Maddox ALPHA Team Security Romance Collection #1-5

Chapter 1

ONE

Ranger

The Atlantic is all glitter and swagger outside these windows—blue water, whitecaps, postcard perfection.

Inside, the Maddox Security conference room feels like a kill box.

Not because of the view. Because of the silence.

Empty chairs. Ticking clock. And the kind of stillness that means something’s about to go wrong.

Dean Maddox owns the entire twentieth floor of this tower in downtown St. Pierce, which means he owns the security feeds, the locks, the cameras, and—if he has his way—our schedules.

I glance at the wall of monitors anyway. Old habit. Trust nothing you didn’t verify yourself.

Two minutes late.

Still late.

I drum two fingers on the table, once, then stop. No wasted motion. No wasted noise. I’ve bled for timing. I’ve buried friends because someone else didn’t respect it.

The elevator dings faintly in the hall.

I don’t turn. I don’t need to.

Lincoln slips in like a shadow that learned how to wear a suit. Tall. Quiet. Blue eyes that miss nothing. He takes one look at my face and lifts a brow.

“You’re gonna sprain something glaring that hard,” he says.

“They’re late.”

He tilts his head toward the world clock on the wall, like it’s a legal defense. “Two minutes.”

“Behind is behind.”

Lincoln’s mouth twitches. He’s amused. He’s always amused. That’s how he survives being Lincoln.

The door opens again, and Dean Maddox strides in like the building moved aside for him. He’s in a crisp dress shirt and a red tie—because he likes to pretend he’s corporate now, even though the man still walks like a weapon.

His gray eyes flick up to the monitors first. Not to me. Not to Lincoln. To the feeds.

Good.

Dean takes the head of the table and sits like he belongs there, like this room was built around him. “Patience,” he says, calm as a priest. “Is a virtue, Ranger.”

I lean back in my chair, boots crossing at the ankle, and give him my best smile—the one that’s gotten me punched in bars and promoted in war zones. “Yeah. I’ve heard the rumor.”

Dean’s mouth kicks, barely. “You’re lucky you’re useful.”

“Lucky you’re tolerable.”

Lincoln’s quiet laugh is a low crackle of sound in the room.

Then every monitor on the wall flickers at once—one frame of normal, then a sharp red banner across the top:

ACCESS ERROR — DOOR 20B — MANUAL OVERRIDE ATTEMPT

The air in the room changes. Instantly.

Dean is already moving, hand going to the tablet on the table. Lincoln is already up, drifting to the door like he’s about to become a problem for anyone in the hall.

And me?

I’m on my feet before the alert finishes blinking.

Because that’s what I do.

“Twenty-B is the service stair,” Lincoln murmurs, voice flat. “That door should be deadbolted.”

Dean’s eyes are cold now. “It is.”

The door to the conference room swings open.

Boone barrels in like a grizzly who learned manners just enough to own them. Big. Bearded. Shoulders that don’t fit in doorframes without negotiation. He clocks the tension, clocks the red banner on the monitors, and grins anyway.

“Nice. We’re starting with violence today?”

“Don’t get excited,” I say. “It’s probably someone who forgot their keycard.”

Boone snorts. “Nobody forgets their keycard on the twentieth floor of Maddox Security.”

He’s right. Anyone with access up here knows better.

The elevator dings again. Fast. Too fast.

Orion Locke stalks in next, built like a fistfight and wearing a scowl like it’s paid for. He looks half-awake, all irritation, and he doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’d rather be anywhere else.

“It’s nine a.m.,” he says, like I personally invented mornings.

Dean points at the monitors. “We have a door override attempt.”

Orion’s scowl sharpens into interest. “Now I’m awake.”

Asher comes in last—new guy, younger, sharper around the edges, eyes bright like he hasn’t learned yet that this job eats optimism for breakfast. He takes in the alert, then us, then the lack of panic.

His spine straightens.

He’s trying to match our calm.

I like him already.

Dean’s fingers fly over the tablet. “Camera on 20B.”

The feed pops up. Grainy stairwell. Concrete. Harsh fluorescent lighting.

A man in a maintenance uniform stands at the door panel. Tool bag open. Hands moving like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Except I know every maintenance tech in this building. Because I made it my business.

“That’s not ours,” I say.

Dean’s voice is clipped. “Agreed.”

Lincoln’s hand drops to the inside of his suit jacket—not dramatic, not flashy. Just prepared.

Boone cracks his neck like he’s warming up for a workout.

Asher swallows hard. Then he lifts his chin. “Orders?”

There it is. The moment that decides who a man is when the world tilts.

