Chapter Four
The sound of engines woke her.
Kristin's eyes snapped open, her body going rigid on the narrow bed. For a moment, she didn't know where she was—the ceiling was wrong, the light was wrong, everything was wrong.
Then she remembered.
The compound. The guest quarters. Ripcord standing guard outside her door while she tried to sleep.
But those engines weren't motorcycles.
They were trucks.
She was on her feet before conscious thought kicked in, moving toward the window. The compound was still dark, pre-dawn gray painting everything in shades of shadow. But through the glass, she could see headlights cutting through the perimeter—
The door burst open.
"Move." Ripcord was across the room in two strides, grabbing her arm. "Back exit. Now."
"What's happening?"
"They found us."
The words hit like ice water. Kristin didn't waste time on questions. She shoved her feet into boots, grabbed the jacket she'd left on the chair, and followed Ripcord through a door she hadn't noticed—a narrow hallway that led to the back of the building.
Behind them, the first shot rang out.
Then everything was noise and chaos.
Ripcord moved like a man who'd done this a thousand times—checking corners, covering her body with his, directing her through the maze of the compound's back buildings. She heard shouting, more gunfire, the distinctive crack of a weapon she didn't recognize.
"Brotherhood's engaging," Ripcord said, his voice tight. "They'll hold the perimeter. We need to get you out."
"What about—"
"The club can handle themselves." His hand found the small of her back, propelling her forward. "You're my priority."
They burst out a side door into the Carolina pines, the cool morning air hitting Kristin's face like a slap. Ripcord's bike was parked under a camouflage tarp twenty yards away—he'd moved it, she realized. Positioned it for exactly this scenario.
"Get on."
She didn't argue.
The engine roared to life as she swung onto the seat behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist automatically. He was solid and warm and smelled like leather and gunpowder, and she held on like her life depended on it.
Because it probably did.
The bike tore through the woods on a path she hadn't known existed, branches whipping at their arms and legs. Behind them, the gunfire continued—sharp bursts that echoed off the trees like deadly applause.
"Where are we going?" she shouted over the engine.
"Secondary safehouse. Twenty miles east."
Twenty miles of back roads and adrenaline. Kristin pressed her face against his back and focused on breathing.
The sun was fully up by the time they reached the safehouse—a hunting cabin hidden so deep in the sandhills that the road to reach it was barely more than a deer path. Ripcord killed the engine and the silence rushed in, broken only by birdsong and her own ragged breathing.
"You okay?"
The question was almost laughable.
"No." She climbed off the bike on legs that felt like water. "I'm about as far from okay as a person can get."
Ripcord swung off behind her, his eyes scanning the tree line even as he moved to check on her. His hands found her shoulders, turning her to face him.
"You're alive. That's what matters right now."
"What about the compound? Your brothers?"
"They're fine." His voice was certain. "Stanton's guys aren't operators. They're smugglers with guns. The brotherhood will chew through them and spit out the pieces."
"But they found us." Kristin heard the crack in her own voice. "They knew where I was. How—"
"Someone talked. Maybe a ground crew at one of the airfields, maybe a contact in town." His jaw tightened. "Stanton's got his fingers in a lot of pockets. But it doesn't matter how they found the compound. What matters is they won't find this place."
She looked at the cabin—weathered wood, rusted tin roof, the kind of structure that had been forgotten by everyone except the men who used it for exactly this purpose.
"How many safehouses does your club have?"
"Enough." His hands were still on her shoulders, warm and steady. "We're going to stay here until the situation stabilizes. Legion will reach out when it's safe to move."
"And if it's never safe?"
The question came out before she could stop it. Kristin felt the weight of everything crashing down—her airfield, her business, her entire life, all of it under siege by men who wanted her dead for something she didn't even have.
"Then we make it safe." Ripcord's voice dropped, intense and certain. "Whatever it takes, however long it takes. We end Stanton, we end his operation, and we give you your life back."
"You can't promise that."
"I can." He stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "I am."
The intensity in his gaze made her breath catch. This was a man who had watched a teammate die and blamed himself for surviving. A man who carried guilt like a second skin.
And somehow, in the space of twenty-four hours, he'd made her survival his mission.
"Why?" The word came out barely louder than a whisper. "You don't know me. You came to my airfield to jump out of a plane, and now you're standing between me and a drug operation that kills people who get in its way. Why?"
Something shifted in his expression.
"You want the real answer?"
"I want something that makes sense."
"It won't." He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a gentleness that seemed impossible from hands that had broken a man's face yesterday.
"Nothing about this makes sense. I don't know you—you're right about that.
But I know that walking away from you feels like something I'm not willing to do. "
Her heart was hammering.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got." His thumb traced her cheekbone, feather-light.
"I've spent three years jumping out of planes trying to escape something I couldn't run from.
