Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
DAVIN
Arielle sleeps curled against me, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other fisted lightly in my thermal like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
Snow hisses against the roof. Wind moans around the edges of the cabin. The storm’s dying, but something in my gut has been waking up for the past hour. An itch between my shoulder blades. The kind I haven’t felt since combat.
Trouble.
I ease out from under her, settling her gently on the pillow, still asleep. Gus snorts, then waddles closer to the bed for warmth. I pick him up. Set him on the bed next to her. He circles, then lies down, snuggling closer. “Good. Guard our girl, gremlin.”
I pull on my flannel and boots, grab my knife, my sidearm, and my jacket. Then, I stir the hearth with the poker and throw another log on the fire. It catches with a quiet whoosh and a burst of heat.
When I open the door, cold lashes my face, sharp enough to sting. The storm’s quieted but hasn’t stopped. The snowmobile’s still where I stashed it behind a cluster of young trees and brush, buried halfway up the treads. The woods are a mess of white and shadow.
Then, I see it.
Footprints.
Fresh. Deep. Leading straight toward the tree line.
My pulse drops into a lower, colder gear.
They found us.
I crouch, fingers brushing the edge of the tracks. Not boots from a local. Too uniform an impression. Tactical soles. Two men, moving fast.
I straighten, jaw locking.
They didn’t follow our trail. They cut across country. Which means they have a rough idea where we ran when we fled the cabin.
I turn, heading for the door—
Snarling barks shatter the silence, then a blood-curdling scream.
Arielle.
I rip through the doorway, gun up, senses flaring. The door hangs half off its hinge. Snow swirls inside.
A man in black has Arielle pinned against the far wall, inked hand clamped over her mouth, knife glinting near her throat. Gus launches at the guy’s boots, snarling and snapping like a furry velociraptor.
“Arielle,” I growl, voice breaking into something primal.
The man jerks at the sound, tightening his grip on her. “Don’t move,” he snaps. “Orders are to bring her alive, not you.”
“Bad plan,” I say, stepping inside. “Really bad plan.”
Another man lunges at me from the left, and we hit the floor hard. My gun skids under the cot. He swings wild, furious. I block with my forearm, hear the crack of bone as my elbow connects with his jaw. He grunts, rolling, reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh.
Not today.
I slam my boot onto his wrist, pinning it. Then, grab his collar.
His mask slips, exposing the ink on his throat—a jagged red sun curling around a skull. My blood ices. Sol Rojo.
I drive my fist into his face once, twice. His head snaps back against the leg of the cot with a sickening crack. He goes slack, then still.
I check for the pulse I already know won’t be there.
“Davin!” Arielle cries, muffled under the other man’s hand.
I whip around.
The bastard drags her toward the door, using her like a shield, knife pressed too damn tight to her skin.
One wrong move, and she bleeds.
My heart pounds a violent rhythm behind my ribs.
“Let her go.” My voice is low, controlled, lethal. “Do that, and maybe you walk out of here with both your legs.”
“She comes with us,” he snarls. “Orders from the top. The girl interfered. She saw things she wasn’t supposed to.”
He jerks Arielle closer. “And she’s kin to Wolfe’s Rangers—our enemy. My crew wants her alive. You can’t stop any of this.”
“Watch me.”
I take one step toward them.
He presses the knife closer, and Arielle whimpers. It guts me. Cuts me open in a place that isn’t physical. I lift both hands slightly, palms out.
“Easy,” I say. “You’re panicking. Bad for you. Worse for her.”
“I’m not panicking—”
He is. His eyes dart, his breath’s uneven. He’s scared because he can’t see a way out.
Good.
Because he doesn’t have one.
Arielle’s eyes lock with mine. Wide. Shining with fear she’s trying hard not to show. Her bottom lip trembles. She’s holding it together for me.
That’s all it takes.
The crack inside me splits open. Every rule I ever followed, every line I swore not to cross, every promise I made to myself—it all burns away.
I move.
Fast.
I grab the hearth poker—hot from the fire—and slam it down on the bastard’s wrist. He screams, drops the knife. Arielle twists free without missing a beat, scrambling backward toward the cot.
