That’s the one I take first.
I move in fast and keep it quiet, coming up behind him before he has time to turn. My hand locks around his throat as I pull him off the trail, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He struggles for a second, not enough to matter, and I don’t give him time to find his footing.
By the time the other two notice he’s gone, he’s already down.
They turn at the same time as Walker steps out from the trees.
One of them reaches for his gun, but Walker doesn’t give him the time to follow through. The shot is quick and accurate. I’d expect nothing less from a decorated sniper.
The third man looks between us and makes a decision that would almost be smart if we were different men.
He runs.
I’m already moving.
He makes it a few feet before I catch him, driving him down hard enough to take the fight out of him before it starts. He pushes back once, more instinct than strategy, and I end it there.
When it’s done, the insects and birds become vocal once more. Walker lowers his weapon and scans the tree line out of habit.
“That’s all of them.”
“For now,” I say.
He nods, already reaching for his phone.
“I’ll call Larson.”
I leave him to it and head back up the trail. Three men with matching patches is enough for the sheriff to work with. They crossed state lines to attack Sloane, and with dirty cops in the mix, and the fact that they’re part of a gang, he’ll get the feds involved.
We’ll keep up the surveillance for now, but I seriously doubt the Iron Vultures MC will send anyone else to darken my doorstep.
She’s at the door before I get there. Her eyes go straight to my hands and then my face, checking for wounds and I realize belatedly that she heard the gunshot.
“It’s handled,” I tell her.
Her shoulders drop as she takes that in.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She steps closer, her hands coming up to rest against my chest like she’s confirming I’m still alive and whole. She doesn’t ask for details or for reassurance. She takes me at my word, and that warms my soul in a way I never expected.
“Walker?” she asks absentmindedly.
“He’s fine.”
Sloane nods once, her soft brown eyes never leaving my face as she looks at me. There’s no panic in her expression, no expectation that something is about to go wrong.
She believes me when I say she’s safe. Her breathing shifts, just enough for me to notice.
Bringing my hand up to the side of her neck, my thumb settles under her jaw where I can feel her pulse thrumming steadily.
“No one is ever going to hurt you again,” I tell her. “Not on my watch.”
Sloane
I’m waiting at the door when Carter returns, heart still hammering even though the danger is over. The porch light spills over him as he steps up, and my eyes rake over every inch. His hands, his arms, the broad chest rising and falling steadily. No blood. No wounds. He’s safe.
