Chapter 27
ZANE
I move through the trees, the damp earth muffling my steps. The air is thick with early dawn mist, curling between the trunks like smoke. Jason’s men are scattered, their shifting silhouettes barely visible through the haze. They know something’s wrong—they just don’t know how wrong.
My earpiece crackles. “In position,” I say.
I scan the clearing. Jason stands in the open, Mia locked against his chest, his gun pressed to her ribs. She’s shaking, but her face is set. Defiant.
I raise my rifle, sighting him down the scope. One shot. But Mia shifts, her movement throwing off my aim. Dammit.
“Asher?” I murmur.
“North ridge. No clean shot,” he responds, voice tight.
I exhale through my nose, forcing patience. Jason doesn’t know it yet, but he’s already dead. He keeps talking, his grip on Mia tightening. I can’t hear the words, but I see the tension in her body, the way she holds herself rigid.
A shadow moves beside me—Asher, signaling. Wait.
My blood burns. Every muscle in me screams to take the shot, to end this now.
But I don’t. We have only one chance to do this, to make sure we don’t hurt the girls and Mia in the process.
“Do you have eyes on the girls?” Damon’s voice crackles through the earpiece.
I scan the clearing, my pulse pounding. No sign of them. Only Jason, only Mia. My grip tightens around my rifle. Where the hell are they?
“No,” I say, sweeping the area again. “I don’t see them.”
Dread coils in my gut, suffocating. Does Jason have them? Did he find them before we got here? The thought makes my vision tunnel.
“They’re okay, they have to be,” Damon says, his breathing uneven. Man this must be killing him.
“Fuck,” Asher mutters.
I adjust my scope, sweeping the perimeter, searching for anything—a flash of movement, a shadow too small to be a full-grown man. Nothing. Just trees, fog, and the goddamn pounding in my chest.
“Fuck it.” I break cover, moving fast, keeping low. Damon hisses something in my earpiece, but I don’t listen. Mia wouldn’t leave her girls. They’re here somewhere.
Gunfire cracks through the trees. Jason’s men are distracted, their focus on whatever Damon and Asher are stirring up on the other side.
Good. Let them be. I have my own mission.
I scan the ground as I move, searching for signs, for anything—and then I hear it.
A muffled sob. Small. Barely there. But I know something is wrong.
The girls.
I pivot, following the sound, scanning the undergrowth until I spot them curled into a hollow beneath fallen logs, just like I taught them. Perfect concealment. No easy lines of sight. My chest tightens.
Goddamn, they did good.
I crouch down, keeping my rifle angled toward the clearing, my body shielding them from view. Emma's wide eyes find mine. Ella’s breath is shaky, her little hands gripping her sister’s tightly. Terrified, but holding it together. Just like their mother.
I lean in, voice low. “Stay here. Help is on its way”
Emma nods, swallowing hard. Ella presses her face against her sister’s shoulder.
I brush a hand over Emma’s curls, just for a second. Then I rise, grip my rifle, and turn back toward the fight.
Time to finish this.
I move into position, circling wide, keeping my eyes on Mia. Jason’s got her locked against his chest, gun pressed under her chin. Her wrists are raw from struggling, her breath coming hard. She’s terrified—but not broken. Not Mia.
“Come on out, boys.” Jason’s voice rings through the trees, smug as ever. Like he still thinks he has the upper hand. “Let’s finish this.”
I watch Damon step forward first, slow and deliberate, his gun aimed at Jason.
“It’s over, Jason.” His voice is curt, no room for argument.
Jason laughs, the barrel of his gun pressing harder under Mia’s jaw. Her flinch is barely noticeable, but I see it. I feel it.
“Nothing’s over," Jason snarls. “She’s mine. The girls are mine.”
A flicker of movement. Asher, flanking left.
“No,” his voice cuts through the tension like a blade, dark and cold. “They’re ours.”
Jason stiffens. His grip on Mia tightens. His confidence wavers just a second, but I catch it.
His plan is unraveling.
Jason’s laugh is cruel, cutting through the early morning quiet. “Three against one? Not very sporting.”
Then the brush rustles. Shadows shift. Jason’s men emerge, rifles up, forming a loose ring around us.
Shit.
“I’ve got the kids,” someone yells out. “They tried to run but I caught them.”
My blood turns to ice. Damon howls. “Touch my daughters and everyone here dies.”
Mia’s gaze snaps to him. Silent tears roll down her eyes. She must have waited for this moment, for Damon to truly claim them for years. And now here it is, going down in such a twisted manner.
“Your daughters?” Jason chuckles. “That’s rich.”
“They’re mine,” Damon says. “When you abandoned your wife all those years ago, she found solace in me. I gave her everything you couldn’t.”
Jason’s jaw ticks. He’s trying to rattle the bastard and it’s working.
“Lies,” Jason jerks his gun in front of Mia. “No more lies. Mia and the girls belong to me, and since you can’t get that in your stupid head.”
“You’re certifiably insane,” Zane says.
Jason smirks, his confidence sliding back into place. “Maybe, insane enough to do this.” He nestles the gun against her neck. “Move, and I kill her, because if I can’t have her, nobody can,” he taunts, pressing the muzzle harder under Mia’s chin. She doesn’t even flinch.
And then she speaks. “Four against one.”
Before the meaning registers, she drives her elbow back—just like I taught her.
I smirk. That’s my girl.
A sharp cry bursts from Jason as she connects with his ribs. His grip loosens. Mia ducks.
All hell breaks loose.
Damon moves first, his gun snapping up. A single shot—one of Jason’s men drops before he can fire. Asher charges into the fray, a blur of fists and muscle, disarming a second guy before flipping him hard into the dirt.
