Page 242 of Micah

She murmurs something unintelligible and snuggles deeper beneath the blankets.

Fucking adorable.

My heart damn near gives out just looking at the picture she makes. To think I could’ve lost her tonight to those motherfucking assholes.

But no—that didn’t happen.

I force the thought from my mind. I wasn’t too late. She’s here now. Safe and I will never allow her to be in danger ever again.

I’ve already decided she’ll have a full security detail at her place of business from now on.

She might fight me on that, but I’ll persuade her. Or I’ll make sure she doesn’t know they’re even there.

Win win.

I watch her for another minute, then I leave.

The cabin is silent as I pull on my boots and grab my keys.

Outside, the night air bites at my face.

My truck is waiting. So are my brothers.

The radio is playing something that’s somewhere between rock and country. I don’t care what it is.

The drive is quiet. Nobody says much. We don't need to.

Benji and Sawyer already handled the hard part. Scarface and his three lieutenants are at the secure location we scouted out months ago.

The rest?

They ran.

Good.

Fear spreads faster than blood ever could. By sunrise, every low life from here to the county line will know two things.

Sloane O'Brien is untouchable.

And Jersey Iron Ranch isn't a place you threaten unless you're looking to disappear from polite conversation.

The location sits a few miles out of town and away from our ranch.

The way I see it, it’s all about insurance. Every military man has contingency plans.

This one is ours.

A forgotten quarry tucked deep in the pines where the only witnesses are owls and old stone.

My headlights sweep across the clearing. Benji leans against the nondescript van we use around the ranch from time to time with his arms folded.

Sawyer stands a few feet away, expression carved from granite.

Between them, four men kneel in the dirt.

Their wrists are zip-tied behind their backs.

Shoes gone.