Chapter 16
Mia
It was evening before we made it back to our cabin. Coop had a lot of congratulations and backslapping to get through. He’d made a name for himself, and everybody wanted to talk with him.
Including me, but I had to wait.
As soon as we got back to the cabin, Coop led me into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind us. He immediately turned on the shower, cranking it to full blast. Steam began filling our small, only private space.
My fingers fumbled with my clothes as he stripped down to nothing before stepping under the spray. I followed, the hot water a shock to my skin after the day’s tension.
He pulled me close against him, for privacy and because we both needed it. Water cascaded over both of us, plastering my hair to my skull as he spoke. “I’m not sure if beating Oliver was the right play.”
“You had to make a choice in the moment.” I kept my voice equally low, lips near his ear. “What made you decide to win?”
“The way he was watching me. Testing me.” He put some shampoo in his hands and began working it through my hair. “Men like Oliver…they respect strength but resent it too. If I’d let him win, he’d have seen it. Known I was playing him.”
“So you showed him you wouldn’t cater to him.”
“Right. Hoped that got me more points than throwing the contest.” He tilted my head back, rinsing the suds away. “But now I’m wondering what this head start means. What the hell is this main event?”
“A race? Some kind of scavenger hunt? Combat trial?”
“Whatever it is, it won’t be good.” His jaw tightened as he reached for the soap. “Listen…”
I knew that tone, knew where this was heading before he even started.
“If the main event takes all the men somewhere else—another location, away from the compound—you need to run.”
“No. Coop—”
“Kitten.” His hands gripped my shoulders, urgent but gentle. “If you get an escape window while we’re all participating in whatever sick game Oliver has planned, you take it. You run, and you don’t look back.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take care of myself. I promise.” Water ran down his face, making it hard to read his expression, but I heard the determination in his voice.
“You get to Garnet Bend. Find Resting Warrior Ranch. Pawsitive Connections. Hell, any given person on the street can tell you where either of them is.” He brushed his wet hair out of his eyes.
“Sheriff Lachlan, Beckett, any of them—just tell them I sent you. They’ll protect you with their lives.”
I wanted to argue, to refuse, but the tactical part of my brain understood his logic. If all the men were occupied elsewhere, it might be my only chance.
“Promise me,” he said, tilting my face up to his. “If you get the opportunity, you run. You have to trust that it will be easier for me to get myself out if you’re not here.”
The water streamed between us, and I saw the fear in his eyes—not for himself, but for me.
“I promise,” I whispered, though the words felt like glass in my throat. “But only if there’s a real chance. I won’t leave you unless I’m sure I can make it.”
“That’s all I ask.” He pulled me closer, and for a moment, we just stood there, letting the hot water wash over us. “We’ve gotten more intel than the feds expected. Between what we already sent and what we can offer in terms of descriptions of the buyers, they’ll be thrilled.”
We just needed to live long enough to get it to them.
“And then what? After we get out?” I had to ask, had to know if there was something beyond this nightmare.
He brought his hand up to cup my face. “Then you’ll be safe.”
“What about you?”
He was quiet for a long moment, water running between us. “I don’t know. The feds will probably want to maintain my cover for future use. Make it look like I’m overseas, working international deals or something. Keep me viable in case they need Coop the arms dealer again.”
I didn’t like it, but I understood.
We finished showering in relative silence, just the basics of getting clean while maintaining the illusion for our unseen audience. When we finally turned off the water and stepped out, I saw the dress Oliver had sent.
It hung on the back of the door like a taunt—deep burgundy silk that would cling to every curve, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. The kind of dress designed to make a woman look like an expensive possession. Beneath it, a small bag held delicate black lace lingerie.
“Controlling bastard,” I muttered, holding up the lingerie. “He even picked out underwear.”
Coop’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. We both understood the game we were playing.
I dried off and started getting ready, trying not to think about Oliver choosing these items, imagining me in them, maybe even watching me dress in them now. The lingerie felt like spider webs against my skin—beautiful and treacherous. The dress slipped on like water, the silk cool and foreign.
