The protocol was simple, but specific—let it ring exactly three times, hang up, wait precisely five minutes for the return call. The kind of paranoid routine that would seem ridiculous to anyone who hadn’t lived the kind of life that made such measures necessary.
One ring. Two rings. Three.
I ended the call and started the timer on my watch.
Five minutes was a long time when you were waiting for the devil to call back. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, eyes constantly scanning the ranch yard out of habit. Rawley was in the barn doing inventory. Macon was checking the fence line. Carter was inside with Danny and Jojo, probably making tea or doing whatever gentle shit he did to calm people down.
They were all trained killers—well, except Carter and Jojo—but Sterling was something else. Something that made evenhardened operators uneasy. It wasn’t just his skills, though those were exceptional. It was the absolute coldness with which he applied them. The total absence of hesitation. My brother had died inside a long time ago, leaving behind only purpose and precision.
And I was inviting that darkness here, to the place I was trying to build a future.
My watch beeped. Five minutes.
The phone vibrated in my palm almost immediately, right on schedule. Sterling never missed a beat.
“Yeah?” His voice was like mine, but flatter, all emotion smoothed away like river stones.
“I need you,” I said simply.
A pause, brief enough that most people wouldn’t notice it. “How soon?”
“Yesterday.” The word tasted bitter on my tongue.
Another pause, this one filled with the sound of rustling paper—Sterling consulting whatever mental map he kept of potential extraction points, safe houses, and transportation options.
“I’ll be there in twelve hours,” he said finally.
I closed my eyes, relief and dread washing through me in equal measure. “North pasture. There’s a landing strip.”
“I know.”
Of course he did. Sterling probably knew the layout of Black Butte Ranch better than some of the people who lived here.
Contingencies upon contingencies.
“My mate is pregnant,” I added, not sure why I felt the need to explain. Sterling had never asked for reasons before.
“I know that, too,” he replied, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. “I’ll see you at 0300.”
The line went dead before I could respond. I stared at the phone for a long moment, then slipped it back into my pocket.
Twelve hours. That’s how long I had to prepare everyone for Hurricane Sterling. To explain to Rawley why I’d called in the most dangerous man we knew without consulting him first. To reassure Danny that this was a good thing, that Sterling would help keep him safe, that everything would be okay.
Twelve hours to convince myself of the same.
I started the truck’s engine and pulled away from the spot where I’d been parked for the last twenty minutes, heading toward the side of the house. Rawley needed to know first. He was still our commander in every way that mattered, even if we didn’t wear the uniforms anymore.
As I drove, I tried to picture Sterling meeting Danny, tried to imagine my deadly ghost of a brother in the same room as the gentle omega carrying my child. The image wouldn’t form. The two halves of my life—the darkness I’d come from and the light I was building toward—refused to align in my mind.
But they would have to. Because Dennis was out there, ankle monitor or not, and the look in his eyes at the courthouse had made one thing crystal clear: he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was Danny, broken and submissive and back under his control.
That wasn’t happening. Not while I drew breath. And if protecting my family meant unleashing my brother’s particular brand of hell, then so be it.
Sterling was coming.
And God help anyone who stood in his way.
I parked the truck, climbed out, and headed for the barn. The walk gave me just enough time to rehearse what I’d say to Rawley, and just enough time to realize no rehearsal would make this conversation go smoothly.
