The door slams open hard enough to splinter the jamb. Rhett is standing in the frame, wild-eyed and panting.
“Put some fucking clothes on,” he barks, scanning the room but never really seeing us, too wired to care that I’m naked except for Bam’s shirt. “We’ve got a problem. Now.”
Bam is off the bed in a heartbeat, all softness gone, teeth bared like a feral dog. His body language is pure violence: he grabs the pants from the chair, pulls them on without breaking eye contact with Rhett.
“What happened?”
“O is in labor, at the hospital in town and the Kings are there. Cai needs us. The only thing keeping them outside her room are Cai’s cousin and his friends.”
Bam looks at me, “Get into some clothes.”
I’m slower, wrapping the blanket tight, trying to remember how to stand when my knees won’t stop shaking. My heart is thumping but my head is clear.
How dare he move on a woman in labor?
We dress fast, throwing on whatever Julian gave us last night.
Rhett steps inside, boots loud on the warped floor. “Let’s go. They don’t have much time.”
“Is she okay?” I ask, because it’s the only thing I can say.
“Not the fucking point.” Rhett glances at Bam, voice tight. “Your girl’s about to be ground zero for a goddamn mafia war. The Kings want her. The Board wants her. And so does the Castillo’s. O is collateral, but if we don’t get there, their baby will become a power move.” His eyes cut to me, then away, as if I might combust if he looks too long.
Bam’s voice is dead calm. “Heard.”
“It’s all my fault.” I try not to break down as we walk toward the door. “I’ll talk to them, make them see reason.”
Bam snorts. “The time for talking is over. You don’t mess with one of our own.”
“No.” I walk, forcing my legs to obey. “I can do this.”
Rhett barks a laugh, but it’s not funny. “You think he’ll listen? He didn’t when you called.”
“He’ll listen if he knows it’s the only way to get what he wants.”
Bam’s expression says I’m insane, but he doesn’t argue. He just grabs the shotgun over the door.
He shoulders the shotgun, checks the load, then moves to the window. “We go now,” he says. “We take the truck.”
Rhett’s jaw works, but he nods. “Gotta get Jules.”
I look at Bam, and he looks at me.
“Ready?”
I nod. “Let’s go help your friends.”
Rhett is already halfway out the door and on the path back to his cabin. “Let’s move, lovebirds. Time’s up.”
We follow. Outside, the wind is sharp and the snow stings my face, but I don’t flinch. Bam keeps a hand at my lower back, steering me with the same mix of violence and affection that he does everything.
Rhett’s cabin is chaos, even before we crash through the door.
Colton sprawls on the couch, shirtless, with a bandage soaking through at the shoulder. Isolde hunches over him, hands moving fast—checking his pulse, re-tightening the gauze, forcing water down his throat when he tries to spit it out. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t even blink hard. But her jaw is clenched and she is scolding him.
Julian’s packing a duffle bag, dumping weapons into it.
Rhett grabs the pistol off the counter. “We’re leaving,” he announces, voice slicing the air. “Now.”