I shove him into the wall, forearm crushing his windpipe as he claws at my flesh.
“You hurt her,” I growl, “and that was your last mistake.”
He bangs at my arm, gagging. “You don’t … you don’t know—”
“I know enough.” I tighten my grip. “Sol Rojo sent you. They’re going to regret being born.”
Snow gusts through the broken doorway behind us. The storm screams around us. The man wheezes, eyes bulging, his free hand clawing at my vest for leverage. I shift my stance for one breath—one—and in that sliver of space, he rips my sidearm from its holster and shoves it to his temple.
Instinct kicks in. I step back.
He jerks the gun upward, angled toward the open doorway, and pulls the trigger.
The blast detonates through the cabin. Blood mist catches the wind and scatters into the storm outside.
Coward didn’t kill himself because of me. He killed himself because Sol Rojo enforcers don’t get captured. Ever. Failure is a death sentence either way. Better by their own hand than by the cartel’s.
My whole body shakes—not from fear, from rage. From relief. From the almost.
The almost that could’ve ruined my entire world.
“Davin…”
Her voice.
I turn.
She stands by the cot, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, eyes wet, chest rising and falling too fast.
She runs to me before I can move, arms flinging around my waist. “Are you okay?”
Gus barks once, his version of Are you dead? No? Good.
I wrap her up, pulling her against me like I need her to breathe. “Yes, are you?”
She nods, crumpling against me.
I whisper into her hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She nods against my chest, tiny shaking movements that rip me apart.
“He killed himself,” she whispers.
I tell her quietly. “Remember the neck tattoos you saw? Could they have been a jagged red sun curling around a skull?”
She cocks her head for a moment, thinking, then she nods. “Yes, that sounds right. The red … black … the circle.”
“Sol Rojo. A cartel that smuggles kids. If one of their soldiers gets caught, he doesn’t talk. He doesn’t plead. He dies with the sun-skull mark on his throat still warm.”
Her hand comes up, touches my jaw. “What now?”
Now?
Now, I do what I should’ve done the second she identified the damn camera footage.
I protect what’s mine.
And I end this.
“We call Wolfe and the Rangers,” I tell her. “And we bury every bastard sent after you.”
Her eyes widen—not with fear, but with trust.
The kind that’s stronger than any oath.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Just … just don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving,” I say, cupping her cheek. “Not now. Not ever.”
I grab my phone, dial Wolfe, drag the two bodies outside into the snow, trailing blood, while Arielle stays near the fire where I can see her through the cracked door. My eyes never leave her.
Not for a heartbeat.
When the call connects, I don’t bother with a greeting.
“Wolfe,” I say, voice hard as ice, “we’ve got a problem with McGregor’s cousin, Arielle. And I’m done playing defense.”
A beat.
Then Wolfe’s voice, sharp and lethal. “Give me the address. I’m on my way.” I fill him in on everything.
“Be there ASAP.” He ends the call.
Next, I dial McGregor. It goes to voicemail the first time, so I try again, get him on the fourth ring.
“Grimshaw.”
“Sorry to cut the honeymoon short, but everything’s gone to shit with Arielle.”
He inhales sharply.
“She’s alive and unharmed … with me. But they came for her, Mateo. Two members of Sol Rojo … tried to kidnap her until I put a stop to it.”
“God,” he chokes out.
“Need you back here. Give Callie my sincere apologies.”
“Done.” The line goes dead.
Callie is Mateo’s bride. They married a few months back after she showed up on his doorstep as a mail-order bride. But they had to wait until now for their honeymoon. I feel like shit ending their joy early, but this can’t wait.
I pocket the phone and turn back inside.
Arielle is sitting by the fire, wrapped in my blanket, watching me like I’m the only thing in her world.
And God help me, she’s the only thing in mine.
I kneel in front of her, take her hands.
“It’s almost over,” I promise. “I swear it.”
She leans forward, presses her forehead to mine.
“I believe you,” she whispers.
Her breath warms my lips.
And even with two men in the snow and danger still stalking the edges of the storm, one truth settles deep in my bones.
I’ll kill for her. I’ll die for her.
But more than anything, I’m going to live for her.
Even if I have to tear the whole damn world down to keep her.