Chapter 21
KATHERINE
The safe room is as plain as one can expect, with concrete walls, a steel door, and no windows. It’s the last place I want to get locked up in, but there was no arguing with Ryder when he locked us in here. It’s not like I can go out there and help him fight off the bad guys.
Julian squirms against my chest, a soft, restless sound leaving his throat. He can feel the tension seeping off me. Babies always know when the world tilts.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, rocking him gently even though my arms are shaking. “Mama’s got you. We’re safe.”
Are we? Ryder guaranteed it, and I trust him, so I believe we are.
Ash presses his body closer, a solid, living wall of fur and muscle at my side. His head is up, ears alert, eyes fixed on the sealed door like he could burn through steel if he had to. He’s a calming presence in this already erratic situation.
All of a sudden, in the corner of the room, a few monitors flicker to life.
They catch me off guard, but I relax when it registers what they are—my eyes outside.
I suck in a breath, walking closer. The property sprawls across the screens in harsh greens and whites, multiple red markers blinking all over.
“They’re really here,” I murmur, though no one needs me to say it.
Julian whines softly. I kiss his forehead, my lips lingering longer than necessary. “I know, baby. I know.”
The first figure breaches the outer fence, and Ryder moves before I can fully process it. He comes out of the trees like he was carved from the dark itself—fluid and terrifying and precise. He moves with the land, not against it, using elevation and shadow like they’re extensions of his body.
A shot rings out, and I flinch so hard my vision blurs.
“No,” I breathe. “No, no, no—“
Julian lets out a sharp cry, startled by my sudden intake of breath. “I’m here,” I whisper frantically, pressing my cheek to his hair. “I’m right here.”
Relief floods my body when Ryder doesn’t fall; one of the bad guys does. He moves again, and one of the red markers disappears from the screen, then another. Rook is by his side, coordinated in a way that speaks of years of training and trust.
I watch as Ryder takes out the bad guys one by one.
He moves through the terrain like he was born from it, every step methodical, every angle calculated.
He doesn’t rush or hesitate. He hunts. Watching him like this strips away the last illusion I had about who he is, or maybe who he pretended to be with me.
This isn’t instinct—it’s experience.
I see it in the way he anticipates movement before it happens, how he uses elevation and shadow the way other men use cover.
I see it in the way Rook mirrors him, how they move as a unit without a single wasted second.
Ryder isn’t reacting—he’s controlling the flow, forcing the intruders into positions they don’t realize are fatal until it’s too late.
This is who he is when things go wrong: focused, efficient, and deadly. And God help me, part of me understands now why he walked away without looking back. Why he disappears. Why he doesn’t stay.
Men like this don’t get to live soft lives or keep the things they love.
A figure rushes from the left side of the screen, and Ryder turns just as the shot hits. A scream tears out of me before I can stop it—sharp, raw, and useless. Julian startles again, violently crying now, his little body trembling against mine.
Ryder stumbles, but he doesn’t fall. He adjusts, fires back, and drops the man who hit him, ending him with a single shot. The monitors show him pressing forward despite the injury, his movements just a fraction slower now, his posture tighter.
Another red marker vanishes, leaving only one. Ryder advances, and the last man fires wildly, panic evident even through the grainy feed. Ryder moves to the flank, but the second shot hits him in the abdomen.
Time stops as I watch Ryder stagger backward, one hand flying to his stomach. He stays upright through sheer will, returning fire with terrifying calm.
The final red marker disappears, and the mountain goes still. The silence is worse than the alarms.
Ryder stands alone in the dark, breathing hard, blood soaking through his clothes. He turns toward the house, takes a step, and another with Rook by his side until he’s a step away from the front door. Then the feed jolts violently as the camera angle shifts just as Ryder goes down.
That’s all I need to see before jumping into action.
“I’m coming,” I whisper, clutching Julian tighter before gently lowering him into Ash’s protective embrace. “Stay. Guard him.”
Ash whines once, sharp and unhappy, but he doesn’t move.
I sprint for the door and listen as steel disengages, locks releasing, the house letting me go even though every system in it was built to keep me exactly where I am. I don’t hesitate long enough to feel guilty.
Outside, the night smells like wet earth, gunpowder, and blood—all of it sharp enough to make my stomach twist. I slip on the stone porch, catching myself on the railing, heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
“Ryder!” I shout in panic when I see him collapsed near the front steps, half on his side, his hair plastered to his face, blood dark and unmistakable against the stone. For one terrifying second, my mind refuses to accept what my eyes are seeing.
“No,” I whisper, stumbling toward him. “No, no, no.”
I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering uselessly over his body because I don’t know where to touch without hurting him more. His chest rises, shallow and uneven. Thank God. He’s still alive.
“Hey,” I shake him, my voice trembling as I brush wet hair back from his face. “Hey, stay with me. You hear me?”
His eyes flutter open, a bit unfocused, then settle on me with visible effort. “You… shouldn’t… be here,” he rasps.
I huff out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, well. I’m terrible at following rules.”
He tries to smirk, but it doesn’t quite work.
I slide my arms under his shoulders and brace my feet, adrenaline burning through my veins. He’s heavy—solid in a way that reminds me just how real he is—but I don’t stop.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him, more fiercely than I feel. “I’m here.”
I drag him inch by inch toward the door, my muscles screaming, breath coming in sharp gasps. He groans when I shift him, his hand clutching weakly at my arm.
