We were safe. For now.
The van roared to life, tearing down the street and into the waking city. Behind us, the warehouse burned, smoke black against the morning sky.
We didn’t look back.
We didn’t have to.
Chapter 26
Arsenal
The Gulfstream’s cabin was set to “hospice quiet,” the lights down, windows shuttered against sunrise. The only sound was the background radiation of jet engines and Harper’s breathing, soft against my shoulder. Brie and Nanette sat cuddled across from us, sleeping off the stress of the last several hours. Most of the others slept as well. Wrecker sprawled across two seats, mouth open, a thin ribbon of blood dried from a cut above his eye. Parker had curled up like a cat in the footwell of her row, still in her hoodie, one shoe off, arms clutching her laptop. Big Papa and Doc took up a row together, both too big for comfort, both refusing to close their eyes while we were still inthe air. Gwen rested opposite the two big men, comfortable and dressed more casually than I’d seen her since we’d met.
I should have been asleep too, but I was wired into the moment, every nerve refusing to lay down. It was a feeling I hadn’t had since Afghanistan—after a mission, when the dust settled, and you were still alive, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Harper’s head weighed heavy on my right bicep. Her hair, which always smelled like vanilla, was caked now with warehouse grit, and dried blood at the scalp line where she’d split her brow. There was a bruise blossoming down her left cheek, and a crescent of dried blood just under her jaw. She looked peaceful, like knowing the worst of something was behind you and you could finally rest easy. She looked like the girl I remembered: sleeping next to me on a blanket on the shore of an endless lake when we didn’t know that evil men and time and distance would separate us.
I couldn’t help it—I studied her face like a map, cataloguing every cut, every new scar. I’d almost lost her in that warehouse, and the memory played on a loop behind my eyes, high-def and unforgiving.
She’d been on the floor, bloody and half-conscious, Steiner’s boot pinning her ribs. The sound of that bastard’s laugh, the way he’d bared his teeth at me as if nothing in this world could touch him. I’d seen Harper’s hand groping, her fingers slick with blood, searching for anything—a weapon, a miracle. When she found the steel pipe, she’d barely had the strength to lift it, but the look on her face was pure arithmetic. She knew what had to be done, and she’d done it. Drove the pipe through Steiner’s neck like a warrior goddess taking her final revenge.
The moment was burned into me: the blood, the shock on Steiner’s face, the sound of his gurgle, and the way Harper had grinned through tears, bloody and victorious. She hadn’t killedjust for herself. She’d killed for every girl who’d been bought and sold at his hands.
Now, in the hush of the jet, I couldn’t reconcile the two images of Harper the soft-hearted girl with the candy-colored ballet shoes, and Harper the woman who would kill a wolf tycoon to save not just her family but strangers. She was an enigma.
I brushed a thumb across her cheek, careful not to wake her. She didn’t stir, just nuzzled deeper into my side, muttering something in her sleep. The sound unlocked something old in me, something that had been rusted shut for years.
“You don’t get a second chance at this, Jess,” Big Papa’s voice rang in my head.“When you do, don’t waste it.”The man was not wrong. I had done my best to fuck the whole thing up, but had managed to get my head out of my ass long enough to realize I had the golden ticket staring me right in the face. Thank the Goddess this woman; this amazing pillar of grace and goodness, didn’t give up on me.
The cabin lights flicked brighter as the pilot made a gentle bank. Paris was six hours behind us, Dairyville a mere hour ahead. I should have felt relief, but all I felt was the white-hot terror that I’d lose her again if I stopped watching her for even a second.
I wanted to tell her everything: that I was sorry, that I was proud, that there was nothing in this world I wanted more than to grow old at her side. I wanted to say it and hear her laugh, or punch my arm, or call me an idiot. But right now, she just needed sleep. I could wait. I would wait forever if she asked.
I checked the cabin—no threats, not even the old nightmares waiting in the dark. I let my head rest against the seatback and closed my eyes, still holding Harper close. If this were a dream, let it last a little longer.
I drifted somewhere between sleep and memory, watching the years unspool backwards: the way she’d looked when I first realized she was mine. She was so young and innocent. She hadn’t had a care in this world. All she wanted to do was dance and love me. It should have been so easy. And it was until it wasn’t. I remembered how excited she was to tell her parents she’d found her fated mate. That very day, it all went to hell.
I remembered her father telling me she’d left for New York, that she’d rejected me. I remembered how I’d told myself I didn’t need anyone, how I’d believed it for years, right until the moment I saw her again in Texas, eyes bright and burning with the same impossible light.
The world could end a hundred times and I’d still want her. That was the curse of the mate bond—cruel and perfect, a thing you could never break, even if you tried.
The pilot’s voice came through the intercom, barely above a whisper. “Final approach in twenty minutes. Prepare for landing.”
I squeezed Harper’s hand, felt her fingers twitch. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to fight the future. I wanted to run straight into it, headlong and reckless, with her at my side.
I looked down at her, the dark smudges under her eyes, the healing gash on her cheek, the little smile tugging at her lips even in sleep. She was alive. I was alive. We were going home.
There are men who go through their whole lives never knowing what it is to be truly loved. I counted myself lucky that I’d lost it once and been given it back, by a miracle or a mercy or just the stubborn grace of a girl who refused to stay lost.
I closed my eyes and let the hum of engines and the warmth of Harper’s body lull me. When I woke again, the world would be new. We’d be in Dairyville, and nothing would ever keep us apart again.
They brought the jet in low, cutting north above the old cotton fields and pivoting on a wind that smelled faintly of smoke and spring onions. We landed at Iron Valor’s private strip—really just a tarmac and a windsock, with an old fire truck rusting behind a cinderblock shed. Even from the window, I could see Bronc waiting on the edge of the ramp, arms folded, Ray-Bans on, legs spread like he was still guarding the perimeter of some forward operating base. Juliet stood by his side, his ever-present mate, keeping him grounded.
The crew deplaned in silence, except for the hydraulics whining and Wrecker’s barely muffled curses as he helped Parker down the steps. Doc, Gwen, and Big Papa spilled out; Brie and Nanette followed. Harper made it down next. I followed, carrying two bags and a head full of trouble, and was the last to hit the tarmac. Bronc didn’t move until Harper’s feet were on Texas soil; then he strode out and wrapped her in a one-armed bear hug that lifted her six inches off the ground.
“Glad you’re home,” he said, voice gravel and whiskey.
Harper tried to laugh but mostly just clung to his shirt, her eyes squeezed shut. She’d never admit it, but she needed this—the safe weight of a pack that didn’t want to use her, sell her, or turn her into leverage.
