Chapter 25 Roxy
Roxy
Ursa Arcane feels hollow tonight. Not the usual quiet; it’s rare for the estate to be loud.
It’s an emptied-out quiet, the kind that makes you listen harder and feel lonelier.
The main building’s windows glow softly, warm amber spilling across the gravel paths.
Inside, only a few staff members remain: a custodian polishing the banister, a maid folding linens near the invisible laundry room, someone in the kitchen cleaning metal surfaces with the precision of habit.
Everyone else is out in the field. Mak’s orders.
I can feel that absence in my bones. His absence, though I don’t want to admit just how attuned I am to him now. When did he become such a noticeable part of my life? Even at home, at the cottage, I’ve gotten so used to the idea that he’s just down the river. That if I called him, he’d come.
Not tonight, though. He’s insisted on being out there with them ever since the death of his two men and the threat to his entire empire.
Earlier I heard Lauren arguing with him; a ballsy move.
Telling him that his place was to oversee operations, not get involved.
But Mak’s gruff words, low with warning, made my heart pound: “To be a leader, I need to be willing to die beside them. It’s what my father did.
And it’s how I’ve earned this respect, Lauren. Now leave.”
It’s late, later than I meant to stay. The last couple of hours disappeared into spreadsheets and maps and communications logs I barely absorbed.
My mind hasn’t been cooperating today; every time I tried to focus on something concrete, it slid sideways into something else entirely.
A memory. A touch. The sight of Mak standing between me and that full-grown grizzly, tall enough and solid enough that even the bear hesitated.
I keep replaying it—how he stepped in front of me without hesitation, how his arm brushed mine when the bear made a sound that felt like my death sentence, how steady he was afterward when I was shaking hard enough to feel it in my teeth.
It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of that. I shouldn’t be thinking about him this way at all.
He’s my boss. My employer. The man who signs my paychecks and tracks shipments of weapons across borders and calls himself a businessman with a straight face even when the truth of him shadows every corner of what we do. How many times do I need to remind myself of that?
But he’s also Andi’s father. And the man who keeps showing up, even when I don’t think I need him.
I need space. A grip on my own damn sense of self.
I gather my things and head toward the back exit. Outside, the air is cool with early night; the sky shifts from cobalt to ink. Small lamps line the path to the employee lot, casting soft cones of light across the pavement. The pine trees at the perimeter look like silhouettes cut from black paper.
I take a steadying breath. Then another.
I can do this. Drive home. Make dinner. Tuck Andi in. Sleep normally for once. Reclaim my brain. Stop thinking about him.
When I reach the lot, my car is exactly where I left it—back corner, closest to the trees.
While Mak’s “warriors,” as he calls them, are respectful, I’m not comfortable enough to park in their midst—with the dipping tobacco, cigarettes, coarse talk.
The whole area is empty except for a few service vehicles and Dima’s massive SUV parked near the front.
I walk toward my car, keys already in hand, when someone steps out of the shadows.
Eric.
He looks thinner than the last time I saw him, like he’s lost weight too quickly. His hair is greasy, and there’s a wild brightness in his eyes that doesn’t belong there. He forces a smile—strained, too wide—and lifts his hands in a gesture that’s meant to be harmless and fails spectacularly.
But most notably, he’s not wearing his uniform. Just ratty jeans and a t-shirt.
“Roxy,” he says, as if we’re friends meeting by accident and he hasn’t stepped onto The Bear’s property; practically a death sentence. “Hey. Been hoping to catch you.”
Every instinct in me spikes. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs, trying to appear casual. “I was driving by. Thought I’d stop and say hi. This is where you work?” His eyes are wild, and a little too intense. Searching.
I hold my bag tighter. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”
Eric laughs then, a short sound that slides into something bitter. “Fine. I know. I know a lot more than you think, actually.”
He steps closer, and the lamps catch his face just enough for me to see the agitation in it—an edge I’ve seen before, but never pointed at me like this.
“Eric,” I warn, forcing my voice to stay level, “you need to leave.”
“I will,” he says, leaning one shoulder against my car door—effectively blocking it. “But first I need something from you.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard what it is.”
“I don’t need to.”
His smile drops. “Roxy, come on. It’s just data. You work in operations. I need the land survey records for the northern perimeter. And a map of all the unregistered cabins on the property.”
