Chapter 6 Rhett
SIX
RHETT
If anyone ever asks me what my biggest weakness is, I’m going to lie.
I’ll say something respectable. Like “sleep deprivation” or “bad coffee” or “Chase’s personality.
” I will not say the truth. The truth is sitting at the clubhouse table right now, laughing with Kayley like she’s known her for years instead of hours, while Aidan tries to fist-bump Poppi and misses by a mile.
I stand with a mug of coffee I don’t taste and watch her for a beat too long. She glances up and catches me. Her brows lift like she’s caught me doing something embarrassing.
I immediately look away, because I’m an adult man with a combat record, not a teenager with a crush.
Chase sidles up beside me, grinning. “You’re staring again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He takes a sip of his coffee like it’s a fine wine. “It’s kind of adorable. Like a murder puppy.”
I turn my head slowly. “One day, Chase, you’re going to mouth off at the wrong person.”
He smiles wider. “And that person will still be you.”
Boyd passes behind us carrying a plate stacked with pancakes like he’s delivering holy offerings. He sets them down with a quiet thunk and rumbles, “Stop antagonizing Rhett.”
Chase clutches his chest. “Boyd defending him? Wow. It’s like the whole mountain is healing.”
Boyd doesn’t even blink. “It’s not healing. It’s annoying.”
Harlan, sitting at the end of the table like a statue carved out of silence, adds, “He’s distracted.”
I glare at Harlan. “I’m not distracted.”
Harlan’s eyes flick once toward Emma, then back to me. “You are.”
Great. Even the quiet one is chirping in.
Before I can tell them all to shut up and choke on their pancakes, Silas walks in. He’s got his sheriff jacket on, hat in hand, and that look in his eyes that means he’s not here for breakfast.
He’s here for business. He motions once at me. “Rhett. Outside. Now.”
My gut tightens. I set my coffee down and follow him out into the cold, the warmth of the clubhouse fading behind us. Snow crunches under my boots. The air bites like it’s personally offended I exist.
Silas stops beside the railing overlooking the main yard. His gaze tracks the tree line as if Mark Renshaw could pop out from behind a pine and wave.
“We’ve got a lead,” he says.
My entire body goes still. “On Mark?”
Silas nods. “Maybe. A vehicle tied to one of his known associates pinged near a cabin rental by the county line. Could be nothing. Could be him laying low.”
“Could be bait,” I say.
“Could be,” Silas agrees. “Which is why Gavin and Rafe are working angles with the field office contact. Wyatt’s running digital trails. Thorne and Boyd are doing a sweep of likely approach routes. We’re splitting the net.”
He looks at me then, serious. “Your job is Emma.”
I bristle automatically. “I know.”
Silas’s tone softens just a fraction. “She’s a magnet for trouble.”
“She’s a civvy with a mouth,” I counter.
Silas’s mouth twitches. “Same thing.”
I exhale sharply. “We have anything on Mia?”
“Not yet,” he says. “But the lead on Mark might lead us to her. If she’s being held somewhere, he’s connected.”
My jaw tightens. The thought of someone hurting Emma’s sister makes something in me go cold.
Silas continues, “You keep Emma on property. No wandering. No solo missions. No ‘I’ll just check something’ nonsense.”
“You don’t know her,” I mutter.
Silas gives me a look. “I know her type. Smart, stubborn, and fueled by fear. That’s a dangerous combination.”
He’s not wrong.
I glance back through the clubhouse window and see Emma laughing at something Kayley said, her hands moving animatedly as she talks. She’s alive in a way most people aren’t when they’re afraid. Like humor is her armor and she refuses to take it off even when the bullets start flying.
“Copy,” I say, because that’s the only answer Silas wants.
Silas claps my shoulder once. “Good. Keep her safe. We’ll bring the rest home.” He heads off toward the main lodge, already pulling out his phone.
I stand there a second longer, watching the snow fall, letting the weight of the assignment settle into my bones.
Keep her safe.
