Chapter 28 RYDER
RYDER
The armory is below the main house, behind reinforced steel and coded locks, a room that exists because Morgans don’t pretend danger isn’t real.
When I step inside, everyone is already here. Zane, broad as an oak, loading magazines with the same calm he uses to saddle a horse. Jace is beside him, expression carved from stone, movements efficient and clinical—Ranger discipline that never left him.
Beck is standing near the weapons rack, restless energy vibrating under humor that doesn’t quite land today. Dad sits at the table like a king who has seen too many battles to be impressed by another one, his rifle laid in front of him as naturally as a coffee cup.
Today, Cole Dawson stands with us as well, shoulders squared, jaw tight. He’s not a Morgan by blood but one by choice, by marriage, and by the simple fact that anyone who threatens Ella threatens him.
He meets my gaze without flinching, earning my respect.
I have always come through for my family, even from the shadows.
When Ava’s family tried to flee the country after years of poisoning her life, I brought them back in chains.
When Beck was drowning in addiction and shame, I was the one place he could run where no one would ask questions before safety.
When assassins came for Tessa, sent by a man who believed money could erase consequences, I helped Jace erase him first. When Cole’s ex-wife and her accomplice planted a bomb meant to kill Ella and Cole, meant to tear this ranch apart from the inside, I tracked them down like an animal and delivered justice with my own hands.
I have never asked them for anything in return, until today. Now it is my war at the gate, and I feel something unfamiliar in my chest as I realize I am not standing alone in it.
Zane’s voice breaks the silence first. “Are you ready?”
It isn’t a question, so I nod once. “Yes.”
Beck’s grin is sharp, humor thin as wire. “Guess you finally brought your work home.”
Dad’s eyes cut to him. “Enough.”
Beck sobers immediately.
Jace checks the comms unit on the table. “Tessa will be running eyes and feeds from the basement office.”
My sister-in-law looks soft until she’s behind a screen, and then she’s the most dangerous kind of person: the one who sees everything. Now that’s the kind of person I want having my back.
I pull on my vest, the familiar weight settling over my chest like an old truth. The weapon fits my hand like it always has, as war has never been foreign to me. This time, only the stakes have changed.
Zane chambers a round, the sound final in the heavy air. “They come here,” he says, voice low and absolute, “they die here.”
I feel my mouth curve, small and lethal. “Hoo-ah.”
Before we move out, we split, not by command, but by instinct. We Morgan men don’t go out to war without first touching what we’re fighting for.
I head upstairs, where Kate is standing by the crib in our bedroom, one hand resting on the rail, the other curled around Julian’s tiny fist as he sleeps, blissfully unaware that the world outside this room is sharpening its knives.
Her shoulders are tense, chin lifted like she’s holding herself together on borrowed strength.
She looks up when she senses me. I cross the room and press my forehead briefly to hers, breathing her in because I might need to remember this exact moment later.
Her fingers clutch my shirt. “Come back,” she pleads.
“I will,” I vow.
I kiss Julian’s forehead, gentle as I know how to be, then pull back before I can linger too long. Addison and I brush shoulders at the door.
“Don’t die out there. My godson needs his father,” she demands.
“I won’t,” I assure her, and that’s all that’s exchanged between us.
In the hallway, I pass Zane coming out of his room. He’s all foreman steel on the outside, but his hand is shaking just slightly as he shuts the door behind him. Ava’s inside with Luella, humming softly.
Down the hall, Jace is crouched to Daisy’s level, hands braced on her shoulders, eyes serious but calm. Tessa stands behind him, one hand on his back, steadying him as much as the child.
“You remember what to do?” Jace asks.
Daisy nods. “Stay with Aunt Ella. Don’t open the door.”
“Good girl,” he praises, kissing her forehead.
Beck comes out of his room last, Quinn’s arm around his waist. Oliver is tucked against her chest, asleep, unaware of the danger that his father is about to step into. Beck kisses Quinn’s temple, murmurs something only she hears. She nods once, jaw set.
Ella waits at the bottom of the stairs, Cole beside her, hand laced through hers, Aria standing between them. She watches us all like she’s counting heads, making sure no one goes missing before the fight even starts.