I look at him. “Stay behind me. Watch Lincoln. Do what he does.”

“Yes—” He catches himself. “Copy.”

Dean taps his throat mic. “Security team, lock down the elevator and stairwell access to the twentieth floor. Now.”

The man on the feed pauses. Like he heard something. Like he felt the net tightening.

Then he reaches into his bag and pulls out a badge.

It’s a Maddox Security credential.

A good one.

My blood goes cold.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That badge is stolen.”

“Or cloned,” Lincoln says.

Boone grins wider. “Either way, I’d like to meet him.”

The man swipes, and the panel flashes green.

The door clicks.

And he steps through like he belongs here.

Dean’s voice goes lethal. “Ranger.”

I don’t need the rest.

I’m already moving.

Lincoln and I hit the hall at the same time. Boone is behind us, heavy steps silent in that impossible way big men sometimes manage. Orion moves like a predator who’s been invited to the hunt. Asher is tight on my shoulder, controlled but breathing a little too fast.

Good.

Fear keeps you alive. Control keeps you useful.

We reach the corner that overlooks the service stair access.

The 20B door is twenty yards away.

We don’t sprint. We don’t rush.

We glide.

Because anyone dumb enough to breach Maddox Security is also dangerous enough to have a second man waiting.

Lincoln angles left, disappearing into a blind spot like smoke. Boone takes right. Orion and I go center. Asher stays half a step behind me, where I can feel him without looking.

The 20B door opens.

The maintenance guy steps out.

And freezes.

Because he sees me.

Tall. Broad. Calm. Eyes locked on him like he’s already done.

He tries to recover—tries to pull a smile, tries to be casual—but his hand drifts toward his tool bag and I see the twitch in his forearm.

Weapon.

“Don’t,” I say softly.

He does it anyway.

I move.

One step, then two—fast enough to close the distance before his brain catches up. My hand clamps his wrist and twists, just enough to make his fingers spasm and drop whatever he’s reaching for.

A compact pistol hits the carpet.

Asher inhales sharp behind me.

Boone laughs like Christmas came early.

Orion’s voice is low, pleased. “Cute.”

The man tries to lunge. I shove him back into the wall with my forearm across his chest. Not crushing. Not cruel.

Efficient.

“Wrong floor,” I tell him.

He spits at my boots.

I smile. “Bold.”

Lincoln appears behind him like a ghost deciding to become physical. He locks the man’s arms back, controlled pressure, clean restraint. Boone scoops the pistol off the carpet like he’s picking up a dropped pen.

Dean’s voice crackles in my ear. “Status.”

“Compromised credential. Armed intruder. We have him,” I say, still holding the guy in place. “Send cleanup.”

The man’s eyes dart—left, right—like he’s still hoping for backup.

That tells me everything.

“Who sent you?” I ask.

He laughs. It’s a bad sound. “You think I’m talking?”

I lean in, voice calm enough to be terrifying. “You’re in Maddox Security. On our floor. With a stolen badge and a gun. You’re already talking. You just haven’t picked the words yet.”

His jaw tightens.

Orion steps closer, shadowing him. “I have words. Want to borrow some?”

Dean’s voice cuts in. “Bring him to holding. Now. Ranger—meeting room. We’re burned on time.”

Of course we are.

I release the intruder and step back. Lincoln drags him down the hall like he weighs nothing. Boone whistles, too cheerful for the situation.

Asher stares after them, pupils blown wide. He looks at me like he’s waiting for the part where I tell him it was a test.

It wasn’t.

I clap him once on the shoulder. “Good. You didn’t freeze.”

“I… almost did.”

“But you didn’t,” I say. “That matters.”

His throat works. He nods.

I don’t coddle him. I don’t patronize him.

I don’t need to.

If he’s ALPHA material, he’ll take what he needs from that and keep moving.

Back in the conference room, the air is different now—charged, clipped, purpose-built. The ocean outside can keep shimmering. We’ve got a problem on our doorstep.

Dean sits at the head of the table again, but his tie is slightly loosened now. A tell. He’s locked in.

“Someone tried to walk onto our floor with a stolen credential,” Dean says. “That’s not random.”

Boone drops into a chair. “Or it is, and we’re just special.”

“Shut up,” Orion mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.

Dean’s gaze sweeps the table, landing on each of us in turn. When he gets to Asher, he pauses.

“Asher,” Dean says, “welcome to Maddox Security.”

Asher straightens. “Copy.”

Dean’s mouth flickers. “Good. Now listen carefully. I called this meeting because we have multiple active threats—and after that stunt, I’m not staggering assignments through email. Everyone gets their briefing in person.”