Then I walked into your hangar and found you backed against your own aircraft by men who wanted to hurt you, and something in my chest just... decided."
"Decided what?"
"That you were worth staying on the ground for."
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning she wasn't sure either of them was ready to handle.
Then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
Ripcord stepped back, pulling the device from his pocket. His expression went hard as he read the message.
"Legion. Compound's secure. Three of Stanton's guys down, the rest ran." He looked up. "But there's a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"They hit your airfield too. Same time as the compound—coordinated assault."
Kristin's stomach dropped.
"My airfield?"
"Stanton's crew has it occupied. They're searching every building, every plane, every inch of ground." His voice was grim. "They're not leaving until they find what Danny hid."
She stared at him, processing.
Her airfield.
The business she'd built with every dollar she'd ever saved. The partnership she'd bought into with blood and sweat and the kind of desperate hope that comes from growing up with nothing. The planes she maintained with her own hands. The runway she'd learned by heart.
Occupied. Searched. Torn apart by men who'd already killed her partner and would kill her too if they found her.
"I can't go back." She heard her own voice like it belonged to someone else. "Even if we stop Stanton—even if your club dismantles his whole operation—they've been through everything. They'll have destroyed—"
"Hey." Ripcord's hands found her face, forcing her to look at him. "Buildings can be rebuilt. Planes can be replaced. You can't. Everything else is secondary."
"That airfield is my life."
"No." His eyes burned into hers. "That airfield is a place. Your life is right here, standing in front of me, and I'll be damned if I let some drug lord take it."
The possessiveness in his voice should have scared her. Should have made her pull back, establish boundaries, remind him they'd known each other less than two days.
Instead, she felt something crack open in her chest.
She'd spent her whole life relying on herself.
Building alone, surviving alone, refusing to need anyone because needing people meant losing them.
Her father's crop duster had taught her that lesson early—one bad storm, one mechanical failure, and everything you'd built could disappear in an instant.
But standing here, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a man she barely knew promising to burn down a drug empire to keep her safe...
Maybe alone wasn't the only option anymore.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"Now we figure out what Danny hid and why Stanton wants it badly enough to start a war.
" Ripcord released her face but didn't step back.
"Your partner was smart enough to steal from dangerous people.
He was smart enough to hide whatever he took.
The question is whether he was smart enough to leave a trail. "
"He wasn't smart." Kristin's voice hardened. "He was greedy. There's a difference."
"Then let's hope greed left evidence." He gestured toward the cabin. "We've got time to kill while things settle. Tell me everything you know about Danny's habits, his contacts, his secrets. Somewhere in there is the key to ending this."
She nodded and followed him inside.
The cabin was sparse—single room, wood stove, two chairs and a table that had seen better decades. But it was secure, it was hidden, and it had Ripcord standing between her and the door like nothing in the world could get past him.
Kristin sat down and started talking.
She told him about Danny—his charm, his easy smile, the way he could make anyone believe anything. The flying routes he'd insisted on handling alone. The cash deposits that didn't quite add up. The late nights she'd chalked up to dedication but now recognized as something darker.
The picture that emerged wasn't pretty.
Her partner had been running drugs for years, right under her nose. Using planes she maintained, runways she'd helped build, an operation she'd trusted with her future.
And now she was paying for his betrayal with everything she had.
By the time she finished, the sun was high and her voice was hoarse. Ripcord had listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable.
"There's something," she said finally. "A place Danny never let me see. A storage unit off Highway 87 he said was for old parts. I never questioned it."
"Storage unit." Ripcord's eyes sharpened. "That's where we start."
"We can't just walk in there. Stanton's people will be watching—"
"Stanton's people are stretched thin trying to hold your airfield and recover from getting their asses kicked at our compound." He stood, energy suddenly crackling through his frame. "Tomorrow we hit the storage unit. Tonight, we rest. You're going to need your strength."
Kristin looked up at him—this man who'd upended her life and offered to burn down anyone who threatened it.
"And if the storage unit is empty?"
"Then we find another trail." He crouched in front of her, putting them at eye level.
"Listen to me. Stanton's operation survives because nobody fights back.
Danny didn't fight back—he tried to profit.
The ground crews don't fight back—they take the bribes.
Even law enforcement doesn't fight back—they call it mechanical failure and close the case. "
His hand found hers, calloused fingers wrapping around her palm.
"But we fight back. The brotherhood fights back. And we don't stop until it's over."
Kristin squeezed his hand.
"Then I guess we fight."
The words felt strange in her mouth. She was a pilot, not a soldier. She built planes, not wars.
But looking at Ripcord—at the fierce determination in his eyes, at the way he held her hand like she was something worth protecting—Kristin realized something.
She'd lost her airfield. Lost her partner. Lost the future she'd spent years building.
But she hadn't lost everything.
She still had the chance to fight for it.
And that would have to be enough.