14. Wyatt
WYATT
Giant Carmichael’s office is the definition of overkill.
It’s a glass and steel cube, perched on the top floor of a building designed to make the rest of Silver Spoon Falls feel like a goddamn off-ramp truck stop.
There are floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, a slab of desk that probably cost more than my truck, and a minimalist vibe.
Giant is one huge motherfucker. The man’s got a jaw like a cinderblock and hands the size of Sunday hams. I know for a fact he benched four hundred in college, but now he moves with the slick confidence of someone who’s built his body into a brand.
He’s wearing a shirt so white it glows blue in the window light, and a suit that looks vacuum-sealed to his chest.
We’re sitting across from each other, running through the transition protocol for my first week at Carmichael Security.
I’m supposed to be laser-focused, but my mind keeps drifting to Naomi.
I wonder what she’s having for lunch, if she remembered to lock the door, if she’s safe at the house without me.
I want to call her, just to hear her voice, but right now isn’t the time.
Fuck. I’m turning into a pussy-whipped asshole. And I couldn’t be happier.
Giant steeples his hands, eyes on the cityscape. “I want you to review these escalation flows, line by line. We just landed the contract for the Excellence Center. No margin for error. You copy, Byrne?”
I nod, flipping the file open. I don’t have time to process more than three bullet points before the outer office explodes into motion.
There’s a commotion as heels scrape marble then the sound of heavy boots and a staccato run.
The next thing I know, Cowboy and Sheriff Armstrong crash through the glass double doors.
They don’t knock. They don’t say hello. Cowboy’s got his MC vest thrown over a faded t-shirt, sweat trickling down the side of his face, and Armstrong’s usually perfect uniform is wrinkled and dusted with yellow pollen. Both of them look like they just sprinted a mile through a tornado.
Armstrong locks eyes with me. “We’ve got a problem,” he barks.
My pulse spikes. “What kind of problem?” It can’t be Naomi runs through my mind on a continuous loop.
Cowboy goes straight to the point. “Stellan Mintz lost his goddamn mind. He’s got your girl and her family barricaded in the Bardot house.”
Everything in my body freezes, as if time itself has momentarily halted.
My blood feels thick and slow in my veins, my breath catches in my throat, and my thoughts become a chaotic jumble, unable to form coherent sentences.
A full second stretches out, heavy with anticipation, before the weight of the meaning crashes down upon me like a tidal wave.
The folder in my hand, once gripped tightly, goes slack, slipping slightly as my fingers lose their strength.
Sheriff Armstrong says, “We got the call six minutes ago. He showed up at the house, forced his way in, and is holding all three Bardot women at gunpoint.”
I’m on my feet as panic slams through me. “What the fuck— How the hell did he?—”
Cowboy raises both palms. “He’s amped out of his mind. Says he wants Casey to talk to him or ‘everyone pays.’”
I scan Armstrong’s face hoping to wake up from this goddamn nightmare. His jaw is tight and there’s a vein pulsing at his temple. I’ve never seen him this rattled.
Giant Carmichael is already on the phone, barking orders as I turn and grab Armstrong by the front of his uniform shirt. “Are they safe? Is anyone hurt?”
“As of the last call, nobody’s shot. Deputy Gannon’s already on scene, holding perimeter. SWAT’s rolling from county. We don’t know if he’s got them all together or split up.”
Cowboy paces, fist clenched tight enough to crack the bones. “He’s not talking to anyone but Armstrong.”
Giant slams the phone into the cradle. “Let’s go.”
I nod and follow him out, not trusting myself to speak.
Cowboy grabs my arm. “This isn’t on you, Wyatt. He’s been spiraling for weeks.”
But it is on me. I should have known. I should’ve listened to my instincts and kept my woman cuffed to my side. I see her gorgeous face in my mind and know I’ll do whatever it takes to rescue her and make sure she’s safe from now on.
