CHAPTER 5
I've always loved the crow's nest. A circle of windows wrapping three hundred and sixty degrees around a space too small to impress anyone—just big enough to breathe in.
"Is that it?" Mercy presses her nose against the glass, leaving a perfect smudge that would've sent my mother into conniptions. "Is that the helicopter?"
I squint at the distant speck hovering above the eastern pasture. "Not yet, sweetie. That's just one of the crop dusters for the Whalburg place."
Mercy sighs dramatically, her shoulders slumping. "How much longer?"
"Soon." I rest my hand on her shoulder, feeling the bone beneath her t-shirt. She's still too thin, though Cash has been stuffing her with organic everything since the judge handed her over. "Why don't you check on Puddles? Make sure he hasn't destroyed another pair of Cash's boots."
"He only did that once," Mercy says defensively, but she's already halfway to the spiral staircase, eager to reunite with the golden retriever puppy that materialized within hours of the custody hearing. As if a dog could replace a brother.
Alone again, I press my forehead against the cool glass, taking in the view that used to feel like a kingdom and now feels like a prison yard.
The Ashby Ranch sprawls in every direction—forty-seven thousand acres of Montana that my mother made sure the entire world knew was ours. To the north, the cattle pastures stretch toward the horizon, dotted with Black Angus that look like toys from up here. The eastern fields roll golden with wheat and barley, while the western edge disappears into pine forests that climb toward the mountains. South of the mansion, the outbuildings cluster like a small town. And beyond them, the private airstrip that we don’t use much, but maintain just in case.
Ten days ago, I was sitting at the Duns' dinner table, watching Legion laugh with Havoc's kids, feeling like maybe—just maybe—I'd found somewhere I actually belonged.
Then everything went to hell.
The panic when I woke to Legion burning with fever beside me, his brand an angry red against his skin, was the kind where time slows down and you simply can't breathe.
The chaos at the compound gate when the sheriff showed up with that fucking warrant. Cash sitting in his truck, watching it all unfold with that smug half-smile he gets when he's won something.
"Child welfare concerns," the papers said. As if Cash has ever given a single fuck about any child's welfare, especially not a Kane.
The emergency hearing was a joke. My lawyer—the best money can buy, of course—made all the right arguments. The new trailer on Kane land was as good as any home in this county. Brand new and still immaculately clean, the inspection of it the day before the hearing went well. The social worker seemed to think it was the best place for Mercy. I had resources. I had a genuine connection with Mercy. I was perfectly capable of being her temporary guardian in the Kane home while Legion recovered.
Then Cash's lawyer stood up.
"Ms. Ashby has shown severe lack of judgment," he said, like he was discussing a wayward teenager instead of a thirty-year-old woman. "Allowing herself to be lured into an outlaw biker lifestyle, exposing a minor child to criminal elements..."
Lured. That fucking word still burns. Like I'm some helpless princess who couldn't possibly choose a life that didn't involve designer dresses and charity galas. Like I didn't walk into that clubhouse with my eyes wide open, knowing exactly what I was doing.
But I couldn't say that in court, could I? Couldn't stand up and say, "Actually, Your Honor, I chose Legion. I chose his world. I chose to let a man named Chains write 'PROPERTY OF DEMON' across my tits with a Sharpie, I chose to suck his dick in front of fifty people to show my allegiance to him, and I fucking loved every minute of it."
That… though true, is not what a judge wants to hear. Not if I wanted any chance of helping Mercy.
So I sat there, hands folded in my lap, playing the part of the Ashby heiress who'd had a momentary lapse in judgment but was now back where she belonged.
It didn't matter. Cash had already won. The judge took one look at the "brand-new trailer with no established connection" versus the "stable family environment of the Ashby Ranch" and made his decision.
What Cash hadn't counted on was Legion's infection going septic.
Of course the brand looked like shit, and of course, I noticed this when I looked at him. But he seemed fine. Everything seemed fine until his body started shutting down and heating up.
Ten days ago, I barely knew a condition called sepsis existed.
Today, I feel like an expert.
But I didn't see the signs. And Legion, being Legion, isn't the kind of man who complains about pain.
He wanted that brand. To him, it was an honor. It should have made him untouchable. It was a signal to anyone—whether they knew it or not—that Demon Kane was protected.
Instead, it tried to kill him. By the time Dusty and I got him to the emergency room in Terry, his fever was 104, and he was barely conscious. They stabilized him just enough to medi-vac to Miles City, and that's when I figured out, he was fucking dying.
Like…dying.
