65. Jake
JAKE
The stables smell like hay and horse sweat and leather—clean, honest smells that ground me after the intensity of last night and this morning.
Fuck—if Emma hadn’t insisted on going to her place to get some work done, I’d still be in bed with her.
Mason's in the third stall, working with the bay mustang mare Emma gave us. She's a beauty—compact and muscular, with intelligent eyes and a coat the color of dark honey. Wild-born. Emma’s said she was her father's pride. Now she’s ours.
Mason moves slowly around her, one hand trailing along her flank, murmuring something too low for me to hear. The mare's ears flick toward him, tracking his movement, but she doesn't spook. Doesn't even shift her weight.
"She's settling," I observe from the stall door, leaning down to scratch the top of Shadow’s head, where he’s lying.
Mason glances at me, his dark eyes calm. "Smart bloodline. Emma's father knew what he was doing with these horses. Give her another week, she'll be ready for saddle work."
I lean against the doorframe, watching him work.
Mason's always been the patient one—sniper discipline translated into everything he does. Luke and I operate on controlled aggression. Mason operates on absolute stillness until the moment demands action. “I knew you worked with horses growing up, but I didn’t know the extent.”
“Raised on a ranch that bred. Always wanted to do it myself.” He runs his hand down the mare's shoulder. “Emma okay?”
I shake my head. “She’s upset about Cole Turner, but she won’t admit it.”
The mare shifts, sensing the tension in Mason's body, but he gentles her with a touch. "Threat assessment?"
"Lethal. He's not backing off. He knows Eli's gone, and he's still pushing. That makes him either stupid or confident he's got leverage we don't know about."
"Or both," Luke says from behind me.
I turn. Luke's leaning against the stable wall, arms crossed, his usual easy California grin nowhere in sight. He's in operational mode—pale eyes sharp, body language loose but ready.
"How long have you been standing there?" I ask.
"Long enough." He pushes off the wall, moving into the stall. The mare eyes him warily, but Luke ignores her, focusing on me. "So we're eliminating Cole Turner."
It's not a question. "Yes."
"Timeline?"
"Soon.” I’d do it today if it were up to me, but Emma wouldn’t understand. “He'll escalate."
Mason finally turns from the mare, his expression unreadable. "Operational complexity is higher than Eli. Cole's intelligent, cautious. He won't make himself vulnerable the same way."
"I know." I've been running scenarios since Emma came home yesterday. "We'll need surveillance, pattern analysis, and probably a two-week window to identify his routine."
"Doable." Luke tips his head. "But before you launch the nuclear option, make your claim on Emma public."
I frown. "What?"
"Public." Luke meets my gaze, dead serious. "Right now, Iron Ridge knows Emma's spending time with you. They know you're back. But they don't know the scope. They don't know she's yours."
I cross my arms, widening my stance. "She is mine."
"Yeah, but does Cole Turner know that?" Luke raises his brow. "Does the whole fucking town know that touching her means answering to all three of us?"
Mason makes a low sound of agreement. "Luke's right. Ambiguity creates opportunity. Cole sees Emma as isolated and vulnerable. He doesn't see her as protected by a three-man unit with Delta Force training and zero hesitation about eliminating threats."
"We make it public," Luke continues, "and we remove speculation. We establish Emma as locked down. Protected. Off-limits. It sends a message to Cole that he's not just dealing with a woman alone. He's dealing with us. That might be enough for him to back down."
I don't like it. The idea of parading Emma around, making our relationship public knowledge, putting her in the spotlight—it goes against every instinct I have to keep her close, controlled, private.
But tactically, Luke's right. Sometimes the threat of punishment is enough to deter.
"Where?" I ask.
"Where else? The Rusty Spur." Luke grins, and there's something dark in it. "Tonight. We walk in with Emma. We make it clear she's with you. We sit at the bar, have a drink, let the whole town see. Then we leave. Simple. Clean. Public declaration."
"It's a sound strategy,” Mason says, soothing the horse. “Establishes her position, removes ambiguity, and forces Cole to reassess his approach. If he's smart, he'll back off."
"And if he's not?" I ask.
"Then we eliminate him, knowing we gave him every chance to walk away." Mason's voice is cold, final.
"No one can say we didn't make our position clear," Luke adds.
I look between them—Luke with his tactical grin, Mason with his calm certainty. My brothers. My unit. The men who've had my back through firefights and black ops and eighteen years of Emma living in my head.
They're right.
I hate that they're right, but they are.
Luke claps me on the shoulder. "Looks like you're taking your girl out on the town, brother."
I nod. "Let's make it count."
Luke's grin widens. "Oh, we will."