Giant tosses me a Kevlar vest from the supply closet. “Put this on. We’re not taking chances. I’ll have a sidearm ready in the truck.”
I strip my jacket off, slide the vest on, my hands moving on pure muscle memory. Cowboy’s already out the door, stomping toward the stairwell. Armstrong gives me a curt nod, all business now. “The little fucker won’t know what hit him.”
I meet his eyes. “I can’t live without her.”
He looks at me, ice dripping from his words. “You won’t have to.”
We stampede out of the office. The glass door swings shut behind us, and I hear Giant’s voice commanding the rest of his team to stay put. I’m already halfway down the hall, the only thought in my head is Naomi, and how I will kill that little motherfucker if he harms one hair on her head.
By the time we hit the parking garage, I’m shaking so bad I have to clench my teeth to keep from screaming.
Cowboy slides behind the wheel of his corvette and signals for me to get in the passenger seat.
I barely register the interior or the startup rumble.
Armstrong’s cruiser peels out right behind us.
As the sports car squeals out onto Main Street, I slam my fist into the dash so hard the hard plastic groans. “Fuck! How did I not see this coming?”
Cowboy floors it, tires squealing. “You did everything you could, Wyatt. Now have a little mercy on my car. I just picked it up two weeks ago.”
“No,” I grind out, “I fucking didn’t. I let my guard down and now that little asshole has my family.”
He glances at me, eyes hard. “That’s called having a life. You finally let yourself love someone. Stellan’s the only one to blame here.”
I try to swallow the words, but they keep coming. “If anything happens to her?—”
Cowboy cuts me off. “Don’t finish that sentence. We’re getting her out.”
I clench my jaw so tight I feel the cartilage pop.
We’re halfway to Naomi’s house before I realize my hands are bleeding from where my nails dug in. The taste of metal is in my mouth. The only thing keeping me from losing it entirely is the knowledge my friends have my back.
When I close my eyes, I see her face. Not the terrified version, but the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. The little smile that says she trusts me, completely.
I will not let that trust get her killed.
I breathe once, twice, trying to force myself back into pro mode.
But as we round the last turn and see the lights, the squad cars, the news vans, and the yellow tape snaking up the Bardot driveway, my professional mask slips. I see Naomi’s house behind the barricade, and for the first time in my life, I am truly fucking terrified.
The neighborhood looks like a bad TV crime scene.
Sheriff’s cruisers, unmarked black SUVs, a couple of tactical vans.
There’s red and blue lights bouncing off every window and a knot of civilians behind yellow tape, half of them filming with their phones.
Naomi’s house sits dead center, blinds drawn, the porch light flickering like a warning.
Cowboy barely slows the car before I throw the door open and hit the ground running.
The air smells like lawn clippings and hot engine oil.
I’m sprinting up the sidewalk before I register that Armstrong is already on the radio, directing SWAT and trying to keep the growing crowd of locals from pushing past the tape.
I scan the perimeter as I move. There’s two units flanking the driveway, a couple of guys with rifles posted on the neighbor’s roof, and a third unit watching the back gate.
Textbook setup, but the house is a fortress if you want it to be.
Heavy brick. One front entry, one side door, sliding glass in the back, all locked down tight.
I slide up to the command post, a makeshift folding table just out of sight from the front door. Deputy Gannon is hunched behind it, radio pressed to his ear, scribbling notes on a legal pad. He sees me coming and nods, face grim.
“Status?” I bark.
He looks up. “Subject’s in the living room. Weapon confirmed—AR platform, looks like a nine millimeter from what we saw when he flashed it at the window. All three women are alive. Every now and then, he’ll let them walk past the window so we can see them. They all seem to be okay.”
“Are you sure?” My voice cracks and I hate myself for it. “You’ve seen Naomi?”
Gannon nods. “Unharmed for now. She’s trying to keep Stellan talking, keep him focused on her. Smart girl.” He hesitates. “He’s losing it, Wyatt. Swinging between tears and rage. Says if Casey doesn’t ‘come out and see him’ he’ll start shooting.”