Easy. Except Emma doesn’t act like someone who wants to be kept safe. She acts like someone who wants to fight. And if she tries to fight on her own, she’ll get herself killed.
I head back inside.
Emma is finishing her coffee when I walk up behind her.
Kayley nudges her. “Oh, here comes Mr. Grumpy.”
Emma turns and smiles up at me, bright and unsuspecting. “Hi, Mr. Grumpy.”
I hook a finger under the back of her chair and pull it out slightly. “You’re coming with me.”
Her brows lift. “Wow. Buy me dinner first?”
Chase chokes on his pancake.
I ignore him. “Now.”
Emma stands, smoothing her hoodie. “Where are we going?”
“My cabin.”
Kayley’s eyes widen with delighted scandal. Harper covers Poppi’s ears like the baby is going to learn something inappropriate.
Emma glances between them. “Why are they making faces?”
“Because they have too much time and not enough hobbies,” I say flatly.
Chase calls after us, “Use protection, Rhett!”
I spin toward him. “I’m going to bury you in the snow… again.”
Chase grins. “Romantic!”
Emma laughs as I herd her toward the door.
She leans closer, whispering, “Do you threaten everyone you like?”
“I don’t like you.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced. “And you don’t read romance novels either.”
I stop in the doorway and look down at her. “If you bring that up again, I’ll assign you latrine duty.”
She pauses. “Do you… have a latrine?”
“No.”
“Then your threats are empty.”
I can’t help it—a low sound escapes my chest that might be a laugh if you squint.
Emma’s grin turns triumphant. “Oh my God. You do have a sense of humor. It’s just buried under tactical trauma.”
I walk faster.
Back at my cabin, she shrugs out of her coat and looks around like she’s expecting the couch to still have my imprint on it.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asks, eyeing the couch.
“I slept.”
“That’s a lie.”
I gesture toward the open space near the fireplace. “Shoes off.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to teach you a few things.”
“With… shoes off?” She looks suspicious. “Is this where you tell me you’re actually a yoga guy?”
“I’m not a yoga guy.”
“Everyone’s a yoga guy when they’re trapped in a mountain compound long enough.”
I ignore that too. “I’m teaching you self-defense.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh my God. Like… actual self-defense?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth spreads into a grin. “This is so hot.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s both,” she says cheerfully, slipping off her boots. “Okay. Teach me, Sensei Grumpy.”
I grab two water bottles from the fridge and toss one to her. “First rule: you don’t call me Sensei.”
She catches it easily. “What about Master?”
I glare. And I don’t tell her how hearing her call me that makes my heart thud loudly in my chest.
She smiles innocently. “Kidding. Mostly.”
I step into the open space and motion her forward. “You said you had pepper spray.”
“Yep.”
“Good. That’s your first line. But if someone gets close enough that pepper spray isn’t an option, you need to know how to break contact.”
She lifts her hands like she’s about to box. “Like this?”
“That’s… adorable.” I circle her slowly. “But no. You’re not fighting fair. You’re fighting to live.”
Her expression shifts—serious now. Focused.
I nod once. “Good. Basic wrist escape.”
I reach for her wrist slowly, giving her time to react. “If someone grabs you like this—”
She immediately yanks her hand back and slaps my forearm.
I blink. “Did you just—”
“I panicked,” she says quickly. “It’s my brand.”
A laugh tries to climb out of my chest again. I shove it down. “Try again. Slow.”
I wrap my hand around her wrist, firm but controlled. “You don’t pull straight back. You rotate toward the weak point.”
She frowns. “Weak point?”
I turn her wrist slightly. “Thumb. Always. Rotate here.”
She tries it. Her hand slips free with a sudden jerk. Her eyes go wide. “Oh! I did it!”
“Yes.”
She bounces on her toes like she won a medal. “Okay, do it again.”
I grab her other wrist.
She rotates sharply and frees herself faster this time. “Ha!” She grins at me like she’s proud—and that pride hits me somewhere low and unexpected.
