Chapter 24
Makari
Lauren stands in front of my desk with her arms folded, gear zipped halfway, expression sharp enough to cut through steel. She looks like she’s preparing to block the office door with her entire body if necessary.
“This is a terrible idea,” she says.
Behind her, Jesse’s leaning against the map table, pretending he isn’t listening, but the slight twitch in his jaw gives him away.
“It’s not a terrible idea,” I say, checking the ammo on my belt and snapping the clasp shut. “It’s an efficient one.”
“Efficient,” Lauren repeats. “You’re dragging your operations manager into the mountains after someone trespassed, established an armed camp, and killed two of your men last week.”
My temper spikes just hearing it out loud. The image flashes in my mind—blood on moss, a man gasping in my arms, his fingers trying to curl around mine before they went slack.
The memory flares hot, choking, but I push it down.
“She’ll be with me,” I say. “Safer than in that house right now.”
Lauren’s eyebrows shoot up. “If you’re so concerned, why not leave her with security on the estate?”
Because the estate feels vulnerable too. Because every corner I turn lately, something inside me expects to find another body, another threat. Because Roxy called me last night with fear in her voice—real fear, and when I heard it, something inside me detonated.
“Lauren,” I say, picking up my jacket, “I don’t have time.”
“You’re making decisions like a man who didn’t sleep.”
She has no idea how little sleep I had. Or what kind of sleep.
“Roxanne,” I call.
She appears in the doorway, wearing hiking boots she clearly borrowed from the estate supply room and a dark jacket that looks two sizes too big. Her hair is tied back, eyes bright with an irritation she’s already trying to hide.
I toss her a packed day bag. She catches it, but barely. “What—”
“We’re leaving,” I say.
“Makari—”
But I’m already walking past her, down the hall and out the back entrance toward the ATV shed. Gravel crunches under my boots as I stalk across the yard, the cold morning air cutting through the fog of my thoughts. I’m halfway to the vehicles when she catches up.
“You didn’t even tell me where we’re going,” she says, slightly breathless.
“North perimeter. They found something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Something that shouldn’t be there.”
Her mouth presses into a line, but she climbs onto the ATV behind me. When her arms circle my waist for balance, something tightens low in my gut. I turn the ignition and take off before I can think too much about how her body fits against mine.
The ride is long. The terrain gets steeper; the path reduced to little more than a rutted trail between towering pines.
The summer rain from the last few weeks makes everything too soft.
But today is bright and drying things out.
Roxy holds on, leaning with the vehicle like she’s done this a thousand times, though I know she hasn’t.
When we finally stop at the rendezvous point, a cluster of my men are already waiting. Their serious expressions tell me enough before anyone speaks.
Jesse steps forward. “It’s worse than we thought.”
I climb off the ATV. Roxy does the same, less gracefully, catching herself on a log before she slips. I move toward her just on instinct, but she waves me off.
“I’m fine.”
I don’t argue, though part of me wants to grab her elbow and keep her glued to my side.
Jesse motions us toward a rocky rise that overlooks a clearing. The closer we get, the more my jaw clenches.
A stash.
A large one.
Containers, tarps, stacked crates—and every single item is placed deliberately, systematically. Not my system. Not my arrangement. This is another organization’s signature.
And worse: the ground around it is torn up, a deep rut carved through the moss and underbrush where someone dragged heavy equipment through the forest. A perfect miniature landslide from careless handling. Tree roots exposed. Soil eroded right into the river bend.
I feel my teeth grinding.
Roxy, already watching me, raises an eyebrow. “You look upset.”
“I am.”
“I didn’t know you cared about environmental damage.”
“I don’t,” I snap before I catch myself. “I care when someone destroys land on my territory because they’re too undisciplined to clean up after themselves.”
She blinks. “So you care indirectly.”
“Don’t make this sound sentimental.”
A smile threatens at the corner of her mouth, but she hides it quickly, studying the site instead. “What’s in those crates?”
“Not ours,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you get.”
She huffs, pushing a strand of hair off her cheek. The light makes her skin look plush, warm and inviting, where I can see it under the gear. She’s peeled the jacket off and tied it around her thick waist. I force myself to look away.
Jesse gives the report—new tracks, new gear, the scent of campfire smoke still fresh on clothing they found abandoned. The other group is organized, confident, and familiar with the terrain.
Too familiar. And they can’t clean up after themselves; or they didn’t see a point in bothering.
“They’re testing us,” I mutter.
Roxy shifts her weight. “How do you know?”
“Because this is loud.” I gesture to the destruction. “It’s meant to be seen.”
