Chapter 10
Sierra
The SUV cuts out onto a stretch of road that turns narrow and quiet, the kind of Texas backroad that looks harmless until you realize how easy it would be to disappear out here.
Fences that go on forever. No streetlights. No neighbors peeking through curtains.
My mouth tastes like pennies.
Dave drives like he knows exactly where he’s going. One hand on the wheel, the other steady. Like he’s counting minutes in his head.
I sit in the passenger seat with my hands clenched in my lap, my shoulder bag hugged tight against my ribs like it can keep me anchored, the shopping bag resting at my feet.
I try not to picture Knox outside the boutique, turning around and realizing I’m gone.
Try not to picture what happens when he does.
“Dave,” I say, and my voice comes out thin. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t look at me. “Somewhere safe.”
My stomach lurches at the word. I don’t even know what safe means anymore.
The road bends and opens into a long private drive lined with live oaks. The house at the end is big. Not mansion-big, but expensive-big. Clean lines. Wide porch. A place that looks like it belongs on a magazine spread about “rustic luxury.”
And there are men.
Two at the gate. Two on the porch. Another shape moving near the side of the house. All of them armed in that casual way that says they’ve held guns long enough to stop treating them like a big deal.
The SUV slows. The gate swings open without Dave stopping.
My throat closes.
Dave parks in front of the house like he’s returning home.
He turns to me. “How you feeling, kiddo?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t… I don’t like this.”
“I know,” he says, gentle. “But you’re okay. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
A guard opens my door before I can touch the handle.
The heat hits my face, hot and heavy.
I step out.
The men watch me without saying anything. One of them looks away too fast, like eye contact would make this more personal. Another keeps his gaze on my shoulder bag like it’s the only thing in the world.
My heart knocks hard against my ribs.
Inside, the house is cool. Too cool. Air-conditioned and spotless, like no one really lives here. Like it’s staged.
Dave leads me into a kitchen that looks like it’s never seen a dirty dish. Granite counters. Stainless appliances. A bowl of perfect lemons that has to be decorative.
He pulls out a chair at the island. “Sit.”
I sit because my legs are shaking and because something in his voice makes my body obey before my mind catches up.
He opens the fridge, pulls out a container, starts putting food on a plate like this is normal. Like this is what you do after you drag someone to a guarded house.
“Eat,” he says, sliding the plate toward me.
It’s a sandwich. Cut in half. Neat.
My stomach twists. I’m hungry, which feels like betrayal. Like my body is willing to cooperate with anything as long as it gets fed.
Dave watches my face. “I’m not poisoning you.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I manage a small smile, then pick up half the sandwich because my hands need something to do. I take a bite and it tastes like nothing.
Dave doesn’t eat. He paces once, then comes back, braced on the counter like he can’t sit still.
Impatient.
A cold thought slides through me.
Dave exhales. “Alright.”
He looks at my shoulder bag.
“Give me the drive,” he says.
The words hit like a slap.
My fingers tighten around the sandwich.
My chest goes hollow.
“What?” I whisper.
“The drive your father left,” he repeats, and his voice is still calm, but there’s a strain under it now. A thread pulled too tight. “Hand it over, Sierra.”
My pulse spikes so hard I taste adrenaline.
A memory flashes sharp and ugly. Dave on the phone yesterday, warm voice, gentle concern.
Are you at the apartment? You eating? You’re at your place alone?
He asked me. More than once.
My skin prickles.
“How did you know I was in Valor Springs?” I ask, and the words come out faster now.
Dave’s gaze shifts away, just for a second.
My stomach turns.
Then another memory hits, like my brain finally stops protecting me from the obvious.
Knox in the truck, voice flat, decisive.
They can track your phone.
My breath catches.
The phone.
He tossed it.
But I still answered that call. I still spoke. I still stayed on the line long enough for someone to do something. And we were almost in Valor Springs.
My fingers go numb.
“Did you track me?” I whisper.
Dave doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t have to.
A door opens somewhere down the hall. Footsteps.
A man enters the kitchen like he belongs in it.
Tall. Broad. Baseball cap. That same annoyed slant to his mouth.
He looks right through me and at Dave.
“We need to go soon,” he says.
And his voice…
My blood turns to ice.
Get a room.
The stairwell. The landing. The moment Knox’s back shielded me while my whole body went traitor-soft under his mouth.
I recognize the voice.
My vision narrows until the whole kitchen feels like it tilts.
I set the sandwich down carefully because my hands are shaking.
I look at Dave.
I look at the man.
“You,” I breathe. “You were there.”
I look back at Dave. His face hardens.
“Sierra.”
“No,” I say, louder now. “He was there. In my building. In my stairwell.”
