We moved as a unit down the hallway, Macon and Hooper taking point while Carter brought up the rear. Burke kept his arm around my waist, half-supporting me as we walked. I leaned into him, drawing strength from his solid presence beside me.
We’d reached the service door when I heard it—the sound of raised voices from the direction of the main entrance, Dennis’s carrying above the rest. “—know where you’re going!” he was shouting. “You can’t hide from me, Danny! You hear me? You can’t hide!”
Burke’s arm tightened around me, his body going rigid with barely contained fury. “Ignore him,” he said, voice tight. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
I knew he was right. Knew, logically, that Dennis was exactly where the bailiff could see him, exactly where the ankle monitor would track him. Knew that between the restraining order and the ranch’s security system and the very dangerous men currently forming a human shield around me, I was probably safer than I’d ever been in my life.
But knowing and feeling were two very different things. And the part of me that had spent a decade learning to flinch at shadows, to make myself invisible at the first sign of trouble—that part was screaming to run, to hide, to get as far from Dennis as humanly possible.
I took another deep breath, forcing that voice down. I wasn’t that person anymore—the scared kid who curled into a ball and hoped the storm would pass. I was someone who stood his ground. Who fought back. Who had people who’d fight for him.
Who had a future worth protecting.
We emerged into the weak afternoon sunlight, the cold air a shock against my tear-stained cheeks. Rawley’s truck was waiting at the curb, engine already running. Macon did a quick scan of the parking lot, then nodded to Hooper, who climbed into the driver’s seat.
“All clear,” Macon said, holding the door open for Carter. “Let’s move.”
We piled in—Rawley up front with Hooper, Macon and Carter in the middle seat, Burke and me in the back. As Hooper pulled away from the curb, I caught one last glimpse of the courthouse through the rear window, its stone facade gleaming in the sunlight.
Dennis was in there somewhere, probably being processed for release, probably already planning his next move. He’d find a way around the restraining order—he always did. He’d wait for his chance, and when it came, he’d take it.
But he wouldn’t find me alone. He wouldn’t find me unprepared. And he sure as hell wouldn’t find me willing to go quietly back into the darkness.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
Chapter Thirteen
~ Burke ~
I sat alone in my truck, engine off, staring at the black screen of my cell phone like it was a live grenade. The courthouse visit had left me shaken in a way firefights and IED sweeps never had.
Seeing the hatred in Dennis’s eyes when he looked at Danny—that wasn’t just anger. That was a promise. And with a baby on the way, I couldn’t afford to take chances, even with Rawley and the boys providing security. No, this situation called for something—someone—else entirely.
The ranch was quiet at this time of day. I’d sent Danny inside with Carter, knowing he needed time to decompress after the hearing. His hands had stopped shaking by the time we pulled into the driveway, but his eyes still held that haunted look that made my chest ache.
“He’s going to find me,” he’d whispered as we drove back from the courthouse. “The ankle monitor, the restraining order—none of it matters. He’ll find a way.”
I’d squeezed his hand and promised him I wouldn’t let that happen. Now I had to make good on that promise.
I unlocked my phone and pulled up a contact that wasn’t listed under any name—just a string of numbers I’d memorized years ago. My thumb hovered over the call button, muscles tensing as if preparing for physical pain.
Calling Sterling wasn’t something I did lightly. My twin brother was the shadow that even shadows were afraid of. We’d both gone into the military after high school, both ended up in special forces, but our paths had diverged sharply from there.
While I’d stuck with the teams, Sterling had been recruited for operations that didn’t officially exist. The kind that governments pretended never happened, even when the bodies started piling up.
The last time I’d called him was three years ago, when a situation in Caracas went so sideways that even Rawley couldn’t see a way out. Sterling had shown up, spent forty-eight hours in-country, and suddenly our extraction path was clear. I never asked what he did. He never offered to tell. That’s how it worked with Sterling.
But this was different. This wasn’t about me or the job. This was about Danny and our child. About family.
My finger still hovered, not quite making contact with the screen. Sterling wasn’t just dangerous—he was a force of nature, a one-man wrecking crew of death who lived by his own code and answered to no one.
Bringing him here meant changing everything. Once he arrived, events would take on their own momentum, and I wouldn’t be able to control the outcome.
But Dennis’s words at the courthouse echoed in my mind: “This isn’t over, Danny! You hear me? This isn’t fucking over!”
I pressed call.