She falls quiet, her gaze traveling the ruined forest floor. For a moment she seems to understand—not the violence, not the war simmering beneath the surface, but the violation of it. Someone trespassing not just on my land, but on the order I impose upon it.
A branch snaps loudly in the distance.
My head whips toward the sound. “Check the ridge,” I tell Dima and two others. “Sweep out half a mile.”
They disappear into the brush. I start moving faster, fury driving my steps. Roxy follows but stumbles when a root catches her boot.
“Mak, slow down—”
“We don’t have time.” My pulse is pounding, part of me still back in the woods a week ago—with blood on my hands. Lives lost under my control. Or lack thereof; someone is testing it.
“I’m trying, but I’m not exactly built for hiking at this pace.”
I try not to think about all the other activities she’s built for… “You agreed to come.”
“You didn’t give me a choice!”
That makes me stop.
I turn. She nearly runs into me.
Her cheeks are flushed, sweat collecting on her forehead, bare arms crossed. She looks angry and alive and exactly where she shouldn’t be. I couldn’t leave her.
“You should have told me where we were going,” she says. “Or how long we’d be gone. I have a daughter waiting for me.”
“She’s fine,” I say.
“How do you know?”
“Because I left four men at your house.”
She blinks, stunned. “Four?”
“Two at her school.”
“Her school—Mak, you’re not serious.” Andrea started school three days ago; I had Lauren confirm her enrollment and pull up a copy of the academic calendar. I intend to know where my daughter is at all times.
“Every day,” I say. “All day.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You can’t do that.”
“I already did.”
“That’s not protection. That’s—” She stops, searching for a word. “That’s intrusive.”
“Your daughter was afraid last night.”
“So was I.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Exactly.”
An ATV rumbles somewhere far off, though maybe it’s just my pulse. Roxy’s shoulders rise with a breath she seems to regret taking.
She opens her mouth to argue again, and then the forest goes silent.
Every bird stops. Every insect stills. I know the feeling instantly.
“Roxy,” I warn, “don’t move.”
Her eyes widen. “Mak—what—”
A shape emerges between the trees—massive, hulking, moving with a purpose that has nothing to do with curiosity.
Grizzly. A sow, and behind her, two small cubs.
“Holy—” Roxy swallows the word. “Mak.”
The bear huffs, head lowering, ears flattening. She’s too close. Far too close. Of course, the one thing not in my tactical kit is bear spray. A 9mm wouldn’t kill a grizzly, and I wouldn’t want to even if I had something stronger.
I step in front of Roxy without thinking, planting myself between her and the bear. My body goes rigid, arms slightly out to make myself appear larger. I don’t blink. Don’t breathe.
“Stay still,” I murmur.
Her hand fists in the back of my jacket. The sow rises onto her hind legs and gives a deep, guttural chuff. Roxy gasps. I feel her tremble through the fabric between us.
“Easy,” I say softly, unsure whether I’m talking to her or the bear.
The sow drops back to all fours and takes a step toward us, claws tearing into the earth. A bluff charge or warning. Hard to know.
Roxy’s breath catches in her throat, a soft, helpless sound, and it hits something deep in me.
I shift my weight, grounding myself. “Back away slowly,” I say. “Don’t turn your back.”
She nods, though I can feel her shaking.
Another tense moment passes—then the bear snorts, shakes her head, and nudges her cubs away into the undergrowth. Branches rustle. Then she’s gone.
Roxy exhales all at once, knees buckling. I grab her before she hits the ground.
Her breath is uneven, her pulse racing under my hand. I press a steady palm between her shoulder blades. “It’s over.”
“I thought—it was going to—” She can’t finish.
I pull her closer without meaning to, her forehead brushing my collar. “I know.”
For a long moment we stand like that, the sunlight dappling through the leaves, her breath warming my chest. Something inside me eases—a tightness I didn’t realize I’d been carrying loosens under the simple proof that she is alive.
Then a branch snaps behind us.
We turn.
Dima steps into the clearing, eyeing us, then the retreating bear tracks.
“You let it go?” he asks, disappointed. “Did you fight it? No?” He sighs dramatically. “Wasted opportunity.”
Roxy chokes on a laugh that’s half hysteria, half disbelief.
I glare at him. “Dima.”
“What? I am just saying—think of the story. You versus bear—”
“Leave.”
He shrugs and heads back toward the men.
Roxy sags against a nearby tree, still shaky. I stay close, watching her color return, watching her breathing even out. When she finally meets my eyes, something unspoken hangs between us—something that feels dangerously like understanding. Or trust.
“We’re going home,” I say quietly.
She nods.
For the rest of the walk back, she stays close enough that our shoulders brush each time the trail narrows.