deeper, something that makes my blood run hot. She's not afraid. She's fucking magnificent.
"Last chance," I tell him, my voice deceptively calm. "Get in your car. Drive back to whatever sterile little life you came from. And if I ever see you, hear from you, or even think you're looking in her direction again—" I smile, the kind of smile that made hardened fighters piss themselves in the field—"they'll never find all the pieces."
He opens his mouth, but Beau chambers a round, the sound cracking through the clearing like a gunshot.
I turn to Delaney, cupping her face in my palm. "Stay here," I murmur, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth, claiming her in front of him. "I'm gonna have a private word with the doctor."
Before she can argue, I stalk across the yard, each step measured, unhurried. The doctor backs up until he hits his car, nowhere left to run. I stop close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. Close enough to smell his designer cologne and the cold sweat of fear.
"You know," I say conversationally, wrapping one hand around his throat just tight enough to feel his pulse jump, "there's something you should understand about this mountain."
His Adam's apple bobs against my palm. I ease my grip just enough to let him speak.
"What's that?" His voice cracks.
"The sheriff you're counting on? Colt Boone. My youngest brother." I smile, watching his face drain of color. "He's the one who told you how to find my cabin, isn't he? Made sure you'd come straight here where I could handle you personally. Bet he even drew you a little map so you wouldn’t get lost."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by real fear.
"See, that's what family does." I release his throat only to slam my fist into the car door beside his head, metal caving with a satisfying crunch. "They protect their own. That’s my other brother Beau. Seems he got a call from the Sheriff as well."
He flinches, eyes darting between me and the dent inches from his face.
"This is very simple," I continue, as I pull my knife from the leather sheath. "You leave. You never contact her again. You forget she exists."
"You can't just—"
I release his throat, then drive the knife into his front tire, the metal sinking deep with a hiss of escaping air. "You've got three good tires left. Enough to limp down the mountain if you go slow. Colt will be waiting at the bottom to escort you to the county line."
His practiced composure cracks, rage and fear warring on his face. "You're insane. All of you. Fucking hillbillies."
"No," I correct him, leaning close enough that only he can hear my next words. "I'm a man who buried bodies in countries you can't pronounce. A man who knows exactly how to make someone disappear forever." I tap his chest with the knife.
I step back, watching him slide into his car, hands shaking as he starts the engine. The vehicle lurches forward on its partially deflated tire, limping pathetically down the mountain road.
As his car disappears, Delaney's shoulders sag slightly. Relief or exhaustion, I'm not sure. But when she turns to me, there's something new in her eyes. Something that wasn't there before.
"Thank you," she says, "for letting me face him. But having my back."
I cup her face in my hand, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "You didn't need my permission, baby girl. You needed to know you could."
She leans into my touch, those big eyes searching mine. "I'm not going anywhere, Jack."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Not because they're surprising, but because for the first time since I pulled her from that river, there's no hesitation in her voice. No uncertainty. Just ownership—of her choice, her body, her future.
Our future.
Beau clears his throat, reminding us we're not alone. "So, she's officially a Boone now, huh?" he says, grinning as he racks the shotgun. "See you Sunday?"
"We'll be there," I answer without taking my eyes off Delaney. "Now go the fuck home. We're busy here."
Beau chuckles, backing toward his truck with his hands raised. "Yes sir, Alpha Boone. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That leaves me a hell of a lot of options," I call after him, finally turning to watch him drive away.
When we're alone again, I lift her, cradling her against my chest. She weighs nothing, this woman who's changed everything.
"You faced him down," I murmur into her hair. "My brave girl."
"I had something worth fighting for," she whispers against my throat.
As I carry her inside, her small hand slides to my neck, nails scratching through my beard.
"You're mine too, you know," she whispers. "My Daddy. My mountain."
I kick the door shut behind us, already hard enough to pound nails.
"Prove it," I growl against her throat, heading straight for our bed. "Show me exactly how much of me belongs to you."
Her answering smile is wicked and sweet all at once. "Maybe you should trace 'Jack' on me with your tongue," she says, voice dripping honey. "Show me who you belong to. Make sure I remember it's J-A-C-K who owns this mountain."
Fuck moving mountains.
“You got that wrong little girl. I’ll be writing D-A-D-D-Y from now. When my face is between your legs, you’ll call out every letter as I trace it on your little sloppy, greedy cunt.”
“Oh Daddy, you’re such a romantic.” She smiles, and I fling her up and over my shoulder, stomp inside and put her down on the kitchen table, tugging her panties down and shoving her legs wide and diving into heaven.
This—her legs spread wide, my tongue tracing my name on her while she calls out each letter, this is all the goddamn religion I'll ever need.