Another gun goes off, the flash of a muzzle lighting up the dark forest. I pivot just in time to see Asher lunging forward towards the man holding Emma and Ella captive, a blur of movement.
His fist connects with the guy’s jaw, knocking him backward, gun skidding across the dirt.
The girls are smart enough to turn and bolt into the trees.
The man scrambles to his feet, but Asher doesn’t give him the chance.
A brutal takedown—arm twisted, knee driven to the spine, then silence.
I barely register the fight at my back before another one of Jason’s men reaches for Mia.
Not a fucking chance.
I move without thinking, boots tearing against the earth, closing the space between us in seconds. The man barely has a grip on her arm before I drive my elbow into his throat. He chokes, stumbling, and I finish it with a pistol whip to the side of his head. He crumples into the dirt.
Gunfire rips through the clearing. Damon sidesteps it just in time, returning fire with two shots, each hitting center mass. The last man standing staggers and collapses.
All down.
But Jason is still standing.
He stumbles back, panting and disoriented, but he’s still armed. His gun swings up—toward Mia.
No.
I charge, tackling him to the ground. We go down hard, rolling through the dirt. He fights like a man with nothing left to lose—dirty, fast, desperate.
A brutal elbow drives into my ribs, another slams into my jaw, but I don’t let up. I see flashes of Kandahar, of the betrayal, of the men we lost because of him. The rage fuels me, as adrenaline kicks in. I need to end this here..
I shift my weight and slam a knee into his gut. Jason gasps, and his grip falters—just for a second. It’s all I need.
I rip the gun from his hands and send it flying into the dirt.
“It’s over,” I snarl, shoving him onto his back. “You’re done.”
Jason lets out a hoarse, pained laugh. “Not yet.”
And then—a metallic click. A flash of steel.
The bastard still has a knife.
Before I can react, he swings upward, blade aiming straight for my throat.
I barely manage to twist in time—the blade slices my arm instead, burning through muscle. I grit my teeth, straining to grab his wrist, to keep him from shoving it deeper.
Then a gunshot rips through the chaos.
Jason jerks. A red bloom spreads across his shoulder.
I snap my head up.
Mia stands there, both hands gripping a pistol, her chest rising and falling in sharp gasps.
For the first time, true fear flashes in Jason’s eyes.
Jason stares at Mia in shock, gasping for breath, his hand clamping over the bullet wound in his shoulder. His fingers tremble as blood seeps between them, dark and wet. The gun in Mia’s grip doesn’t waver, even as her chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged breaths.
No one moves.
Damon, still braced from the last shot he fired, lowers his gun just slightly, eyes locked on Jason’s slumped form. Asher stands a few feet away, his hands balled into fists, body coiled like a spring, ready to react.
But Jason isn’t done yet.
With a choked grunt, he pushes himself up, teeth clenched against the pain. His movements are sluggish, but his eyes flick between us, calculating. There’s something sick in his expression, something twisted in the way he smiles despite the blood soaking his shirt.
“I told you, Mia.” His voice is hoarse, but the venom is still there. “You were always mine.”
Mia tightens her grip on the pistol. “No,” she says, her voice steady despite everything. “I was never yours.”
His eyes darken, jaw tightening. Then his fingers twitch.
I see it before it happens. His other hand creeps toward his ankle—toward the second weapon strapped there.
“Gun!” I shout, lunging forward.
But Mia is faster.
The second gunshot splits the air like a thunderclap.
Jason jolts, his entire body locking up before he staggers back, his knees giving out. He hits the ground hard, legs kicking out once, twice, before finally going still.
Silence.
No one breathes.
The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with sweat, dirt, and the coppery tang of blood. The forest is too quiet. No wind, no birds, as if even nature is waiting.
Mia’s gun hangs loosely in her hands now. She stares down at Jason, her face unreadable.
Asher moves first. He crouches down beside Jason’s body, pressing two fingers to his neck. A long pause, then a sharp exhale. “Still breathing.”
Mia stands above him, her face pale, her breathing ragged. The gun hangs loose in her hand, the weight of the moment settling into her bones.
Damon steps forward, his eyes cold. He kneels beside Jason, turning him on his back, checking the wound, pressing down just enough to make him choke on a pained wheeze.
“He won’t last long,” Damon says flatly. His voice carries no emotion, no anger, just fact. A soldier assessing a dying enemy.
Jason coughs weakly, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. His gaze flickers, unfocused.
Asher crosses his arms. “We could end it now.”
My stomach tightens. I don’t look at Asher or Damon; I look at Mia.
Because this decision isn’t ours to make.
Mia trembles as she stares down at Jason, at the man who has haunted her life for years, the man who stole her safety, her peace, who terrorized her and the girls just for the sick pleasure of control.
This should be it. The moment she finally takes it all back.
Damon hands her the gun. “Make the call.”
Mia’s breath catches. Her fingers flex around the grip, the weight of the weapon heavy in her grasp.
She stares at Jason—this pathetic, gasping excuse for a man. The monster that held her life in his hands for so long.
And then she lowers the gun.
“I can’t,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I won’t be a monster like him.”
Damon watches her for a long moment, then nods. He understands. We all do.
None of us argue.
Asher exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “So what do we do with him?”
Damon glances down at Jason, who’s still struggling to breathe, his lips parting as if to speak.
I crouch beside him, lowering my voice to a cold whisper. “You don’t get to talk anymore.”
His gaze flickers, and for the first time, I see it. Fear. Real, raw fear.
Jason Whitmore knows he has lost.