Chapter 5
I've always loved the crow's nest. A circle of windows wrapping three hundred and sixty degrees around a space too small to impress anyone—just big enough to breathe in.
"Is that it?" Mercy presses her nose against the glass, leaving a perfect smudge that would've sent my mother into conniptions. "Is that the helicopter?"
I squint at the distant speck hovering above the eastern pasture. "Not yet, sweetie. That's just one of the crop dusters for the Whalburg place."
Mercy sighs dramatically, her shoulders slumping. "How much longer?"
"Soon." I rest my hand on her shoulder, feeling the bone beneath her t-shirt. She's still too thin, though Cash has been stuffing her with organic everything since the judge handed her over. "Why don't you check on Puddles? Make sure he hasn't destroyed another pair of Cash's boots."
"He only did that once," Mercy says defensively, but she's already halfway to the spiral staircase, eager to reunite with the golden retriever puppy that materialized within hours of the custody hearing. As if a dog could replace a brother.
Alone again, I press my forehead against the cool glass, taking in the view that used to feel like a kingdom and now feels like a prison yard.
The Ashby Ranch sprawls in every direction—forty-seven thousand acres of Montana that my mother made sure the entire world knew was ours.
To the north, the cattle pastures stretch toward the horizon, dotted with Black Angus that look like toys from up here.
The eastern fields roll golden with wheat and barley, while the western edge disappears into pine forests that climb toward the mountains.
South of the mansion, the outbuildings cluster like a small town.
And beyond them, the private airstrip that we don’t use much, but maintain just in case.
Ten days ago, I was sitting at the Duns' dinner table, watching Legion laugh with Havoc's kids, feeling like maybe—just maybe—I'd found somewhere I actually belonged.
Then everything went to hell.
The panic when I woke to Legion burning with fever beside me, his brand an angry red against his skin, was the kind where time slows down and you simply can't breathe.
The chaos at the compound gate when the sheriff showed up with that fucking warrant. Cash sitting in his truck, watching it all unfold with that smug half-smile he gets when he's won something.
"Child welfare concerns," the papers said. As if Cash has ever given a single fuck about any child's welfare, especially not a Kane.
The emergency hearing was a joke. My lawyer—the best money can buy, of course—made all the right arguments.
The new trailer on Kane land was as good as any home in this county.
Brand new and still immaculately clean, the inspection of it the day before the hearing went well.
The social worker seemed to think it was the best place for Mercy.
I had resources. I had a genuine connection with Mercy.
I was perfectly capable of being her temporary guardian in the Kane home while Legion recovered.
Then Cash's lawyer stood up.
"Ms. Ashby has shown severe lack of judgment," he said, like he was discussing a wayward teenager instead of a thirty-year-old woman. "Allowing herself to be lured into an outlaw biker lifestyle, exposing a minor child to criminal elements..."
Lured. That fucking word still burns. Like I'm some helpless princess who couldn't possibly choose a life that didn't involve designer dresses and charity galas. Like I didn't walk into that clubhouse with my eyes wide open, knowing exactly what I was doing.
But I couldn't say that in court, could I?
Couldn't stand up and say, "Actually, Your Honor, I chose Legion.
I chose his world. I chose to let a man named Chains write 'PROPERTY OF DEMON' across my tits with a Sharpie, I chose to suck his dick in front of fifty people to show my allegiance to him, and I fucking loved every minute of it. "
That… though true, is not what a judge wants to hear. Not if I wanted any chance of helping Mercy.
So I sat there, hands folded in my lap, playing the part of the Ashby heiress who'd had a momentary lapse in judgment but was now back where she belonged.
It didn't matter. Cash had already won. The judge took one look at the "brand-new trailer with no established connection" versus the "stable family environment of the Ashby Ranch" and made his decision.
What Cash hadn't counted on was Legion's infection going septic.
Of course the brand looked like shit, and of course, I noticed this when I looked at him. But he seemed fine. Everything seemed fine until his body started shutting down and heating up.
Ten days ago, I barely knew a condition called sepsis existed.
Today, I feel like an expert.
But I didn't see the signs. And Legion, being Legion, isn't the kind of man who complains about pain.
He wanted that brand. To him, it was an honor. It should have made him untouchable. It was a signal to anyone—whether they knew it or not—that Demon Kane was protected.
Instead, it tried to kill him. By the time Dusty and I got him to the emergency room in Terry, his fever was 104, and he was barely conscious. They stabilized him just enough to medi-vac to Miles City, and that's when I figured out, he was fucking dying.
Like… dying.
Forty-five minutes later I had a private ambulance pick him up and we flew to Mayo. They were pissed, because I didn't tell them we were coming. If I had, they'd have said no. They will take an emergency case with enough palm greasing, but normally it's a 'no'.