Lincoln folds his hands like he’s already read the room and doesn’t like what he saw.

Boone leans forward, interested.

Orion looks bored—but his eyes are sharp now. He’s awake.

Me? I keep my face neutral. My body is calm. But inside, the switch is flipped.

We’re working.

Dean slides a folder across the table to me. “Ranger. You’re first.”

I catch it without looking down. Because I’m watching Dean.

When he starts with me, it’s because he needs something handled clean.

“G20 Summit,” he says. “Soon. High attention. High risk. This is Tory Ann Malser.”

I open the folder.

And the room narrows.

A photo stares back at me—blonde hair, wild blue eyes that look like trouble and sunlight at the same time. She’s poised in the way smart women are when they’ve learned the world tries to underestimate them. There’s a calm on her face that doesn’t match the danger in Dean’s tone.

She’s breathtaking.

I hate that my pulse reacts. Hate that my brain clocks the curve of her mouth before it clocks the threat assessment.

I keep my voice steady. “Who is she?”

“Fredrick Malser’s daughter,” Dean says. “He’s a world-renowned scientist and a keynote speaker at the Summit. He’s received death threats. He doesn’t trust members of his own security detail.”

I flip the page. Details. Age. Background. Her field of study—science, like her father. A note in Dean’s clean handwriting: Keep her under the radar.

I glance up. “If he’s the target, why am I on his daughter?”

“Because threats don’t stay neat,” Dean says. “And because he’s convinced they’ll use her to get to him.”

Boone whistles low. “Kidnapping leverage. Classic.”

Orion mutters, “People are trash.”

Dean continues, “You will take Tory to the safe house near the ocean. You’ll keep her there until the Summit is over. No press. No attention. No mistakes.”

I stare at the photo again. Tory’s eyes feel like they’re looking back at me—like she’d argue if I tried to tell her to stay put, like she’d fight if someone tried to scare her.

Good.

I like women with a punch.

I slide the folder shut. “When do I get her?” My pulse quickens at my words. Because I’m already in protector mode.

Dean’s gaze doesn’t soften. “Now.”

The word lands heavy.

I sit forward. “She’s already in St. Pierce.”

Dean nods once. “She arrived last night. Her father moved her here because he thinks she’ll be safer close to him.”

That’s backwards.

That’s emotional thinking.

That’s a man making fear-based decisions.

“And that,” Dean adds, like he reads my mind, “is why she’s already been spotted.”

The hairs on my neck lift.

Dean taps the tablet, and a still image pops onto the monitor wall—grainy, pulled from a street camera near the building.

A black SUV idles across from our lobby.

No plates visible.

Dark tint.

The driver’s face is turned away.

But the posture?

The posture is patient.

Predatory.

Boone leans in. “That’s not a tourist.”

Orion’s jaw tightens.

Lincoln’s voice is quiet. “They’re watching us.”

Dean looks at me. “Ranger. They know she’s here. That means the clock already started.”

I don’t look away from the screen. I can feel Tory’s photo in my hand like a weight.

A responsibility.

A complication.

And something else I refuse to name.

“Copy,” I say. “Where is she right now?”

Dean’s eyes lock on mine. “You’ll meet her here.” He hands me a scrap of paper with an address.

I stare at it for a beat, and then push it right into the shredder. I stand. The chair legs scrape once against the floor—loud in the sudden quiet. “Then I’m going to go get her,” I say.

Boone grins. “Try not to fall in love, Ranger.”

I don’t even blink. “Try not to die, Boone.”

Orion pushes to his feet. “If there’s a tail, I want it.”

Lincoln’s gaze flicks to Dean, silent question. Dean gives a slight nod—permission.

Asher rises too, eager. “I can—”

I cut him off gently but firm. “You stay. You learn. You don’t chase your first adrenaline hit like it’s a prize.”

Asher’s cheeks flush, but he nods. “Copy.”

Good.

He’ll live longer that way.

I slide the folder under my arm and head for the door. Dean’s voice follows me, calm but steel-edged.

“Ranger.”

I pause.

Dean says, “She’s not a package. She’s a person. Don’t bulldoze her.”

I glance back over my shoulder, a grin tugging at my mouth. “You hired a bulldozer, boss.”

Dean exhales, like he’s already regretting today.

I step into the hall, the ocean light fading behind me as the elevator doors wait like a mouth ready to swallow.

Somewhere close, a woman with wild blue eyes is about to learn what it means to be under my protection.

And somewhere in this city, someone is already watching.

Let them.

I don’t lose what’s mine.