I clench my hands so tight I hear something pop.
Cowboy jogs up, out of breath, but ready. Armstrong’s right behind him, voice low and steady. “SWAT is ready to breach if necessary.”
I scan the street, looking for a tactical advantage, anything that could get me inside before he hurts them. The front entry is a no go; he’d see me coming a mile away.
I turn to Gannon. “Who’s got eyes on the back?”
“Two SWAT and one drone overhead,” he replies. “He blocked the curtains but the thermal shows movement. No clear line of sight yet.” I think about the layout. Living room is front, kitchen is back, two bedrooms and a bath upstairs.
I grit my teeth, running through everything I know about Stellan. He’s weak to authority, hates being shamed in public. The one thing he wants, always, is control. The fucker weak at best.
Gannon’s phone rings and I hold my breath, “Stellan! I’m glad you called. This is getting serious, young man. I need you to step away from the hostages and come to the door with your hands up before this escalates any further!”
While the deputy calmly talks to Stellan, I notice SWAT officers circling around the house. Fuck no. They aren’t doing this without me.
I turn to follow but Dillon grabs me by the shoulder. “Let them do their job. Naomi will never forgive me if you get your stubborn ass shot in the crossfire.”
I open my mouth to argue but everything suddenly goes down. There’s the sound of breaking glass then loud shouting and grunting.
I shrug off Dillon’s hold and rush for the house. By the time I throw the front door open, a SWAT member has Stellan down on the ground with a knee planted firmly in his back.
My mind shuts down as relief flows through me. I don’t waste a second rushing over to pull Naomi in my arms.
“It’s okay,” I whisper placing frantic kisses all over her face. “You’re safe. I got you, fever. I got you.”
Naomi sobs into my neck, the tears hot against my skin. Her mother is clutching Casey, both of them hyperventilating.
I snuggle Naomi tight against my side then wrap my other arm around the rest of my family. The three women hold on tight as I lead us from the house, out into the yard, never letting go of them for a second.
Armstrong emerges from the house two minutes later, face grave but unbloodied. “Suspect in custody,” he says. “Ambulance is en route. Everyone’s accounted for.”
I want to cheer, or scream, or just collapse, but instead I turn and kiss the top of Naomi’s head, breathing her in, alive and real.
She pulls back, looks up at me, face streaked but defiant. “You came,” she chokes out.
“I’ll always come for you,” I say. “Every time. I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.”
She grins, strong and beautiful. “Good.”
In the distance, the crowd of neighbors erupts in applause as SWAT drags Stellan out in cuffs. The kid is sobbing, snot running down his face, already a ghost.
I don’t care. I only care about the woman in my arms, the fact that she’s still here, that I didn’t fuck it up after all.
I walk her to the ambulance, settle her onto the step, and kneel at her feet. The paramedic fusses, but I ignore them.
“Fever,” I whisper, low enough that only she hears, “You’re my whole world. I need you to know that.”
She cups my face, hands trembling. “You’re mine, too. Even if you are a dumbass sometimes. You could’ve gotten shot rushing in the house like that.”
I laugh, the sound shaky and strange. “Yeah. But I’ll be your dumbass for the rest of my life.”
She tugs me closer, kisses me hard, then softer, then so gentle it nearly undoes me.
I’m still shaking when Armstrong claps a hand on my shoulder. “You did good, Wyatt.”
I look at the house, then at Naomi, at her mother and sister holding each other on the grass. “We all did,” I say.
“Now, I’m going to take my woman home and knock her little ass up.”
“First you need to give her your last name.” June cuts in. “If you dare get my daughter pregnant without marring her, you’ll be walking around with a black eye.
“You are so fucked.” Giant roars. “ These three are going to keep you on your toes.”
“With his luck, he’ll have all daughters.” Cowboy chuckles.
Nothing would make me happier.