Dad stands at the center of it all, silent, shoulders squared, eyes hard with a kind of pride that doesn’t soften the fear. Everyone is where they’re supposed to be, and they know what’s coming.
I take one last look at the house, the people in it, the lives stacked carefully behind these walls, and something inside me locks into place as we roll out.
The first sign that they are here is not headlights—it’s the silence breaking. A low, distant rumble carried through the ground before it reaches the ear.
Tessa’s voice crackles in my ear through the comms. “Multiple vehicles. South ridge access road. Five… no, six. Spacing is deliberate.”
Jace answers quickly. “Copy.”
Zane checks the perimeter monitors one last time, then looks at me—no words, just that steady foreman certainty.
The ranch hands we trust are already in position, not boys playing cowboy, but Texas men who grew up with rifles the way other people grew up with baseball gloves.
They aren’t looking for glory; they’re looking to protect what’s theirs.
Iron Stallion has always bred tough stock, and that includes the people.
The first set of headlights crests the far fence line like a slow flood, then another, and another. They come with confidence and the arrogance of men who believe numbers win wars. But they don’t know this land, and they don’t know us.
The moment the lead vehicle hits the outer markers, Zane triggers the first trap.
Floodlights explode to life across the pasture, harsh white brilliance that turns night into exposure, stripping away stealth in an instant.
The attackers hesitate, but it’s too late.
A sharp crack echoes, then another—the sound of tires bursting as reinforced spikes rip through rubber.
The vehicle swerves, and it crashes hard into the fence line with a metallic shriek.
Gunfire answers immediately. Rounds chew into wood and dirt, snapping fence posts, kicking up dust in violent bursts.
Beck laughs once, sharp and joyless. “Welcome to Texas, motherfuckers.”
We return fire, taking strategic positions.
Jace moves like an extension of discipline, dropping two men before they even orient themselves. Beck flanks wide, reckless only in appearance, every movement calculated beneath the grin. Zane holds the center, rifle barking with brutal patience.
To me, this is all familiar, so I move without hesitation. War is an old language that I speak all too well.
Tessa’s voice crackles again, tighter now. “Ryder, two more vehicles splitting east.”
“Let them,” Dad’s voice cuts in over another channel. “We’re ready.”
Cole’s breathing is steady beside me as he fires, his jaw locked, not trying to prove anything, only protecting the family he chose. Ella’s husband, yes, but also a man built of steel when it counts.
The attackers push forward anyway, spilling out into the pasture, moving low, trying to use the terrain, but the terrain belongs to us. The ground is mapped in my head, every dip and rise already known, every blind spot accounted for.
They don’t make it far as explosives snap along the outer edge—small, brutal concussions that throw bodies sideways and shred formation. Screams rise, swallowed quickly by gunfire. This isn’t a firefight; it’s an execution of trespassers.
Tessa is in my ear again, voice slicing through chaos. “South team down to four. East team attempting entry through the stables.”
Zane’s answer is immediate. “Not happening.”
He peels off with two ranch hands, moving fast, boots pounding earth. Beck follows, but Jace stays with me, covering angles, both of us firing in alternating rhythm like we’ve done this a hundred times.
Maybe we have.
The air stinks of cordite and dust, the pasture is lit in harsh white, shadows jerking with movement, bodies dropping where they stand.
Iron Stallion holds the line exactly as it was built to.
And yet, something scratches at the back of my skull.
There’s a wrongness in the air. This is too loud and obvious.
Too many men dying too far from the house. Hassan is smarter than this.
My grip tightens on the rifle as realization hits me. This isn’t the strike—it’s the distraction.
Tessa’s voice comes through suddenly, sharp enough to cut bone. “Ryder—“
She pauses, like she’s checking three screens at once, then, deadly quiet, she whispers, “Inside. Now.”
I don’t question her. I simply move. Because if Hassan Yusuf Barre isn’t out here dying with his men, it means he’s already inside where my heart is.
The house feels wrong the second I step inside. Outside, there’s a war raging, but in here, it’s quieter in a way that sets every instinct I have on edge. Silence doesn’t mean safety; it means someone is hunting in close quarters.
