Chapter 11
Knox
I have killed men for less than this.
For less than the thought of her scared. For less than the image of her being dragged somewhere she can’t fight her way out of.
They took Sierra off my watch.
Now I’m going to take her back.
I’ve been at The Ranch since she vanished, and the place that usually steadies me has turned into a cage with too many exits I can’t use. Men move around me. Boots on gravel. Gates opening and closing. Radios murmuring. Somebody’s coffee going cold on a counter.
None of it touches me.
All I can see is her in that boutique window.
And then she was gone.
I replay it like punishment.
Because I was right there. Ten yards away, leaning against my truck like I had all the time in the world.
My phone was at my ear. My eyes were scanning. My posture was loose on purpose, the way you do in a small town when you don’t want to draw attention. Like I’m not a man built to turn a street into a war zone if I have to.
I was doing my job.
And still, they took her.
Gray had me on the line. Voice low, clipped, the way it gets when he’s staring at something ugly on a screen and trying to keep it from bleeding into his tone.
“We cracked the drive,” he said.
My spine went rigid so fast it hurt.
His next words tore right through it.
“Dave Michaelson is on it. Served with Marcus Quinn. They were close.”
For a second, the name didn’t land.
Then it hit.
Uncle Dave.
The one on the phone.
“Dave Michaelson,” I repeated, tasting rage in the syllables. “You sure?”
“Sure enough to bury him,” Gray said. “But he’s one of many. We have names. Access. Contacts. Locations.”
My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles went white.
I could hear my own pulse, steady but wrong. Like it wanted to go hunting.
“How many names?” I asked.
“Enough to start a war,” Gray answered. “Enough for Homeland to get interested. Your girl is not safe.”
My girl.
Gray was always good at seeing past the composed face.
Then the boutique door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Not Sierra.
A couple walked past.
Not Sierra.
My focus snapped hard to the front window.
I didn’t see her blonde hair. Didn’t see her eyes flicking toward me like she was checking that I was still there.
Something cold slid into my chest.
“Sutton?” Gray’s voice cut in. “Knox.”
I turned my head, scanning fast.
The sidewalk. The curb. The store interior through the glass.
Nothing.
No Sierra.
No movement that made sense.
My body moved before my mind finished processing. I was off my truck, stride long and controlled, and the street around me blurred into irrelevance.
I pushed into the boutique like I owned it.
The bell over the door jingled.
The smell hit first, sweet and soft, normal. Vanilla diffuser. Warm cedar. A world with no blood in it.
A salesgirl looked up, startled. “Can I help you?”
My eyes were already raking through the place. Dressing rooms. Back hallway. Emergency exit.
“The blonde girl,” I said, voice low. “Where is she?”
The girl blinked.
“Blonde. Blue eyes. Bag. Where’d she go?”
The salesgirl’s face paled. “She… she stepped out. A few minutes ago.”
A few minutes.
Minutes are enough.
Minutes get people killed.
I was already turning, already outside, scanning the street with a soldier’s cold precision. My gaze cut to the alley beside the boutique, the narrow gap between buildings that would swallow a person whole if you didn’t know to look.
And it was empty.
Too empty.
My hand went to my ear like I could drag the truth through the phone line by force.
“Gray,” I said, voice flat. Controlled. “She’s gone.”
Silence.
Then, immediately, steel.
“Confirm last known.”
“Boutique. Front door. I had eyes on the street. I looked away for a few seconds.” The words tasted like acid. “They took her in that window.”
Gray didn’t waste time on blame. That’s the thing about him, the thing that makes him dangerous. He doesn’t lean into emotion until after the job is done.
“I’m pulling traffic cams,” he said. “Town feeds. Ranch feeds. Any business we can tap. Stay on position and keep your head.”
My head.
My head was the only reason I wasn’t tearing doors off hinges already.
But my body was shaking with restraint.
Because all I could think about was Sierra. Not the name on Gray’s screen. Not the asset tag. Sierra, in a stranger’s hands, realizing the man she trusted wasn’t where she could see him.
Realizing I failed her.
And I don’t fail.
I walked the perimeter of that block until my boots memorized the cracks in the sidewalk. I checked the alley. The dumpsters. The back door. I leaned into the loading bay and smelled nothing but sun-baked trash and dust.
Nothing.
I wanted blood anyway.
The call from Gray came in twenty minutes later, and it wasn’t good news.
“Got her on cam,” he said, voice quiet.
My whole body went still.
“What do you see?” I asked, forcing every word through my teeth.
“Back of the boutique,” Gray said. “She steps out and disappears left. Thirty seconds later, Michaelson appears in frame, pulls her into the alley. She resists for a second, then…” A pause. “Then she goes with him.”
I shut my eyes.
Because of course she did.
He was family.
And I was the stranger with scars and rules.
“She get into a vehicle?” I asked.
“Black SUV. No plates visible. Headed out of town.” Another beat. “I’ve got the route. Highway 95, then they cut off onto backroads.”
I stared at the open stretch of street like I could see the SUV’s tire tracks in the heat shimmer.
“Any idea where they went?” I asked.
Gray didn’t answer right away, which meant he was weighing how much he wanted to tell me.
He decided to tell me anyway.
“The drive had more than names,” he said. “It had locations. A couple coded references to safe sites. One of them is close to Valor Springs.”
A cold, heavy calm settled over me.
“Safehouse,” I said.
“Yeah,” Gray replied. “We think so. Come to the Ranch. We need a tactical plan.”
We’ve been at it for hours, and we have to do it right.
I keep seeing her face in my head.
The way she looked at me when she told me she trusted me with the truth.
The way she said my name like it meant something.
The way she fell asleep in my bed and my shirt swallowed her whole, and I sat there watching her breathe like it was the only thing that mattered.
The way she gave herself to me with no restraint.
Now she’s in some safehouse with dangerous men.
With Dave Michaelson.
A man she loved.
A man who lied to her.
A man who will scare her until she breaks, because that’s what people like him do when they need something.
And Sierra… Sierra will fight. She’s got that stubborn spark.
But she’s also young. Tired. Grieving.
And she’s probably so damn scared.
The thought scrapes my insides raw.
I’ve known her less than two full days.
Two days.
That’s nothing. Not enough time to build a life around someone. Not enough time to make the kind of promises I’m making in my head.
And yet.
I can’t imagine a world where her laugh doesn’t exist anymore because someone decided it was collateral.
My hands clench.
My jaw locks.
She is mine. Mine to love. Mine to protect.
So I make myself one promise.
Hold the rage.
Hold the wildfire.
Use it when it counts.
Because I’m going to bring her back.
And if I have to tear that safehouse apart board by board, if I have to burn down the whole world to get to her, I will.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
Not when it’s Sierra.