“Kate—“
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t talk. Save it.”
The door looms ahead, salvation in the shape of reinforced steel. I manage to get him inside, slamming the door shut behind us with my foot before collapsing beside him on the floor.
I don’t give myself time to think as I strip off his jacket, hands shaking as I assess the damage. The bullet wound in his leg is bad but manageable. It’s through and through, but the one in his abdomen makes my stomach drop.
“Okay,” I whisper, forcing my voice steady. “Okay. We can do this.”
I grab towels, press them against the wound, applying pressure the way I remember from first aid videos and half-forgotten classes. Blood soaks through almost instantly, hot and slick against my hands.
Ryder groans, eyes drifting shut.
“No,” I snap, leaning close to his face. “Hey. Stay awake. Look at me.”
His lashes flutter as he drags in a breath. “You… safe?”
The question breaks something in me.
“Yes,” I nod, swallowing hard. “We’re safe. Julian’s safe. You made sure of that.”
His mouth twitches faintly. “Good.”
He goes slack again, consciousness slipping.
“Ryder,” I call urgently, shaking him just enough to keep him present. “You don’t get to check out now. Not after all that.”
I keep talking as I work—anything to anchor him, to anchor myself. I tell him about Julian downstairs, about Ash guarding him like a furry tank. I tell him how brave he was, how terrifying, and how I never want to see him like that again.
I don’t know if he hears me. All I know is that I can’t stop.
Through all my rambling, his phone rings. The sound is jarring and wrong in the cavernous quiet of the house. For half a second, I just stare at it where it’s fallen from his pocket, slick with blood, vibrating insistently against the stone floor.
“No, not now,” I groan, but it doesn’t stop.
Ryder stirs weakly, a low sound in his throat, his brow furrowing like the noise is dragging him back toward the surface. I snatch the phone before it can do more damage, pressing it to my ear with a hand that won’t quite stop shaking.
“Hello?” My voice comes out thin, tight.
There’s laughter on the other end. It’s so wildly out of place it almost makes me dizzy. “About time you picked up,” a man says, a thick southern drawl coming through. “Happy New Year, you grumpy bastard—“
He stops, and the silence stretches. “Wait, this isn’t Ryder.”
“No, it’s Katherine, K—Kate,” I choke, forcing the words through. “Ryder’s—“ I swallow as I have no idea how to introduce myself.
Another pause follows, and I imagine him straightening wherever he is, amusement draining away, instincts sharpening.
“Where’s my brother?” he demands.
“He’s hurt. Badly.”
I don’t bother cushioning it. The man sounds like someone who understands facts better than panic.
“How bad?”
“He was shot,” I reply. “Twice. He’s bleeding internally, I think. I’ve done what I can, but I’m not—“ My voice cracks. I swallow and keep going. “I’m not a doctor.”
Before I can finish explaining, voices bleed into the call—people talking over each other, someone asking a question I can’t make out, another voice swearing under their breath.
“Hey!” the man snaps. “Be quiet.”
The background noise doesn’t stop fast enough.
“I said quiet!” he repeats, louder this time. “Give me a second,” he mandates, then focuses back on me. “Where are you?”
“His house in the mountains,” I answer quickly. “I need to get him to a hospital,” I cry, desperation leaking into my voice now that someone else is carrying part of the weight. “I can drive. I—“
“No, you won’t,” he quickly stops me.
I blink. “What?”
“I’m assuming he didn’t shoot himself while hunting?”
“No.”
“Then the hospital is the last place he should be going. Too many questions. He won’t go, and even if he did, it’d cause more problems than it solves,” the man stresses.
“He’s going to die if we don’t do something,” I snap, the fear finally breaking through my composure. “I’m watching him fade in front of me.”
“You’re not taking him to a hospital,” he repeats, softer this time but no less certain. “Trust me.”
Trust? The word feels obscene right now, but something in his tone keeps me from arguing further.
“What do I do then?”
“Listen carefully. I’m pinning you a location. It’s a small airfield Ryder had set up for extraction. I’ll have a plane there as fast as humanly possible with a surgeon on board.”
The phone buzzes a second later, the map lighting up with coordinates.
“Can you get him there?” he asks.
I glance down at Ryder, his skin pale beneath the blood and bruises, his chest rising shallowly under my hands. The thought of moving him makes my stomach churn.
“I’ll manage. I have to.”
“Good. Keep pressure on the wound, and don’t let him fall asleep.”
“I’m already doing that.”
There’s a brief exhale on the other end of the line. “You’re doing great, Kate.”
The unexpected kindness nearly undoes me.
“Who am I talking to?” I ask.
“Beck, his brother,” he introduces.
Of course he is.
“I’ll stay on standby,” Beck continues. “If anything changes, and I mean anything, you call me back. You’re not alone in this.”
The call ends, leaving the house silent again.
I lower the phone slowly, my hands trembling now that the immediate task has a shape. I press my fingers back into Ryder’s abdomen, watching his face for any sign of awareness.
“Hey,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over his jaw. “Hear that? I’m going to get you out of here. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
His lashes flutter, but he doesn’t wake up.
Downstairs, Julian cries, and the sound slices straight through me. I press a kiss to Ryder’s forehead before pushing myself to my feet, planning how I’m going to do this. Because no matter what stands in my way, I will get him to that airfield.