Chapter Fourteen
Abigail
The silence in the industrial kitchen was so complete it felt heavy.
Abby stood just inside the swinging doors, the warm ceramic of the coffee mug acting as a physical anchor in her hand. She took a slow, deliberate sip of the black coffee, letting the scalding, bitter liquid ground her.
She was vastly outnumbered, out of her element, and standing in a room full of men who looked like they could dismantle a Jeep with their bare hands.
In her corporate life, she had walked into boardrooms full of hostile, aggressive men whose sole purpose was to intimidate her into accepting bad deals.
She had learned how to armor herself in designer suits and icy detachment.
Here, wearing an oversized t-shirt and jeans, she didn't have her physical armor. But as she looked at the four elite operators staring back at her, she realized she didn't need it.
The man at the head of the island was the most imposing. He was built like a tank, with dark, assessing eyes and a jawline carved from granite. He radiated the kind of unquestionable authority that couldn't be taught.
"Abby," Will said, his voice a low, steady rumble at her side. He gestured to the imposing man. "This is Trent Lockhorn. He’s the commander of The Refuge."
Abby met Trent’s dark gaze. She didn't shrink, and she didn't look away. "Commander."
Trent’s eyes narrowed slightly, sweeping over her with tactical calculation. He noted her posture, the lack of trembling in her hands, and the directness of her eye contact. "Ma'am. Glad Will pulled you out before the creek crested."
"Me too," Abby said evenly.
Will gestured to the man at the stove, who was currently sliding a massive portion of eggs and bacon onto a ceramic plate.
He had light brown hair, a smear of axle grease on his forearm, and a sharp, intelligent smirk.
"That's Kyle Graham. Former Army Ranger.
He's our mechanic and structural engineer. "
"And the designated chef, apparently," Kyle added, picking up the plate and setting it on the island in front of an empty barstool. He offered Abby a wink. "Sit down before you fall down, city girl. Doc says you’re running a massive calorie deficit."
"Thank you," Abby said, moving toward the stool. Her knee twinged, but she hid the limp well.
"The hyperactive one over there is Kaiden Richards," Will continued, nodding toward the youngest man in the room, who was grinning widely over the receiver of a disassembled rifle. "Also a Ranger. He runs perimeter security and tracking."
"It is an honor to meet the woman who brought a hatchet to a mountain lion fight," Kaiden beamed, resting his chin on his hand. "Seriously. We were taking bets on how long you'd last in Sector Charlie. You cost me twenty bucks, but it was worth it."
Abby paused, her hand resting on the back of the barstool. She looked at Will, who suddenly seemed very interested in the coffee pot.
"You guys placed bets on me?" Abby asked, arching a single eyebrow.
"Only on your resilience," Kaiden clarified quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "And for the record, I bet you'd make it. Kyle was the cynic."
"I wasn't a cynic, I was a realist," Kyle argued, leaning against the counter. "You had a dome tent rated for a light drizzle and a first-aid kit that had SpongeBob on the band-aids."
"Hey," a quiet voice interrupted from the corner.
Abby turned. The fourth man was sitting behind a bank of glowing monitors. He was leaner than the others, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a dark hoodie.
"Leo Tolston," Will introduced softly. "Former Marine Raider. He runs communications, cyber security, and the overwatch feeds."
"It's good to meet you, Abby," Leo said, offering a small, genuine nod. "Eat your food. The storm knocked out the eastern grid, so I have to go reroute the backup servers, but if you need anything tech-wise, I'm your guy."
"Thank you, Leo," Abby said.
She finally climbed onto the barstool. The plate of food in front of her looked like a masterpiece. Perfectly scrambled eggs, thick-cut bacon, and toasted sourdough bread smeared with butter. Her stomach let out a hollow, demanding growl that echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen.
Kaiden chuckled, but a sharp look from Trent silenced him instantly.
Abby picked up the fork. She had spent the last three weeks rationing packets of instant oatmeal and eating a single, tiny whitefish. She took her first bite of the eggs.
The flavor was so intense, so rich with protein and salt, that she actually closed her eyes and let out a soft groan.
