Chapter 53
fifty-three
Dylan answers on the first ring. If I were at home and had access to my computer, I’d be able to do this myself, but, since we’re holed up in the woods with our best friends, we need him.
I set the phone down and put it on speaker.
“You’re on speaker, man,” I say, voice firm despite the knot of anxiety tightening in my gut. “Listen, before you start pulling feeds, you need to know the landscape has changed. Ryder called in a favor. He’s got three of his Marine brothers stationed in the woods across from my place and Sasha’s.”
“Marines? Nice.”
“Yeah, so if you spot movement in the perimeter or heat signatures in the woods, don’t flag it as a threat unless someone moves in on the house. I don’t want to alert the cavalry on our own guys unnecessarily.”
“Understood,” Dylan says, tone shifting to all-business. “I’ll mark those zones as friendly but keep the motion triggers active for the structures themselves. Now, what do you need?”
“Since I don’t have access to my computers, I need you to patch everything through to Ryder’s laptop. I want my external cams and every angle of Sasha’s system visible on one screen here. We can’t be toggling between apps if shit goes down. We need a central command.”
“Easy peasy. I’m bridging the IP addresses now. Give me thirty seconds to bypass the handshake protocols.”
Ryder turns the laptop so I can watch. The laptop screen flickers, goes black for a heartbeat before a grid of nine different camera angles pop up.
My driveway, Sasha’s front porch, her back patio, and the side yards—it’s all there in high-def night vision.
Everything looks quiet. Other than the hanging plant on Sasha’s porch moving slightly in the wind, all is still.
“Okay, feeds are live,” Dylan announces. “Resolution is crisp. I’ve got a direct line to the cloud, so there’s zero lag.”
“Perfect,” I say, running a hand over my hair as I lean in closer. “One last thing. I need a fail-safe. If anyone—and I mean anyone—breaches a door or window at Sasha’s place, I want a priority alert sent to both my phone and Ryder’s. Bypass the silent notification; make it loud.”
“Done and done. I’ve synced the sensor triggers to push directly to your devices. If a fly sneezes on a windowpane, you’ll know. If either house is breached, it’ll send an alert.”
“Thanks, Dylan. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Literally, I hope. Later, man.”
The line goes dead, and silence settles over the room, heavy and thick. Ryder’s stormy grey eyes scan the grid feeds with predatory focus, looking for anything out of place.
“Well,” Noia says, breaking the tension. “At least we have some of the best men on the lookout. Now, finish eating. You’re no good to anyone if you pass out from hunger.”
I huff out a humorless laugh and pick up my fork. She’s right. As I take another bite of enchilada, my eyes dart back to the screen, watching the footage of our empty homes, waiting for shadows I pray will never come.
Next to me, Sasha is quiet, picking at her food. I reach out and give her thigh another squeeze, needing the physical contact to remind myself she’s right here, safe with me.
Noia takes a sip of her wine before clearing her throat. “Have you heard from Ryan, Sash?”
“No. Last we checked, no one had heard from him for a few days.” She sets down her fork and reaches for her glass and takes a long sip before gently setting it back down. “Do you think they did something to him?”
“It’s possible they are holding onto him until they get what they need from you,” Ryder’s deep, gravely voice answers. He looks over at Noia. “We should all hit the hay. Get as much sleep as we can, just in case.”
“Good idea.” My voice sounds way more certain than I feel. “We’re not doing anyone any favors by staring at a screen until our eyes bleed.”
Ryder nods, closing the laptop just enough to keep the glow from being distracting, ready to be flipped open on a moments notice.
He stands, offering a hand to Noia, who looks worried. “We’ll be right upstairs if anything pings.”
“‘Night, guys,” Noia murmurs, giving Sasha’s shoulder a final, supportive squeeze before they head upstairs, Goonie trotting after them.
The silence left in their wake is broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator. When I look over at Sasha, she’s staring across the room. Even under the warm glow of the kitchen lights, her skin looks pale, eyes wide and haunted.
“Come on,” I murmur, standing us up so I can pull her into my arms. “Let’s get cleaned up. You’re shaking.”
She leans into me, her forehead resting against my chest. “I just want to wake up and for this to be over.”
“I know. Me too.”
We trudge down the hall to the cozy guest room. I walk straight into the attached bathroom to turn on the shower, waiting for the steam to fill the room.
A protective need to just be close to her consumes me as we strip off our clothes in silence.
