Chapter 6 #2
"Because Dad didn't raise me to abandon people who need help." I tie off the last suture. "Even if those people are trained killers hiding in a mountain."
An encrypted phone buzzes, cutting through the tension. Stryker answers, his face darkening as he listens. He puts it on speaker.
“Protocol Seven’s live,” the voice says. “Full sanitization. Sixty-to-seventy-two hours. Everyone on the list is priority target. Move now.”
"Tommy, slow down," Kane commands, standing despite the fresh stitches. "What triggered it?"
"Morrison's death spooked them. They're closing ranks, eliminating variables." A pause. "Doc Hart's on the primary list. They know she has the dog."
My legs want to fold. I lock my knees, forcing myself to stay standing.
"How many assets?" Stryker demands.
"Everything they can buy or threaten. Minimum forty operators, military support elements, surveillance packages. Full spectrum."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the tactical maps covering the bunker walls—red pins marking targets, blue showing safe houses, black indicating confirmed kills.
It's war operational planning, rebellion against something vast and shadowed.
These men aren't just hiding. They're fighting something that owns pieces of the government itself.
"I can't protect you," Kane says with deliberate precision. "Not from this. Protocol Seven means scorched earth."
"But together we might survive it," Rourke adds, pragmatic assessment rather than comfort.
Odin returns to my side, pressing against my leg.
Khalid watches the dog with longing, this boy who's seen too much finding peace in simple loyalty.
Mercer maintains his watch, wild but protective.
Stryker cleans weapons with mechanical precision, already operational planning for war.
Kane bleeds through my stitches but stands ready.
These men represent the only thing standing between innocent people and a shadow organization that kills to protect its secrets. They're damaged, dangerous, probably half-crazy from whatever burned them. But they're here, fighting for people like me who stumbled into classified horror.
The veterinarian I was this morning would run. Would find a new town, new name, new life far from whatever war these men are fighting.
But that woman let a marked dog live because it was right. Drove into gunfire because a man needed help. And now stands in a bunker carved from stone, surrounded by killers who might be the only honest men left in this shadow war.
"I'm not running anymore." My voice stays steady despite the terror clawing at my chest.
Kane meets my eyes. For an instant the command wears down and a man looks back at a woman who chose to drive into fire. He nods once, not permission but acceptance. “Then we keep you alive. If you're fighting for people like me, then you need someone who understands that we're worth protecting."
"You're a civilian," Stryker states flatly.
"I'm a doctor. Different degree, same oath—do no harm, but take no shit." I meet each of their eyes in turn. "You need medical support. I need protection. Seems like a fair trade."
"This isn't a trade," Mercer warns. "It's a death sentence. The Committee doesn't take prisoners."
"Neither did my ex-husband." The words slip out before I can stop them. "Some fights you don't get to walk away from. You either win or you die trying."
Stryker grins, adding, “Hell, if sarcasm were ammo, I’d never run dry.”
An encrypted line buzzes through the comms—tagged CROSS again: Not alone. Keep your oath. It dies as quickly as it came, leaving only silence and the echo of commitment. The tag doesn’t comfort—it’s a reminder: someone with reach still watches, and not all hands reaching are friendly.
I add, “And if Odin reacted that violently, whatever’s left in storage isn’t dormant. It’s active. You plan to raid these people? You’ll need decontamination protocols—and fast. Otherwise you’ll die before bullets find you.”
Later, when the others scatter to their tasks, Stryker leans near Mercer. Voice low, raw: “This purpose thing? It’s all that keeps me from picking up a bottle. Don’t let me screw it up.” Mercer only nods, but the feral steadiness in his gaze is promise enough.
Our eyes meet longer than strangers’ should. Something in his stare lingers, protective but searching, as though measuring more than my medical skill. My chest tightens, absurd in a war zone, but undeniable.
General Marcus Webb
I don’t sit for this Committee briefing.
Three other principals crowd the secure line, their voices warped by distortion.
A senator drones about budgets, a contractor rattles on about supply chains, another director pushes for deniability.
They argue strategy, not morality, and I let them.
Every order we pass down ruins another family, burns another operator.
When I finally cut in, my voice is the blade that ends it. “Failure isn’t an option. If Echo Ridge survives, none of us do.”
The Story Has Only Just Begun…
You’ve met the men of Echo Ridge—betrayed, disavowed, and forced into the shadows. But this brotherhood is just getting started.
The next chapter begins with Echo: Burn, the first full-length novel in the Men of Echo Ridge series. And this time, it’s not just about survival—it’s about love.
Each book in the series delivers high-octane suspense, deep brotherhood, and a romance strong enough to heal even the most broken warrior. In Echo: Burn, you’ll see one of these scarred operators meet the woman who will change everything.
Action. Emotion. Love worth fighting for.