Asher exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “So what do we do with him?”
Damon glances down at Jason, who’s still struggling to breathe, his lips parting as if to speak.
I crouch beside him, lowering my voice to a cold whisper. “You don’t get to talk anymore.”
His gaze flickers, and for the first time, I see it. Fear. Real, raw fear.
Jason Whitmore knows he has lost.
CHAPTER 28
MIA
The world hasn’t stopped spinning yet.
I clutch my daughters tightly, feeling their small, shaking bodies against mine. Their breaths come fast and uneven, their little gasps muffled against my jacket. My own hands tremble as I stroke their hair, whispering reassurances that feel paper-thin.
Around us, the Rangers secure the scene. The rhythmic bark of orders, the crunch of boots on dirt, the metallic clicks of rifles being checked and secured—it all happens in a blur. Two men restrain Jason, zip-tying his wrists behind his back even though he’s barely conscious. Another team sweeps the perimeter, checking for stragglers. The air hums with tense efficiency, but I only feel the warmth of my daughters, the life in them, the fact that they’re here and safe.
A shadow falls over us. I glance up to find Damon kneeling beside me, his gray eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to. His hand presses gently against my back, grounding me.
Behind him, Asher stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but his knuckles are still white from gripping his weapon. Zane is the closest, crouching so that he’s at the girls’ eye level.
“Did you see?” Emma pipes up suddenly, her voice still shaky but proud. “I stayed quiet just like Secret Agent Zane taught us!”
Zane gives her a small, tired smile, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “I did see, baby deer. You did good.”
“And I remembered about the hiding place,” Ella adds, tugging on Asher’s sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Like Agent Asher said.”
Asher lets out a slow breath, then kneels, placing a hand on Ella’s tiny shoulder. “You did more than remember, munchkin,” he murmurs. “You were brave. Both of you.”
The girls beam, and for the first time since this nightmare started, something inside me loosens.
I meet Zane’s gaze over their heads. There’s something raw there, something fragile he doesn’t quite know how to name yet. Damon watches me the way he always does, like he already knows what I’m thinking. And Asher… Asher looks like he’s finally home.
For the first time in weeks, I feel safe.
Damon reaches the twins and lifts them into his arms without a word. They don’t ask—they just know. Wrapping their small arms around him, they hold on tight. Zane and Asher step in, their presence steady, their touch grounding. No words are needed as they all huddle together, a quiet force of comfort and understanding.
My heart squeezes.
“I could have lost them. Lost you because of my stupidity,” Damon says, finally letting Asher take the girls. Tears streak down his face. Watching the six foot three feet tall tattooed man crying makes me awestruck. I never thought I would see him like this.
I reach out to him. “You didn’t. I’m here now, I’m okay. So are the girls. The nightmare is over.”
As if on cue, Jason groans behind us, a weak, wheezing sound. He’s not going to be a problem for now.
The paramedic’s light flicks across my pupils, too bright after everything. I blink against it, my body sore and my mind still catching up to reality. The twins sit on either side of me, wrapped in blankets, their little hands clutching mine like they’re afraid I’ll disappear if they let go.
“Any dizziness? Blurred vision?” the paramedic asks, tilting my chin slightly to check for swelling.
“No,” I murmur, my voice hoarse. “Just... tired.”
He nods, moving to check Ella and Emma. They sit obediently as he goes through the motions, shining the light in their eyes, asking them to follow his finger. They’re brave, but the way they cling to me tells me just how scared they really were.
The paramedic gives me a nod, satisfied with his evaluation. “You should still get checked out at a hospital,” he says, but his voice is gentle. “Shock can creep up on you.”
Across the clearing, Jason is strapped onto a stretcher, his face a mess of bruises, his arm slung tight against his chest. He’s half-conscious, his lips moving like he wants to say something, but the Rangers pay him no mind as they load him into the waiting ambulance. For the first time since this nightmare started, I don’t feel his shadow stretching over us.
