“What’s that on your face?” Ella asks, pointing to the scar that runs down his cheek and disappears into the collar of his shirt.
“It’s a story,” Zane says, crouching down to their level. “A long one.”
“Is it a scary story?” Emma asks, her voice filled with wonder.
“Not for me,” he replies with a small, almost imperceptible smile. “But it has a happy ending.”
The girls exchange a look, then step closer, like they’re testing the waters. “Do you like unicorns?” Emma asks, holdingup her stuffed toy as though it’s the most important question in the world.
Zane’s lips twitch, and for a second, I think he might laugh. “Unicorns are pretty cool,” he says, his tone so earnest that I can hardly believe it’s coming out of his mouth.
I watch as he answers their rapid-fire questions with unexpected patience, his gravelly voice growing warmer with each response. It’s like watching a fortress slowly lower its gates. The sight of this dangerous, scarred man softening to my daughters cracks something open inside me.
Ella tugs on his sleeve, and Zane doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans down so she can whisper something into his ear. Whatever she says makes him chuckle—a low, rumbling sound.
My throat tightens as I take it all in. This is what I’ve been fighting for: the girls’ safety, their innocence, their ability to find joy even in the midst of chaos. And now, against all odds, I find myself trusting this stranger to be a part of that fight.
“Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else, but Zane hears it. His head lifts, his stormy blue eyes locking on mine with a mix of surprise and understanding.
“Okay?” he echoes, his tone unreadable.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I say again, louder this time. “I’ll let you guys decide what’s best. If it’s continuous, round-the-clock surveillance, so be it.”
Because maybe, just maybe, letting someone else shoulder the weight of this burden for a while isn’t a weakness. Maybe it’s the only way we’ll make it out of this intact.
CHAPTER 6
ASHER
The pull-up barcreaks softly as I hoist myself up for one last rep, sweat dripping down my back in the cool morning air. The sun hasn’t even risen fully yet, and it casts the gym in muted shades of gray.
My phone buzzes on the bench, Zane’s number lighting up the screen.
I drop down, grabbing a towel to wipe my face as I cross to the phone. Zane never calls this early unless something’s wrong. By the second buzz, I’m already reaching for my go-bag.
“Zane,” I answer, slinging the bag over my shoulder as I head toward the shower. “What’s going on?”
“Need relief on a new detail, Ash,” he says, his voice gravelly, like he’s been chewing on exhaustion all night. “Been out here since last night. Had an incident with the target’s ex.”
“Incident?” I pause mid-stride, tension knotting in my chest. “Define incident.”
“Jason Whitmore,” Zane says, like the name alone is explanation enough.
And it is. The knot tightens.
“Jesus Christ,” I say. That was the last name I expected coming out of his mouth. “You met your devil halfway across the world.”
“Apparently,” Zane replies dryly.
“So,” I say. “Is he dead?”
Zane sighs. “Unfortunately, not yet. I intercepted when he tried to throw a rock through her window.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head, tossing the towel aside. My feet move faster, carrying me up the stairs to my room. “Where’s Damon? Thought he was handling the new clients.”
“Boss said he had some deep research to do,” Zane replies, his tone making it clear he’s not buying whatever excuse Damon gave. “Ash, I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. She’s got twins, and her ex isn’t just any asshole. He’s got training and a serious grudge. I can’t leave her unprotected, but I also need to check her workplace before I crash.”
The undertone in his voice makes me stop short in the hallway. There’s something more here, something Zane isn’t saying outright, but I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines.
