“You‘ve got a good thing here,” Sterling finally said, not quite answering the question.
Burke’s answer floated through the air as I stepped further into the house, his words settling warm in my chest like a promise.
“You’re family,” he said simply. “And family always has a place to come home to.”
I placed the sonogram on the refrigerator, holding it there with a magnet shaped like a cowboy boot that Jojo had given me as a housewarming gift. Our family looking out at me—still just a shadow, a promise of what was to come, but already so loved. So protected.
As I turned to start the coffee, I heard the front door open, followed by the sound of two pairs of boots on the hardwood floor—one set heavy and familiar, the other quieter but equally steady.
Family. The word no longer filled me with dread, but with a fierce, protective joy that took my breath away.
Chapter Seventeen
~ Burke ~
I jerked awake at the sound of Sterling’s voice crackling through my earpiece. The whispered “Contact, northeast perimeter” cut through the darkness of our bedroom like a knife.
My body was moving before my mind fully registered what was happening, military training kicking in with the precision of muscle memory. Outside, the world was still draped in the deep blue of pre-dawn, but someone was out there. Someone was threatening what was mine.
“Multiple hostiles. Armed. Moving toward the house.”
Sterling’s voice was calm, measured, the same tone he’d use to order coffee or discuss the weather, but I knew my brother. The slight edge beneath the words told me everything I needed to know.
This wasn’t a drill.
I reached for the nightstand, fingers closing around the cool metal of my Glock. The weight of it was familiar, grounding. Three seconds—that’s all it took to check the magazine, chamber a round, flick off the safety. Like riding a bike, if that bike was designed to end lives when necessary.
“Confirmed visual on Jenkins. Repeat, primary target is on site.”
My blood turned to ice, then immediately boiled over. Dennis. The restraining order, the ankle monitor, the sheriff’s warnings—none of it had been enough to keep that bastard away. He’d come for Danny, just like he’d promised.
Over my dead fucking body.
I glanced down at Danny’s sleeping form beside me, his face peaceful in a way it rarely was when awake. Even in sleep, one hand curled protectively over the gentle swell of his stomach, our child growing safe beneath his palm. Twelve weeks now. Stillearly, still precious, still vulnerable in ways that made my chest ache.
The rage that coiled in my gut was something primal, something that predated civilization and laws and restraint. It was the rage of an alpha whose family was threatened, whose mate and child faced danger. I understood, in that moment, how men could kill without hesitation or remorse.
For them, I would burn the world down without blinking.
I leaned over, brushing my lips against Danny’s forehead in a feather-light kiss. He didn’t stir, exhausted from the pregnancy and the emotional toll of the sonogram appointment. Good. Let him sleep through this. Let him never know how close the danger had come.
“I’ll keep you safe,” I whispered against his skin, a promise I intended to fulfill by any means necessary. “Both of you.”
I slipped from the bed silently, years of SEAL training making my movements fluid and soundless despite my size. The jeans I pulled on were yesterday’s, still draped over the chair where I’d left them. I didn’t bother with a shirt—no time, and the temperature wasn’t my concern right now.
“Positions?” I murmured into my earpiece, voice barely audible as I moved through the darkened house.
“Northwest corner. They’re coming through the tree line now.”
I stepped onto the porch, the pre-dawn air biting at my bare skin. The world held its breath in that strange stillness that comes before sunrise, everything washed in shades of navy and gray. The perfect light for hunting. Or being hunted.
I moved across the yard with calculated steps, positioning myself between the approaching threat and the house where Danny slept. My Glock stayed low at my side, ready, but not threatening. Not yet.
Sterling materialized beside me like a ghost, his presence announced only by the faintest shift in the air. In the dim light, we could have been the same person—same height, same build, same face. But while I stood openly, Sterling remained half-hidden in shadow, the darker version of myself.
“Northeast quadrant,” he murmured, nodding toward the tree line. “Four of them. Primary target is intoxicated, belligerent. Secondary targets armed with blunt instruments.”
We’d always been like this, even as kids. Sterling would provide the intel, I’d make the plan. Minimal words, maximum efficiency. The twin connection that had served us so well in the field now deployed in defense of my home.