Once we’re naked, I gently guide her under the spray, grab the soap and start lathering her skin.
My hands move slowly over her curves, only with the intent to soothe.
As I wash, my fingers linger on the marks I left behind from earlier, a visual reminder that she belongs to me and that I’ll never let anything happen to her.
When she leans back against my chest with a sigh, I wrap my arms around her, holding tight.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her neck. “Always.”
Clean and dry, we slide naked between the cool sheets, and I tuck her against my chest, spooning her close. Draping my arm over her waist, I rest my hand over her heart, letting its steady rhythm soothe me as it begins to slow.
I stare at the door, my ears straining for any sound that isn’t the wind through the trees outside, hoping for a peaceful night, waiting for a morning that can’t come soon enough.
I’m jerked out of a restless sleep by the high-pitched, aggressive wail of my phone’s priority alert.
Beside me, Sasha bolts upright, a gasp catching in her throat. The room is still dark, save for the glow of my phone which is vibrating violently on the nightstand.
“Jax?” Eyes wide, her voice is trembling.
Snatching it up, I look down at the screen. “They’re in your house,” I growl, throwing back the covers. My heart is a sledgehammer against my ribs, fueled by a cocktail of pure adrenaline and unadulterated rage.
I don’t bother looking for my jeans. Snatching a pair of grey sweatpants Ryder left on the chair for me only hours ago, I yank them on. Sasha is a blur of motion beside me, tugging on leggings and a T-shirt, her face a mask of pure determination.
We don’t say a word as we burst out of the bedroom and hurry down the hall. Just as we reach the kitchen, Ryder and Noia come rushing down the stairs.
Bare-chested, Ryder’s dark hair is a mess, stormy grey eyes sharp and lethal. Noia is right behind him, face tight with worry as he flips the laptop open. “Checking each feed,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
My phone rings. It’s Dylan. Shifting it to speaker, I drop the phone on the counter next to the laptop.
“I see them.” Dylan’s voice is sharp. “Two males. They got into Sasha’s house through the front door.”
We all crowd around the screen. The night-vision feed from Sasha’s living room is crystal clear. Two men wearing dark hoodies are moving through her space. The big, bulky assholes obviously don’t give a shit about being seen because they aren’t wearing masks.
One kicks her coffee table, flipping it over, sending a book and a few magazines flying across the floor. The second starts violently ripping books off the shelves.
When Sasha sucks in a breath, stiffening beside me, I grasp the back of her neck and give it a gentle squeeze. Heat and anger radiate from her skin. Seeing someone violate her sanctuary makes my blood boil. I want to be there. I want to put my hands on them. Hard.
“Sorry, Sash.” Ryder glances up, expression grim. “It’s important to let them fuck some shit up. We need felony property damage and the intent to terrorize. It gives us a better excuse for taking them down hard. Otherwise, it’s just breaking and entering—a slap on the wrist.”
Sasha nods, flicking her gaze back to the screen just as one of the men sweeps her favorite ceramic vase off a shelf. When it shatters on the floor, she leans into me.
“I get it,” she whispers. Despite the tears shimmering in her eyes, her voice is surprisingly steady. “It sucks, but it’s just stuff.”
Sliding my hand from her neck to the small of her back, I rub it in slow circles, trying to give whatever grounding comfort I can as I grip the edge of the granite countertop with my other. All we can do now is watch in agonizing silence.
Next, one of them sets their sights on the kitchen, throwing drawers open, and breaking glass. Even though the sound is muffled through the laptop, it doesn’t make it any less gut-wrenching.
“Check the perimeter feed,” Dylan commands.
Ryder clicks a tab. The view shifts to the exterior of the house, looking out at the woods.
My breath hitches when I see three shadows slink out from the darkness of the trees across the street, moving with a synchronized grace that only comes from years of high-level military training.
Ryder’s Marine brothers.
They cross the street in a low crouch, splitting up with practiced efficiency as they each take a designated entry point. One heads toward the back; the other two, toward the front door.
“In position,” one of the men says. “Go for breach in five... four... three...”
On screen, the front door explodes inward.
The two thugs inside spin around, but they’re not fast enough.
The Marines—lightning-fast and brutal—move like ghosts.
The first thug is tackled onto the remains of the coffee table before he can even reach for a weapon.
When the second tries to bolt through the kitchen, he’s blocked by a heavy tactical boot connecting with his gut.
Folding like a lawn chair, the guy drops to the floor.