73. Harper
HARPER
The island is ridiculous.
I mean, I knew the Reyes family had money—you don't run a cartel empire without serious resources—but this is something else entirely.
White sand beaches that stretch for miles.
Crystal clear water in shades of turquoise I didn't know existed outside of travel magazines.
Palm trees swaying in the warm breeze. Private bungalows scattered along the coastline, each one designed for maximum privacy and luxury.
Three weeks ago, I was standing in the wreckage of Turner's compound with my father's blood soaked into my clothes.
Now I'm barefoot on a private beach in the Caribbean, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.
The contrast is almost obscene.
Gabriel Reyes arranged everything. He said it’s a "thank you" for our cooperation during the Turner situation. The Reyes family felt they owed us a debt for handling a problem they should have caught sooner.
Luke thinks Gabriel's motivations are more complicated than gratitude—that he's establishing a relationship with Blackthorn for future use. Jake agrees. Mason's reserving judgment.
I agree with Luke, but that’s not for today.
Right now, all I care about is the fact that Blackthorn Ranch is being restored, and we're all here on this island, healing from everything we survived.
Emma and Jake have the bungalow closest to the main house. Emma's pregnancy is showing now—a small, perfect bump that Jake can't stop touching. She's glowing, happy and safe.
Mason and Lily claimed the bungalow on the north side, tucked into the trees for privacy. Lily's been spending her days painting watercolors of the ocean. Mason spends his days watching her paint. They're disgustingly in love.
Luke and I took the bungalow on the south end, the one with direct beach access and zero neighbors. Privacy was nonnegotiable.
I walk down to the water's edge, letting the warm waves lap at my ankles. The sun is setting, turning everything golden. I close my eyes and breathe in salt air and freedom.
Three weeks since Gabriel took Turner.
Three weeks since my father died saving my life.
Three weeks since I walked away from everything I thought I knew about justice and law and right and wrong.
I should feel guilty. I should feel conflicted.
But standing here with the ocean at my feet and the sky on fire above me, all I feel is peace.
"There you are."
I turn to find Luke walking toward me across the sand. He's shirtless, wearing only board shorts that hang low on his hips. His skin is tanned from days in the sun, his hair lighter, his body relaxed in a way I've never seen before.
He looks happy.
He reaches me and slides his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest. "You disappeared."
"I needed a minute."
"Thinking about your dad?"
I nod against his shoulder. "And everything else."
Luke's hand comes up to stroke my hair. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I pull back to look at him. "I really am."
It's the truth. My father's death still hurts—probably always will—but I've made peace with it. And Turner's gone—or in whatever hell Gabriel stuck him. The trafficking network is dismantled. The women are safe.
We won.
"Everything is so different now." I gesture to the paradise around us. "Three weeks ago, I was a deputy sheriff in Montana. Now I'm, what? A vigilante? A criminal? Someone who destroys evidence and lets cartels handle justice?"
"You're someone who saved lives," he says firmly. "You're someone who chose what was right over what was legal. There's a difference."
I tip my head, considering. "Is there?"
"Yeah, sunshine, there is." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "The law failed those women. The system failed them. We didn't."
I think about that. About my father. About my badge. About everything I gave up. Then I think about the women we rescued. About Emma and Jake and their baby. About Lily and Mason. About Blackthorn.
About Luke.
I look into his eyes, my hand holding his face. "I don't regret any of it."
"Good." Luke's mouth curves into that slow, dangerous smile that always makes my stomach flip. "Because I'm not giving you back."
I roll my eyes. "Possessive much?"
"When it comes to you? Absolutely." He kisses me—slow and deep and claiming. I melt into him, my hands sliding up his bare chest to loop around his neck.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
"Come on," Luke says, taking my hand. "I want to show you something."
He leads me down the beach to a secluded cove I haven't explored yet. The sand here is softer, the water calmer. Palm trees provide natural shade, and someone—probably Luke—has set up a blanket and pillows.
"When did you do this?" I ask.
"This afternoon. While you were napping." He pulls me down onto the blanket beside him. "Figured we could use some privacy."
I snort. "We have an entire bungalow for privacy."
"Yeah, but the bungalow doesn't have this view." He gestures to the ocean, the sunset, the perfect isolation.