She didn't care that four highly trained killers were watching her.
She practically inhaled the first half of the plate before her brain caught up with her stomach, reminding her to slow down before the rich food made her sick.
Will leaned against the counter beside her, casually crossing his arms, a look of profound satisfaction settling over his rugged features as he watched her eat.
Trent waited until she had finished a piece of toast before he set his coffee mug down on the butcher block. The heavy thud signaled that the pleasantries were officially over.
"Alright," Trent said, his voice dropping into a register that demanded attention. "Will briefed you on what this place is. Let me brief you on the rules."
Abby set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a paper towel, squaring her shoulders to face the commander.
"You are currently sitting inside a highly classified, privately owned security compound," Trent stated, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
"We built The Refuge to be off the grid and off the radar.
The men in this room rely on anonymity for our peace of mind and our safety.
The fact that you are inside these walls is a massive breach of our operational security. "
"I didn't ask to be brought here, Trent," Abby pointed out, keeping her tone respectful but firm. "I was drowning."
"I am aware," Trent acknowledged seamlessly.
"And I authorized Will to pull you out because we don't leave people to die on our land.
But that doesn't change the reality of the situation.
The roads are washed out. You are stranded here for at least the next four days until the mudslides on the lower access trail stabilize enough to get a vehicle through. "
"Okay," Abby said. "What are the rules?"
Trent crossed his arms. "Rule one: You do not enter the armory, the comms room, or the lower sublevels under any circumstances.
Rule two: You do not leave the main lodge without Will or one of the others escorting you.
The outer perimeter is rigged with defensive countermeasures that you do not want to stumble into.
Rule three: When you leave this valley, everything you saw, heard, and experienced here never happened. You never met us."
Abby held his gaze. She could see the fierce protectiveness radiating from Trent. He was the alpha, the shepherd guarding his flock of damaged, lethal men. He wasn't trying to bully her; he was trying to protect his family.
"I came to the Bitterroots to disappear, Trent," Abby said quietly, her hazel eyes completely sincere. "I was running from a life I couldn't survive anymore. I understand the need for sanctuary better than anyone. I give you my word. This place doesn't exist to me once I leave."
Trent studied her face for a long, heavy moment. Whatever metric he used to judge a person's character, Abby apparently passed. The rigid tension in the commander’s broad shoulders eased just a fraction.
"Fair enough," Trent said, giving a single, short nod. He looked at Will. "She’s your project, Hammond. You take point. Put her in the spare room adjacent to the infirmary."
"Copy," Will said.
Trent turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, the heavy swinging doors shutting behind him.
The moment the commander was gone, the atmosphere in the room instantly depressurized. Kaiden let out a loud whistle.
"Wow," Kaiden grinned, looking at Abby with unabashed admiration. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen a civilian look Trent in the eye for more than ten seconds without sweating. You sure you weren't military in a past life?"
"I worked in corporate acquisitions," Abby said dryly, picking her fork back up. "Believe me, the ego to threat ratio is very similar."
Kyle laughed out loud, a booming, genuine sound. "Oh, I like her, Doc. Can we keep her?"
"She's not a stray dog, Kyle," Will grumbled, though a faint, proud smile tugged at his lips. He pushed off the counter. "Finish your breakfast, Abby. Then I'll show you to your room. You need to sleep in a real bed for a few hours."
Abby didn't argue. The adrenaline of the storm and the rescue had completely burned off, leaving her feeling hollowed out and bone-weary. She finished her eggs, savored the last sip of coffee, and stood up.
"Thank you for the food, Kyle," Abby said. "It was incredible."
"Anytime, city girl," Kyle winked.
Will placed a light hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of the kitchen.
It was a touch she wasn’t familiar with.
Nothing David had certainly ever done. It felt wholly protective but sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.
Whenever David had placed a hand on her back, it was to steer her—a firm, impatient pressure pushing her toward the right person or the right optic, like a hand on a steering wheel forcing a machine into line.
Will’s touch didn't push. It was incredibly light, resting against her spine like a handrail in the dark.
He wasn't directing her; he was just offering a solid point of contact so she wouldn't fall.