But when I saw the heels Oliver had selected—four-inch stilettos that I was likely to break my ankle in—I drew the line. I grabbed my Converse from beside the bed. I wasn’t wearing those damned heels.
Coop dressed in the tuxedo Oliver had provided for him—classic black, perfectly tailored. He looked devastating, like James Bond’s dangerous brother. The contrast between the civilized clothing and the lethal man wearing it made my breath catch.
“Ready?” he asked, offering his arm.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The party was already in full swing when we arrived at the main lodge.
The transformation was stunning—what had been a militant compound earlier now looked like a high-end hotel ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over couples in evening wear.
Servers in crisp uniforms circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were at a charity gala in some big city, not a militia outpost in the Montana mountains.
Everyone, buyers and Oliver’s men alike, was dressed in their finest. There were new additions to the crowd—several women in expensive gowns who definitely hadn’t been here before.
They moved through the room with practiced grace, their professional smiles and careful distance from each other marking them as hired entertainment.
High-end escorts Oliver had brought in for his guests’ pleasure.
What a thoughtful host.
I recognized Snake in an ill-fitting tuxedo, looking deeply uncomfortable as he nursed a beer instead of champagne. Diesel stood near the bar, his scarred face incongruous above the bow tie.
“Dance with me,” Coop said, after we’d walked around for a while, leading me onto the floor where other couples swayed to the live quartet Oliver had somehow procured.
This level of overkill would’ve been painful even if I hadn’t been here against my will.
Coop’s hand settled at my waist, the other taking mine, and we began to move. Even in a tuxedo, even playing this role, he moved like a warrior—controlled, aware, ready.
“I haven’t told you enough how amazing you’re doing,” he said against my ear as we turned.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure about that.”
He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. “Trust me, no one would say you’re anything less than a natural.”
“I don’t want to be a natural at this.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I want to go back to taking pictures of barns and mountains. I want normal.”
His expression softened. “I know. Just a couple more days. Once the weapons sales are complete, everyone will scatter. We’ll leave with them, and you’ll never have to see any of these people again.”
We danced through several songs, moving together with the muscle memory of lovers who’d once known each other’s rhythms. I hoped someday I’d be able to enjoy a dance with him without studying the other people around the dance floor in case they tried to kill us or others.
But I still loved being in Coop’s arms. Strong, sure, capable…just like they’d always been.
“Mia.” Oliver’s voice cut through the music. “May I have this dance?”
He stood beside us, immaculate in a tuxedo that was probably worth more than most people’s cars. His pale eyes held that same calculating gleam I’d come to dread.
Coop’s arm tightened around me for just a second before he released me. “Sure.”
Oliver took Coop’s place with practiced ease, one hand claiming my waist while the other enveloped mine. He moved with surprising grace for someone who spent his time planning domestic terrorism.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” he said, his eyes traveling down the dress he’d selected. “Burgundy suits you.”
“Thank you for the dress.” I forced the words out. “It’s beautiful.”
“Of course it is. I have exquisite taste.” He pressed his hand slightly harder against my back, pulling me a fraction closer. “In all things.”
I forced myself not to stiffen, to move with him naturally. “The party is incredible. I wouldn’t have expected something so elegant out here.”
“Appearances matter, Mia. Even revolutionaries appreciate sophistication.” He spun me, the dress flaring around my ankles, my Converses hidden beneath the silk. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“It’s certainly been…educational.”
“Indeed. And did you find Coop’s performance today educational as well?” His eyes studied my face. “At the shooting competition?”
“I found it impressive.” That was safe enough—it was true.
“More than impressive. He beat me.” Oliver’s voice held no anger, just contemplation. “Not many men would dare.”
“Should he have let you win?”
Oliver laughed, the sound cultured but cold. “If he had, I would have known. Men like Coop don’t lose at things that matter. His pride wouldn’t allow it.”
“And that doesn’t bother you? Losing?”
“On the contrary, it tells me exactly who I’m dealing with. A man who won’t cater to anyone, even when it might be politically wise.” His eyes found Coop across the room, talking with two buyers while still watching us. “That’s either admirable or dangerous.”
“Which do you think it is?”