Dave’s eyes flash. “Fine. He was there to get you out safely.”
“It was to get me,” I correct, and I can hear my own heartbeat, loud and wrong. “You asked me three times if I was at the apartment. You were trying to confirm where I was.”
Dave steps toward me. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
My laugh breaks out of me, sharp and cracked. “This is you not scaring me?”
His voice drops. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
My throat burns. “Then why am I here? Why are there armed guards? Why is he here?” I jerk my chin at the man, and my whole body flinches when he shifts his weight, like he’s ready.
“You lied to me about being deployed.”
“You are being difficult,” he snaps, then reins it back in fast, like he forgot who he was talking to. He drags in a breath. “Sierra. Kiddo. Listen.”
Don’t call me that.
The thought screams inside me, but my voice comes out small.
“Did you kill my dad?” I ask.
The kitchen goes too quiet.
Even the man by the doorway stops moving.
Dave’s face tightens like the question hits something raw.
“No,” he says, and for the first time since I saw him outside the boutique, he looks scared. Not for me. For himself. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.”
My stomach heaves.
“That’s not an answer,” I whisper.
Dave swallows hard. “When I found out what he had, I told him to forget about it. He wouldn’t.”
“Because he’s not a coward and a traitor,” I say, and my voice shakes with fury.
Dave flinches like I slapped him.
He looks away, then back. “They would’ve killed me.”
My hands curl into fists. “Who?”
“The Red Cobras,” he says, like the name tastes bitter. “They own me.”
I stare at him. “How?”
His shoulders sag a fraction, like the confession is heavy and he’s tired of carrying it.
“When my wife died,” he says quietly. “I got stupid. I got angry. I started gambling. Thought I could win back control of my life. Thought I could outplay the bad luck.”
My throat tightens.
He goes on, voice rougher now. “I got into debt. The kind that doesn’t come with payment plans. They offered to clear it. Said all I had to do was hand over a document. Just one. Simple.”
My skin goes cold.
“It started like that,” he says, eyes bright with something that looks like shame. “Then it wasn’t one. Then it was favors. Then it was threats. And by the time I realized what I’d done, I was in it so deep I couldn’t climb out without them burying me.”
“That’s your excuse for killing my father,” I whisper, voice cracking. “For kidnapping me?”
Dave’s face twists. “I didn’t kill him.”
I laugh again, ugly. “You just delivered him.”
His eyes flash. “He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t let it go. He told me to turn myself in.” Dave’s voice rises, just slightly. “He told me I had to pay for it.”
My chest caves in.
“You were his best friend,” I whisper.
Dave’s mouth tightens. “I was.”
And the way he says it makes it sound like a past tense he doesn’t deserve.
He steps closer again, and this time I don’t flinch. I plant my hands on the counter like I need something solid.
“Give me the drive,” he says, and his voice has changed now. Less uncle. More soldier. More command. “Now.”
My throat is raw. “I don’t have it.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” I snap. “Grayson has it.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I wish I could swallow them back.
Because Dave’s face changes.
The control slips.
Anger flashes hot and fast.
“You gave it to him,” Dave says, and it’s not a question. “You gave it to Calhoun.”
“Yes.”
Dave’s hand slams onto the counter.
I jump.
The man near the doorway shifts, closer.
Dave’s eyes are bright now, furious. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”
I flinch.
Dave turns his head slightly, not taking his eyes off me.
“Lock her up in the guest room,” he snaps.
My blood freezes.
“No,” I breathe, backing away from the counter. “No, Dave, don’t do that.”
The man moves fast.
Two steps and he’s there, hand on my arm.
I yank back, panic surging.
“Don’t touch me!” I shout.
Dave’s voice cuts through, sharp. “Sierra. Stop.”
I stare at him, chest heaving, tears finally spilling.
“You don’t want to hurt me,” I choke out. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me.”
Dave’s eyes are cold now, like he’s forcing himself to become the man he needs to be.
“I don’t,” he says. “But you’re going to think. You’re going to think how to get it back.”
My stomach drops.
“This isn’t you,” I plead.
Dave’s gaze flickers.
Just once.
Then it hardens again.
“This is what they made me,” he says, low. “And you’re going to help me fix this.”
The man tightens his grip and pulls.
I stumble, fighting, but he’s stronger. Trained.
As I’m dragged toward the hallway, I twist back, searching the open kitchen doorway like Knox might be there.
Like I might wake up.
Like any second now, the world will correct itself.
But all I see is Dave, standing by that perfect bowl of lemons, looking at me like I’m both a regret and a resource.
And the last thing I hear before the door slams behind me is his voice, hard as a lock.
“Think real hard, kiddo. Because your life depends on it.”