My boots hit the hardwood with a muted thud as I move upstairs—rifle up, breath controlled. The ranch is built big, sprawling, meant for family and laughter, not clearing corners, but my mind overlays it with angles anyway.
Tessa’s voice stays in my ear. “Second floor. West wing. Movement that isn’t ours.”
That’s where my room is. Fuck! Kate, Julian, Addison.
My grip tightens until my knuckles ache as I take the stairs two at a time.
The hallway upstairs is dimmer, the lights softer, domestic, absurdly peaceful compared to what’s happening outside.
A framed photo on the wall catches my peripheral vision—our family in all its glory, grinning at the camera, a snapshot of a life that was supposed to be normal.
Then I hear it—a muffled sound followed by a sharp, terrified breath. I move faster, dreading what is ahead of me.
My bedroom door is open, and inside I confirm my worst fears. Kate is backed against the far wall, Julian clutched tight to her chest, and Addison is standing in front of them like her body can substitute for armor.
In front of them is Hassan Yusuf Barre, standing between them and the exit. He isn’t dressed like his men—no tactical gear or sophisticated weapons. He’s in dark civilian clothes, calm as a man walking through a market, a pistol resting easy in his hand like this is not war but ceremony.
His eyes lift slowly. They meet mine, and he smiles. “So,” he says softly, accented English smooth as oil, “the ghost comes home.”
Kate makes a strangled sound. “Ryder—“
Hassan’s gun tilts a fraction toward her. “This is her, the one who tamed you.”
Julian fusses, sensing the terror in the air, his tiny fingers gripping Kate’s shirt. Kate’s face is pale, but her spine is straight, eyes fierce even when she’s shaking.
Addison’s voice cuts sharp. “You take one more step, and I swear to God—“
Hassan chuckles. “You will do what? Write about me?”
Her jaw clenches. “I’ll gouge your eyes out.”
He considers that with mild interest, like she’s entertaining. Then his gaze returns to me. “You killed my father,” he grits, quiet now, the words heavy with devotion rather than grief. “Took him from the world like you were God.”
“I did my job,” I reply, voice low.
Barre was a disease, so I cut him out. Hassan is the infection left behind, and now he thinks he can carve his revenge into my family’s name. He’s wrong.
The look in his eyes lets me know that he’s ready to die here. This is a suicide mission for him. As long as he can avenge his father, he doesn’t care if he dies here. He has nothing to lose, while I have everything at stake.
He gestures vaguely at Kate and Julian. “You thought you could end it in Somalia. Thought you could disappear back into your mountain.” His eyes flick toward Kate’s arms. “But God has a sense of humor. He gave you something soft.”
Kate’s breath trembles. “Don’t talk about my son.”
My body goes still as the pistol lifts higher. “This is how men like you learn. Not through bullets, but through loss.”
He shifts his aim, the barrel lining up with Kate. Time fractures as I move without thought.
My body steps between them just as the gun fires. The sound is deafening in the small room, a violent crack that fills everything.
Pain blooms hot and immediate in my chest, my breath leaving me in a harsh exhale, my vision blurring at the edges. Kate screams my name, but I am still standing.
Hassan’s eyes widen slightly, almost impressed. I raise my rifle, and this time he doesn’t get a second shot. I fire once. His body jerks, the bullet taking him clean, going straight through his forehead, splattering his brains all over the wall behind him.
He collapses hard onto the floor, blood spreading dark beneath him, the war ending in a single ruined breath.
For a moment, everything is silent except Kate’s shaking sobs and Julian’s frightened cries. I turn toward them, my knees buckling.
Kate’s eyes are wide with fear as she stares at me. “Ryder…”
I try to speak and tell her that it’s done, that he can’t hurt them now, but my body is already giving up, blood soaking through my shirt, warmth leaving too fast.
I take one step, then another, and just as I’m about to get to them, the world tilts violently. Kate lunges forward, one hand still clutching Julian, the other reaching for me.
“Don’t,” she pleads, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare—“
My fingers brush her wrist, and the last thing I see is her face, then gravity wins. I topple forward, the room spinning into darkness as her scream tears through the house like the sound of the world ending.