“Good,” I say, voice rougher than it should be.
She tilts her head. “Did you just praise me?”
“No.”
“Yes you did.”
“I said one word.”
“That’s basically a love poem from you.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Focus, Emma.”
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. Then back to my eyes. “Focused,” she whispers, but her cheeks are pink now, and her breathing is a little faster.
I clear my throat. “Next… if someone grabs you from behind.”
Her eyes widen. “That happens a lot in my nightmares.”
“Then we train so it doesn’t end the same way.” I move behind her carefully, placing my hands lightly at her upper arms. “If someone hooks you like this, you drop your weight and strike sensitive points.”
She swallows. “Sensitive points like…”
“Groin. Instep. Eyes.” I pause. “Throat if you have to.”
She goes still. “Okay.”
I guide her, slow and controlled. “Drop your weight—good. Now drive your elbow back.”
She does. And she nails me right in the ribs.
Hard.
I grunt, stumbling a step. “Jesus.”
Emma’s eyes go huge. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
I straighten slowly, breathing through it. “Don’t apologize.”
“I hurt you!”
“You did what you’re supposed to do.”
She winces. “I feel like a monster.”
I step close again, voice low. “You’re not a monster. You’re learning.”
Her gaze holds mine, something soft flickering there. “You’re… really doing this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she whispers. “You barely know me.”
Because I can’t shake the image of you running alone on that ridge, I think. Because you walked into our world and lit it up, and now I can’t stop seeing you in it. Instead I say, “Because you’re staying here, and I’m responsible for you.”
She huffs out a laugh. “That’s such a guy answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
She steps closer, tilting her chin up. “Not the whole truth.”
My pulse ticks hard. I can feel the space between us narrowing—not physically, but emotionally. Like every joke and every lesson is tying a rope between us, knot by knot. I force myself back into instructor mode. “One more. If someone tries to shove you into a vehicle—”
Her humor fades. She nods, serious.
Good.
Because that’s exactly the scenario I don’t want to imagine again.
I demonstrate how to plant her feet, twist away, and make noise. “You scream. You fight. You run toward light and people.”
She nods. “And if there aren’t people?”
“Then you make yourself harder to move than you look.”
She squints. “I’m not that small.”
“You’re not that heavy either.”
She gasps, offended. “Excuse you, I am a strong independent woman with a very respectable—”
I cut her off. “—center of gravity. Yes. I know.”
She pauses. “Did you just compliment my center of gravity?”
I glare again.
She beams. “You’re getting better at flirting.”
“I’m not flirting.”
“You literally just praised my hips.”
“I did not—”
She laughs, stepping back, hands up. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” But the smile she gives me right then is softer. Less teasing. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For making me feel like I can do something.”
My chest tightens. “You can,” I tell her, voice low. “And you will.”
Her gaze holds mine, and for a second the cabin feels smaller—warmer. Like the air is charged with something neither of us is naming.
A crackle comes over my radio on the counter. Silas’s voice. “Rhett. Quick update. Lead’s still hot. Don’t move. Keep her close.”
I reach for the radio, thumb the button. “Copy.”
Emma’s eyes flick to it. “That sounded ominous.”
“It’s work.”
“Everything you say sounds like work.”
I set the radio down and look at her. “Then let’s keep training.”
She straightens. “Yes, sir.”
I blink. “Don’t—”
She grins. “What? You like it.”
I mutter, “You’re trouble.”
She steps closer, eyes bright. “And you’re addicted.”
My pulse jumps like it’s got a mind of its own.
I’m not addicted.
I’m just… interested.
Curious.
Protective.
Whatever word makes it not sound like I’m losing control.
But when she smiles at me like that—bold and brave and too damn alive—I know one thing for sure: Keeping her safe is going to be the hardest mission I’ve ever had.
Because the more time she spends at Haven 7…
The more she feels like she belongs here.
And the more she belongs… The more I’m going to want her to stay.
Forever.