Page 109 of Ruthless Enforcer
James looks up, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re sure?”
“We hit Turner Ranch yesterday,” Gabriel states, his tone cool and measured. “It’s leveled, and there was a body in the blast.”
My uncle listens intently, his gaze locked on Gabriel’s face. He leans back slowly, catching the slight hesitation beneath Gabriel’s delivery. “You have doubts he was taken care of?”
Gabriel holds his gaze. “I have a healthy suspicion. Until I have dental records or DNA that isn't ash, I assume he’s still a threat.”
James nods once, approving of the caution. “Sensible. A snake isn't dead until you’ve severed the head.”
“You men and heads,” I mutter.
He closes the folder and turns his attention back to Gabriel. “I owe you an apology, Reyes,” James says stiffly. “I allowed my temper to be weaponized.”
“You don't owe me an apology, Whitlock,” Gabriel replies. “If someone pulled my niece out of a gala into the back of an SUV, I’d want his head on a stake too. I’m not going to apologize for keeping her safe, but I’m sorry for the worry it caused you.”
James’s eyes flash with old pride. “She is a Whitlock. Her safety is my responsibility.”
“She’s my wife,” Gabriel counters, his voice dropping into a low, uncompromising register. “And that makes her life mine to protect.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupt, crossing my arms.
Both men stop and stare at me.
“I’m right here,” I say, my voice ringing clear and steady in the quiet room. “I am not a parcel of timber on the county border. I am not a trophy you two get to divide up between you. And I am not a helpless hostage who had her life decided for her.”
James blinks, surprised. “Clara—”
“I proposed to Gabriel,” I tell my uncle firmly. “Gabriel didn't force me. He warned me that marrying him was dangerous, and I told him to do it because it was the only strategic move that could stop you and his brother from slaughtering each other in the street.”
James stares at me, his mouth parting slightly in disbelief.
“I’m twenty-four, Uncle James,” I continue. “You raised me to be smart. You raised me to understand power, to understand family, and to protect what belongs to us. That’s what I did. I protected our family. And in the process, I chose Gabriel.”
Gabriel watches me from his chair, a slow, breathtaking heat flaring in his blue eyes—possessive, fiercely proud, and unapologetic.
My uncle looks between the two of us. He sees the flush on my cheeks, the resolute set of my shoulders, and the way Gabriel relaxes in his seat.
James lets out a long, ragged sigh, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. In that moment, the formidable cattle baron looks like the uncle who used to teach me how to sit a horse. “You always were too clever for your own good, Clara,” he murmurs.
“I had an excellent teacher,” I retort.
James lowers his hands and fixes Gabriel with a level look. The hostility is gone, replaced by the grim pragmatism of an alliance. He places his hands on the arms of the wingback chair and stands. At sixty-two, he is still broad-shouldered and imposing.
Gabriel rises immediately, matching him inch for inch.
James steps up to the edge of the table, looking down at the man who took my hand without his blessing.
“If you hurt her,” James says, his voice dropping into a quiet, lethal promise, “if you treat her like collateral, an asset, or a pawn in your family’s business, I will spend every acre, every dollar, and every bullet I possess to put you in the ground.”
Gabriel doesn't flinch. His expression remains cool and resolute. “If I ever hurt her, Whitlock, you won't have to come looking. She’ll bury me herself.”
The two men stand inches apart across the mahogany table, their gazes locked in a silent, unbreakable pact of shared protection.
Then James extends his right hand.
Gabriel takes it.
Their grip is hard and uncompromising, but as their hands clasp over the black steel of Gabriel’s pistol and the scattered evidence of Cole’s ruined schemes, the tension finally snaps.
