Chapter 12
Sierra
The first thing I notice is the way the air changes.
Not the temperature. The pressure.
Dave is pacing in the guest room, cutting a groove into the polished floor like it might open a trapdoor if he walks it hard enough. His jaw is tight, his hands restless, eyes flicking to the windows like he’s waiting for the world to blink.
“We’re moving,” he says. “Now.”
I sit straighter in the chair, my fingers curling around the edge of the table. “What happened?”
His gaze snaps to mine. “They decoded the drive.”
“You go. I’ll stay here,” I say, even as my voice wobbles.
Dave’s mouth twists. “You’re coming with me. I need insurance.”
My heartbeat thunders in my ears. “Why are you still doing this?”
His eyes flash. “Because I’m already damned.”
He studies me for one long second, something in his expression hardening into decision. Then he turns toward the hallway.
“Get her.”
My blood turns to ice.
The guards appear like they were waiting behind the walls. Two of them. One reaches for my arm. Instinct takes over, sharp and panicked. I twist away and shove the chair back, its legs screeching across the floor.
“No,” I snap. “Don’t touch me.”
The guard grabs anyway.
Pain blooms where his fingers clamp down.
Dave’s voice tightens. “Sierra, stop making this harder.”
“Harder?” My laugh breaks, jagged. “You kidnapped me.”
The guard yanks. I stumble, catching myself on the table.
Then everything happens at once.
A sharp crack cuts through the house. Not loud like an explosion. Precise.
The guard holding me goes rigid.
Another sound follows. Shouts. Footsteps. Chaos crashing down the hallway.
The grip on my arm loosens just enough for hope to slam into me so hard it hurts.
Dave’s head snaps toward the front of the house. His face drains, then tightens the same way it did in the kitchen when control slipped.
“Move,” he barks. “Move her.”
They drag.
I fight.
My shoes skid across the floor. I twist and kick and claw at the man’s wrist, not because I think I’ll win, but because I need to feel like I tried.
Then the hallway fills with men.
Not guards.
Not Dave’s.
Knox is there like the storm finally found a door.
Black tee. Jeans. Boots. Violence held just beneath the surface. His gaze locks on me, and I feel it hit my skin like heat.
Behind him, Gray steps in with the kind of calm that makes everyone else look sloppy. Another man flanks them, wide-shouldered and focused, moving like this is familiar territory and he doesn’t plan to lose.
The house shifts around their presence. Like it knows who owns the air now.
My breath catches. My eyes burn.
Knox doesn’t look at anyone else first.
He looks at the hands on me.
His voice is low and terrifyingly quiet. “Let her go.”
The guard releases me like he values his pulse.
“We don’t want trouble,” he mutters.
Knox’s gaze doesn’t flicker. “You’ve already got it.”
Dave steps into view behind them. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Knox says. “I’m taking her home.”
Home.
The word hits me like a bruise and a blessing all at once.
Gray’s voice cuts in, calm and final. “Dave Michaelson. It’s over. Step outside. Surrender. Now.”
“I’ll never do that.”
He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else.
Men move in from both sides, fast and efficient. Dave struggles once before they pin him, hands forced behind his back. The sound he makes isn’t anger.
It’s fear.
Knox’s eyes find mine again, and the world narrows to that single line between us.
“You okay, darlin’?” he asks, like his voice alone can hold me upright.
My throat closes.
I nod anyway. Once. Quick. I’m not okay, but I’m alive, and he’s here, and that’s enough to make my knees weak.
Knox’s jaw flexes. “Good.”
Then he moves.
Fast. Controlled. Like every part of him was built for this moment.
Suddenly, he pulls me into him like he’s been holding his breath for hours, like his body finally believes I’m real.
I press my face into his chest, and the scent of him hits me and I almost sob.
Warm. Solid. Here.
His mouth drops to my hair. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and his voice shakes at the edges, restraint fraying.
I clutch his shirt with both fists.
“You came for me,” I whisper, wrecked, unable to tell if it’s gratitude or disbelief.
Knox’s arms tighten. “Always.”
Gray’s voice is somewhere behind us. Commands. Movement. Boots scraping. The snap of cuffs.
I don’t look.
I can’t.
Knox tips my chin up with two fingers, forcing my eyes to his.
His stare is fierce enough to make me tremble.
“I thought I lost you,” he says. No swagger. No teasing. Just truth.
My chest caves.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” I confess. “I thought I… thought I was stupid.”
Knox’s eyes darken. “You were not stupid.”
“I believed him,” I whisper. “I believed my uncle.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, catching tears I didn’t realize were falling. “That wasn’t weakness,” he says softly. “That was affection.”
The word makes me flinch and soften all at once.
He leans in like the distance itself is an insult.
His mouth finds mine.
A kiss that tastes like relief and rage and promises he hasn’t said yet. I make a sound into his mouth I don’t recognize, small and broken and needy.
He pulls back just enough to breathe against my lips. “You’re safe.”
I shake my head, barely. “I wouldn’t be if not for you.”
Something flickers across his face. Possession, maybe. Or surrender.
“Then you keep me,” he murmurs. “You hear me, darlin’? You keep me. I’ll be your protector.”
My throat tightens. “Knox…”
He kisses me again, quick and hungry, like he needs to anchor it into bone.
Gray’s voice cuts through. “Sutton. Let’s go.”
Knox guides me into his truck like it’s an altar and a bunker at the same time.
The door shuts.
The locks click.
And I start shaking.
Not from cold.
From the aftermath.
Knox turns toward me, reaching like it’s instinct now. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do.
His eyes are wrecked. Controlled, but wrecked.
“You’re here,” he tells me. “You’re with me.”
