Another stunning woman joins us with a baby about Julian’s age in her arms, and she introduces herself as Quinn, Beck’s wife, and their son, Oliver.
She gives me a quick, knowing smile. “Welcome to Iron Stallion. You picked one hell of an entrance.”
I huff out a shaky breath. “Is there a manual for this family? Or—“
She grins. “Nope. But there’s coffee, food, and a group text that never shuts up.”
I laugh, her welcoming tone instantly relaxing me.
Ava shifts Julian gently, rocking him as he settles against her. “He’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I smile.
“And before you panic, no one here is going to interrogate you,” she assures me.
Zane nods. “We’ll get the story when Ryder’s ready to tell it.”
“And if he’s not,” Quinn adds lightly, “we’re very patient people.”
I’m not sure I believe that, but I appreciate the attempt.
My gaze drifts around the house—the sheer size of it, the quiet luxury woven into every beam and window. This isn’t flashy wealth. It’s power earned and defended over generations.
Ava catches the direction of my stare. “It’s a lot, I know. The first time can feel overwhelming.”
“I wrote about your wedding,” I admit. “About you marrying into the Morgan family. I knew the name, I just… I didn’t connect it to him.”
Her smile softens. “I don’t blame you. Ryder isn’t the kind to open up.”
“Believe me, I know,” I mutter.
“But you’re going to be okay here. We’re all family now,” she promises.
Before I can reply, Julian squirms, fussing lightly, and Ava hands him back to me without question.
“He’s safe here. Both of you are.”
I clutch Julian closer, nodding, my throat too tight for words. Somewhere down the hall, behind closed doors and sterile lights, Ryder is fighting his own battle. But out here? I’m surrounded by people who already consider my son one of theirs, and that knowledge settles into my bones like a promise.
24
RYDER
I return to consciousness slowly, like something is dragging me up from deep water. At first, there’s only a dull sensation, then I feel the weight of blankets over me, followed by the faint pull of something taped to my skin. My throat is dry, mouth tasting like metal.
I’m in pain, but it’s distant and muted, kept behind a wall of medication. The air smells sterile and sharp with antiseptic, but beneath it is the scent of wood and leather. I know that scent. Iron Stallion. I’m back home. Why? Because I couldn’t keep my family safe, and we had to come here.
My eyes open up to a ceiling I don’t recognize, a room too large for a clinic and too personal for anything public. I blink and lightfilters through half-drawn curtains—soft gold instead of hospital white.
The memories slam in as I come to terms with my current surroundings: the attack, the rain, armed men, gunfire, getting shot, Kate’s hands slick with blood, and Julian’s cries. Everything after getting shot is a blur, including how I got here.
“Kate, Julian,” I call out, lifting my head, only to fall back on the pillow when I’m hit with a dizzy spell.
A chair scrapes, followed by warm hands on me. “She’s fine. They both are.”
I turn my head, and there’s Ella, my baby sister, her hair pulled back away from her face, eyes bright and rimmed with tears. She looks older than the last time I saw her in person, but of course, ten years will do that. She isn’t the kid sister trailing after the boys anymore; she’s a happily married woman now.
“How long have I been out?” I inquire.