I was not in the mood for 'no'.
There wasn't a chance in hell I was gonna accept a 'no'. Not from anyone.
And when we got there, the doctor said if I had waited another few hours to get him to the hospital and start treatment, Legion would have died.
Died.
Next to me, in bed.
So actually—and this is kinda fucking ironic—the fact that Cash and the sheriff showed up that morning, waking everyone up, causin' a commotion—is the whole reason Legion is still alive.
God is funny. Not really funny. Not at all funny, actually. He just has a way of showing you things you don't wanna see in the most unexpected ways.
His entire body was infected by the time he arrived at Mayo. The wound required surgical debridement, and four high-grade antibiotics failed before the doctors reached for the last-resort: colistin—powerful enough to kill almost anything, toxic enough to risk shutting down his kidneys to do it.
For six days, I sat beside his bed, watching machines breathe for him, praying so hard. Begging for divine intervention.
It worked.
But there was a price.
There's always a price.
Cash thought he was so clever. Get Mercy, get me back to the ranch, problem solved. But he didn't count on Mercy refusing to eat unless she could visit Legion.
Didn't count on me using the Ashby money—my money, not his—to hire the best medical team in three states.
Didn't count on me bringing Legion home to recover at the mansion.
I turn away from the window, looking around the circular room. As a child, I used to hide up here when my mother wanted more photos, more poses, more perfect smiles. I'd curl up with books about places I'd never see, people I'd never be.
I never thought I'd be bringing Legion Kane into this house. Not as a guest, not as my... what? Boyfriend seems too small a word for what we are. Too normal. There's nothing normal about us.
Movement catches my eye—a dark spot against the blue sky, growing larger.
The helicopter.
My heart thumps as I press my hands against the glass.
It's really happening. He's coming here.
"Mercy!" I call down the spiral staircase. "It's time! He's here!"
I hear her footsteps pounding through the house, the excited yapping of that ridiculous puppy Cash bought her. Within seconds, she's racing across the lawn, a tiny figure in jeans and a t-shirt, Puddles bounding after her.
But I stay where I am, watching as the helicopter descends toward the helipad near the eastern fence line. From this distance, it looks like a toy, the blades stirring up dust that spirals into the air.
The ambulance is already waiting, just as I arranged. The medical team will bring him to the east wing, to the suite I've had prepared with everything he'll need. A hospital bed, monitoring equipment, IV stands. Private nurses on rotation. Windows that look out over the land that's supposedly mine.
Cash thinks he's won. He thinks bringing Legion here, to Ashby land, somehow proves that the Ashbys always come out on top. That I've chosen my inheritance over Legion.
What he doesn't understand is that he's just given me exactly what I wanted.
Legion and Mercy, both under my roof, where I can protect them.
Where no one can take them from me again.
My brother made a critical mistake. He forced my hand, thinking I'd fold. Instead, he's just revealed exactly how far I'm willing to go.
The helicopter touches down, and even from this distance, I can see the medical team rushing forward with a stretcher. Mercy stands at the edge of the helipad, held back by one of the security guards, bouncing on her toes.
I should be down there. I should be the first face Legion sees when they bring him off that helicopter. But something keeps me rooted to this spot, watching from above as they load him into the ambulance.
Maybe it's knowing that the moment I walk into that room downstairs, everything changes. Legion won't just be mine anymore—he'll be in Ashby territory. He'll be surrounded by everything he hates, everything he's fought against his whole life.
Or maybe I'm just afraid. Afraid that he'll look at me differently. Like I've betrayed him somehow, by bringing him here.
The ambulance starts moving slowly up the drive toward the house. Mercy runs alongside it for a few yards before the security guard catches up with her, saying something I can't hear. She nods reluctantly and walks beside him instead, still keeping pace with the vehicle.
I step back from the window, suddenly aware of how I look. I'm wearing one of my old sundresses, my hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. No makeup. Nothing like the woman who stood in the clubhouse wearing Legion's clothes and a fresh tattoo declaring herself his property.
I glance down at my wrist, where the words are still healing, the skin around them pink and slightly raised. PROPERTY OF DEMON.
I haven’t covered it up with bracelets because my wrists are ringed with scabbing red marks from where Marcus tied me up and I want Cash to see those marks every time he looks at me.
I want him to burn with shame for what he did. How he helped.
Below, the ambulance pulls up to the east entrance. The medical team jumps out, opening the back doors. The stretcher is wheeled toward the house, surrounded by people in scrubs.
Mercy stands at the door, waiting, holding the puppy in her arms as if for support.
Cash thinks he's won, but he's about to learn that his isn't over.
It's barely begun.