I swallow, throat raw. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, steady. “That’s never gonna happen. You’re not leaving my sight again.”
The way he says it makes something in my chest go soft and scared.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“For what?” His brows knit.
“For leaving. For believing him. For walking away from you.”
Something breaks across his face for half a second.
Then he presses his forehead to mine. “Darlin’, stop apologizing.”
A sound leaves me that might be a sob.
He kisses me again, slower this time. Not frantic. Claiming. Real.
When he pulls back, his voice is rough. “We’re going back to the cabin.”
My breath catches.
He watches me, always reading. “If you want.”
“I want you,” I say immediately.
His jaw flexes. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” My voice trembles. “I want to feel normal for five minutes. I want to feel safe.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “You’ll have it,” he says. “You’ll have me.”
By the time we reach the cabin, the adrenaline has turned into something else.
A deep ache under my skin.
A need to be held so tightly I can’t fall apart.
Knox gets us inside, checks the locks on reflex, scans the corners like danger might still be hiding in my grief.
Then his focus comes back to me.
All of him.
He steps close, slow enough to give me time to flinch.
I don’t.
I reach for him first.
My hands fist in his shirt and I drag him down, kissing him like proof I’m still here. Like I need to convince myself.
“I want to take a shower,” I say.
“We’ll take one together. Let me take care of you.”
I nod.
His hands go to the hem of my shirt, and he waits.
I lift my arms.
He pulls it over my head and drops it behind us.
Then my jeans. My underwear. My socks.
He never rushes. Never takes his eyes off mine unless he’s kissing my skin, slow and reverent.
He strips off his own clothes next—shirt, boots, jeans—and every motion feels like a vow.
I follow him into the shower.
The water hits my skin warm and steady, and I shudder.
He pulls me to him beneath the stream, his arms strong around my waist, my cheek against his chest. His skin is hot. His heartbeat steady.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I whisper.
We don’t move for a while.
Then his hands slide into my hair, gentle, and he starts to wash me.
He doesn’t ask. He just does. Soft fingers massaging shampoo through my scalp, rinsing it out with care. He reaches for the soap next, lathers it in his palms, then trails it across my shoulders, down my arms, over my back. Every motion is slow, patient, reverent.
I close my eyes and let him.
The water washes the day away, but it’s his touch that starts to steady me.
He kneels to rinse my legs, my calves, my feet, and when he rises, his hands trace back up my thighs with just enough pressure to make my breath catch.
His mouth finds mine again, slow and sure.
“Your turn,” I whisper, and he lets me wash him too—chest, arms, back. Every line of him mine to memorize.
By the time the water is off and we’re wrapped in towels, my limbs feel like they’re finally mine again.
But I don’t want space.
I want him.
He dries me off, carefully, like he’s afraid to leave even one drop behind. Then himself. Then we’re moving again—into the bedroom, into the soft low light, into the quiet.
Know steps close and cups my face.
“I need you to be sure,” he says, voice rough. “If you’re tired…”
I answer by kissing him. Deep. Honest.
“I want this,” I whisper. “I want you.”
His control shatters like glass.
He lays me down with a reverence that nearly undoes me. Like I’m something sacred. Like this moment is not a want, but a need.
Then he follows, his body covering mine, hot and solid and entirely real. The weight of him anchors me, the warmth of his skin wrapping around every place I feel frayed.
His eyes search mine one last time. For doubt. For hesitation.
There is none.
I lift my hips in invitation. My hands slide to his back, fingers splaying wide like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
And then he’s there.
As he sinks into me, my breath catches sharp and sudden. It’s the intensity. The stretch. The heat. The overwhelming sense of rightness that floods every inch of me.
His name slips from my lips like a prayer.
Knox groans low in his throat and drops his forehead to mine, breathing ragged.
“God,” he whispers. “You feel like—” He breaks off, like there’s no word big enough to hold it.
He stills for a beat, letting me adjust, letting me feel every second of it. His thumb strokes my cheek like he’s grounding both of us.
Then he begins to move.
Slow. Deep. Measured.
Like worship.
His hands map my body with devotion, tracing the line of my waist, the curve of my breast, the dip behind my knee. His mouth follows behind, pressing kisses to my throat, my shoulder, the hollow beneath my jaw.
He touches me like he’s memorizing everything.
I touch him like I need to.
Because I do.
Because for a moment, I thought this would not happen again. That I wouldn’t get the chance to feel him like this again. To feel what it’s like when he’s holding me, claiming me.
The rhythm builds. Steady, intense, aching.
We move together like we’ve done this forever.
Like our bodies already knew the steps before our hearts ever caught up.
My fingers slide into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into my mouth as we kiss slow and hungry, desperate and full.
I lose track of time. There are no words.
Just gasps.
The slick slide of skin.
The sound of his breath against my neck.
The way his body drives into mine with purpose and promise.
The pressure coils tighter, heat blooming low and deep, and I arch beneath him, the tension breaking like a wave.
I fall apart with his name on my lips.
He’s not far behind. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, then he’s buried deep, his whole body trembling as he shudders into me with a growl that sounds like surrender.
He doesn’t move right away.
He stays inside me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting
His voice is raw when he whispers, “I love you.”
Everything inside me stills.
My breath catches in my throat.
I reach up, touch his face. My fingers trace the strong line of his jaw, the day’s rough stubble, the mouth that just wrecked me with kisses I’ll never forget.
“I love you too,” I say, and the words are soft but sure.
His lips find mine again, slower this time. Deeper. No urgency now. Just the gravity of everything we just gave each other.
Like he’s sealing it in.
Like it’s the only thing that matters.