I settle against him, my back to his chest, his arms wrapped around me. We sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink lower.
"Hendricks called this morning," Luke says eventually.
"What did he want?"
"To check in. See how we're doing."
Right. I don’t know Hendricks well, but I’m smart enough to know the man always has an agenda. “Any word on Mandy?”
“He didn’t say one way or the other. I offered to loan him a set of handcuffs. Pink and furry, of course.”
I chuckle. Luke’s positive Hendricks has a thing for Mandy. I don’t know how he’s so sure—we haven’t seen her since she disappeared that night at Turner’s compound, though Lily’s gotten a couple cryptic messages from her sister since.
Luke's hand strokes my arm absently. "He also said the Blackthorn restoration is ahead of schedule. We should be able to go home in another week or two."
Home. Blackthorn. It still feels strange and wonderful at the same time.
"What are we going to do when we get back?" I ask.
"Live." Luke's voice is simple, certain. He nuzzles my neck. "We're going to live, Harper. We're going to help Mason with the horses. We're going to be there when Emma has the baby. We're going to build something good."
"And the recovery operation Hendricks mentioned?"
"If we want it." Luke shrugs. "Hendricks thinks we'd be good at it—finding people who've been taken, bringing them home. But it's our choice. No pressure."
I think about that. About using what we learned, what we survived, to help others. "I think I'd like that," I say quietly. "Helping people. Making a difference."
"Then that's what we'll do." Luke presses a kiss to my temple. "Whatever you want, sunshine. I'm with you."
I turn in his arms to face him. "What do you want, Luke?"
He looks at me for a long moment, his expression serious.
"You," he says finally. "I want you. I want Blackthorn. I want the family we've built. That's it. That's everything."
My throat tightens. "Luke—"
"I love you, Harper." His hand comes up to cup my face. "I'm in love with you. I have been since the first time I saw you in your uniform. You were so pissed off and so determined and so fucking beautiful. I didn't stand a chance."
I laugh, even as tears prick my eyes. "I love you too. So much."
“Good.” Luke's thumb brushes away a tear that's escaped. "You're stuck with me, sunshine."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He kisses me again, and this time it's different. Deeper. More urgent.
I shift to straddle his lap, my hands sliding into his hair, and I pull back just enough to grin at him. "You know what I've been thinking about all day?"
His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in possessively. "Tell me."
"How good you look when you're trying not to lose control." I roll my hips slowly, deliberately, and watch his eyes darken. "Like right now."
"Harper." His voice is strained, warning.
"What?" I lean in and bite his lower lip gently. "You don't like it when I tease you?"
"I fucking love it," he growls, his hands sliding up my thighs. "But you're playing with fire, sunshine."
"Maybe I want to get burned."
He laughs—low and dangerous—and suddenly his hands are under my sundress, pushing it up and over my head in one smooth motion. I'm wearing a turquoise bikini underneath, and the way his gaze rakes over me makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he says roughly, his hands tracing the curve of my waist. "And you wore this knowing exactly what you were doing to me."
"Maybe." I reach for the ties on my bikini top, but he catches my wrists.
"Let me," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "I've been thinking about unwrapping you all day."
His fingers work the knot slowly—torturously slowly—his eyes never leaving mine. When the fabric finally falls away, he makes a sound low in his throat that sends shivers down my spine.
"Perfect." His hands cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. "So fucking perfect, and all mine."
"Possessive much?" I manage to say, even as I arch into his touch.
"When it comes to you?" His mouth finds my neck, kissing and biting a path down to my collarbone. "Absolutely."
I thread my fingers through his hair and tug, making him look up at me. "My turn."
Before he can respond, I push him back against the blanket and lean down to kiss him—hard and demanding, taking control. He groans into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips as I grind down against him.
"Jesus, Harper," he breathes when I pull back. "You're going to kill me."
"Nope, because I want you to live a long, long life with me." I grin and trail my hand down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, to the waistband of his board shorts. "But I do want to see you lose it."
His fingers tighten on me. "You think you can make me lose it?"
"I know I can." I palm him through the fabric, feeling how hard he already is, and his hips jerk involuntarily. "See? Already halfway there."
"Fuck." His head falls back. "You're going to pay for this."
"Promises, promises." I hook my fingers into his waistband and tug. "Off. Now."