Bare-chested, Ryder’s dark hair is a mess, stormy grey eyes sharp and lethal. Noia is right behind him, face tight with worry as he flips the laptop open. “Checking each feed,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
My phone rings. It’s Dylan. Shifting it to speaker, I drop the phone on the counter next to the laptop.
“I see them.” Dylan’s voice is sharp. “Two males. They got into Sasha’s house through the front door.”
We all crowd around the screen. The night-vision feed from Sasha’s living room is crystal clear. Two men wearing dark hoodies are moving through her space. The big, bulky assholes obviously don’t give a shit about being seen because they aren’t wearing masks.
One kicks her coffee table, flipping it over, sending a book and a few magazines flying across the floor. The second starts violently ripping books off the shelves.
When Sasha sucks in a breath, stiffening beside me, I grasp the back of her neck and give it a gentle squeeze. Heat and anger radiate from her skin. Seeing someone violate her sanctuary makes my blood boil. I want to be there. I want to put my hands on them. Hard.
“Sorry, Sash.” Ryder glances up, expression grim. “It’s important to let them fuck some shit up. We need felonyproperty damage and the intent to terrorize. It gives us a better excuse for taking them down hard. Otherwise, it’s just breaking and entering—a slap on the wrist.”
Sasha nods, flicking her gaze back to the screen just as one of the men sweeps her favorite ceramic vase off a shelf. When it shatters on the floor, she leans into me.
“I get it,” she whispers. Despite the tears shimmering in her eyes, her voice is surprisingly steady. “It sucks, but it’s just stuff.”
Sliding my hand from her neck to the small of her back, I rub it in slow circles, trying to give whatever grounding comfort I can as I grip the edge of the granite countertop with my other. All we can do now is watch in agonizing silence.
Next, one of them sets their sights on the kitchen, throwing drawers open, and breaking glass. Even though the sound is muffled through the laptop, it doesn’t make it any less gut-wrenching.
“Check the perimeter feed,” Dylan commands.
Ryder clicks a tab. The view shifts to the exterior of the house, looking out at the woods.
My breath hitches when I see three shadows slink out from the darkness of the trees across the street, moving with a synchronized grace that only comes from years of high-level military training.
Ryder’s Marine brothers.
They cross the street in a low crouch, splitting up with practiced efficiency as they each take a designated entry point. One heads toward the back; the other two, toward the front door.
“In position,” one of the men says. “Go for breach in five... four... three...”
On screen, the front door explodes inward.
The two thugs inside spin around, but they’re not fast enough. The Marines—lightning-fast and brutal—move likeghosts. The first thug is tackled onto the remains of the coffee table before he can even reach for a weapon. When the second tries to bolt through the kitchen, he’s blocked by a heavy tactical boot connecting with his gut. Folding like a lawn chair, the guy drops to the floor.
“Jesus,” Noia gasps, covering her mouth with her hand.
It’s over in seconds. It’s not much of a fight; it’s a fucking dismantling. The Marines have them face-down on the floor, zip-ties cinching tight before the dust in the air has even settled.
One of the Marines—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a buzz cut—looks directly into the camera in the corner of the living room and grins, giving a sharp, two-finger salute. “Targets secured,” he confirms.
“Cops are three minutes out,” Dylan says. “I’ve already routed the 911 call with the footage.”
Tension snapping, Sasha sags as the adrenaline dump hits. Wrapping my arms around her, I tuck her flush against my side.
“They did it,” she whispers, voice muffled against my shoulder. “They actually caught them.”
“Yeah, they did, sweet cheeks,” I sigh, voice thick.
I glance over at Ryder. He’s staring at the screen with a dark, satisfied smirk on his face.
Catching my eye, he nods, and the message is clear:Nobody fucks with our own.
“I’m going to call the guys,” Ryder says, picking up his phone. “Make sure they’ve got everything under control until the sheriff arrives.”
“I’ve got some more good news for you, Jax.” Dylan’s lighthearted banter is back. “I was able to get a ton of dirt on Triple Six.”
