He is alive.
He has to be.
Love bears all things.
No one ever warned me that love doesn’t just build you—it can level you completely.
I stare out into the rain-soaked dark, wrists bound, heart aching.
This man who claims to know his son’s weakness doesn’t understand him at all.
Trey is unyielding. Anyone who calls Trey’s love a weakness has clearly never witnessed the kind of devastation he’s willing to unleash to protect it.
I realize my faith in the Lord is shaken…but my faith in my chosen is not.
“Take me to him,” I say, calm settling over me like armor.
Johnathon clicks his tongue.
“Let’s get somewhere safe and see if we can get a report first.”
“Even if he’s hurt,” I whisper. “He’s going to be fine.”
He scoffs.
“Calm down…” He scoffs, “Fucking women.”
The SUV slows.
Not gradually—abruptly. Tires crunch over gravel, the engine cutting as the headlights sweep across what looks like nothing at all. Just a sagging house hunched back from the road, windows dark, roofline crooked, forgotten.
That’s what it wants me to believe.
The moment the vehicle stops, the night comes alive.
Men step out of the shadows. Silent, dressed in black from throat to boot, guns raised. Red dots skate over the hood, the doors, the trees. Everywhere. A perimeter snapping into place so fast it steals my breath.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Johnathon is out of the vehicle before I can move, his voice slicing through the rain.
“You all know the drill. Spotters two clicks out. Cycle patrols. All that shit. I need to piss like a racehorse. We move out in thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes.
He rounds the SUV and yanks open my door.
Cold air rushes in, sharp and damp, carrying the scent of wet earth, oil, and danger. His hand clamps around my bound wrists as he hauls me from the backseat.
Klause snarls low and vicious.
Artemis is silent, focused, a weapon waiting to strike.
“Be a good pooch and behave…and don’t think I ain’t seen you,” Johnathon mutters, eyes flicking to them. “Your silence tells me you’re the one to watch.”
His attention lingers on Artemis.
“Fuß,” I whisper, soft and shaking.