“And why,” I ask carefully, “would you need that?”
He glances toward the trees, eyes darting like he’s expecting someone to materialize. “There are men in town. Looking for information about Makari’s holdings. They want to know what’s out here.”
“Who are these men?”
“They’re associates from Chicago.” His voice goes hoarse. “A syndicate that doesn’t wait long for debts.”
The words land heavily, thudding into place like puzzle pieces snapping into a terrifying picture. Eric’s in trouble. Serious trouble. The kind of trouble you don’t talk your way out of.
And he’s trying to drag me into it.
“No,” I say again, sharper. “I’m not giving you anything.”
He pushes off the car door and steps closer. Too close. I step back automatically, heart kicking hard.
“Roxy,” he says, and there’s no friendliness in it now. “I’m asking nicely.”
“No, you’re threatening me.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“That’s not your job. It never was.”
He flinches, but only for a second. Then he moves in, crowding me back toward the corner of the lot. “You don’t understand,” he says, voice tight. “If I don’t give them something, they’ll come for me. And if they come for me, they’re going to look at everyone I ever talked to. Everyone near me.”
His gaze drops pointedly to the ground, then back up to my face.
“They’ll hurt me,” he says. “And they’ll hurt you.” A beat. “And they’ll hurt her.”
The world seems to narrow in an instant. It’s illogical; there’s no way they’d connect me and Andi to Eric, but…
“Andrea is none of your concern,” I say, but the words come out strangled.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he insists.
“You’re trying to save yourself,” I snap. “And you’re using threats to do it.”
He stalls. Something ugly twists across his face. “Roxy, please. I don’t want to hurt you. But they will. They don’t care who you are or who she is. They just want information, and I can give them something if you—”
Headlights flood the lot.
Eric jerks back like he’s been caught. An engine rumbles—a deep, heavy sound—and moments later Dima’s SUV turns into the parking row.
Eric’s jaw tightens. “We’re not finished,” he murmurs. Then he slips into the trees, vanishing as if he’d never been there at all.
I stand rooted in place, shaking.
Dima slows as he approaches and lowers the window. The interior lights spill out, catching my face. His expression changes immediately.
“You okay?” he asks, voice deep and even but laced with concern.
I force myself to breathe normally. My hands won’t stop trembling. “Yes,” I lie. “Just a long day.”
His eyes skim the tree line behind me, narrowing slightly. But there’s no way he saw Eric. Right? “You sure?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
He studies me for another moment before nodding back. “Drive safe, shef.”
The title—or endearment?—hits me unexpectedly, softening something in my chest. Then he pulls forward to the upper lot, parking the SUV in a position that looks an awful lot like he’s blocking the main exit.
I stand there for a moment, gripping my keys so hard the metal bites into my palm. My mind races, trying to make sense of everything Eric said. Chicago. Debts. Cabins and land surveys. A syndicate he’s afraid to name.
One wrong move, and they’d come for him.
Or me.
My stomach drops.
No. I can’t involve anyone else in this. Not the staff, not Dima, not Jesse. If Eric feels cornered, he could lash out, do something reckless. He didn’t look far from it already.
Only one person can know. Only one person will know what to do. Makari.
The thought steadies me, even as it scares me, because I know exactly how he will react when I tell him someone threatened my daughter. And I know what that reaction will cost. He promised to pay back those men’s deaths in blood.
I unlock the car, slide inside, and rest my forehead against the steering wheel.
Everything is spiraling again. The forest. The bear. The trespassers. The stash. And now this—another syndicate, connected to Chicago, reaching its fingers into the life I’ve built and threatening to unravel it thread by thread.
I breathe slowly, letting the engine idle beneath my hands.
I can’t tell Eric’s story. I can’t ask for mercy on behalf of a man who lost his way and is now drowning. But I can tell Mak the truth.
He’ll keep us safe. Even if it’s wrong, even if it’s dangerous—I believe he will handle it.
And that belief terrifies me almost as much as the threat itself.
I pull out of the lot, leaving the amber glow of the estate behind me, and drive toward a night that suddenly feels much darker than before—my only thought the same one repeating over and over like a heartbeat.
Makari. I have to tell Makari.