POSSESSIVE BADGE DADDY

Steel Mountain Daddies

Book 3

LIZZIE SPARKS

Copyright © 2026 by Lizzie Sparks

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Editing by Helen with Bright Red Pen Editing

Cover by Yoly Cormar with Cormar Designs

To the readers who like their heroes tall, bearded, protective, and mysteriously capable of chopping enough firewood to survive any plot.

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Steel Mountain Daddies

Deep in the untamed wilderness of Montana’s Steel Mountains, six battle-hardened US Marshals stand as the ultimate protectors—rugged, dominant, ex-military mountain men who live by their own rules and answer to no one but the badge they wear.

When innocent women are thrust into danger, these growly, possessive daddies will do whatever it takes to keep them safe… even if it means locking them away in remote cabins, sharing one bed through howling blizzards, and claiming them body and soul.

Each book is a scorching standalone romance featuring:

Forced proximity in isolated mountain cabins

One bed… and one very dominant daddy

Innocent heroines who discover just how filthy their protectors can be

Heart-pounding suspense and deadly enemies closing in

Rough, dirty-talking, protective alpha heroes who refuse to let their women go

If you crave steamy, emotionally charged romances packed with mountain man intensity, possessive “mine” vibes, and happily-ever-afters earned through danger and desire… welcome to Steel Mountain.

These six fierce daddies are waiting to claim you. Are you ready to surrender to the mountains?

Rough Marshal Daddy

Rogue Enforcer Daddy

Possessive Badge Daddy

Growly Trapper Daddy

Savage Ranger Daddy

Untamed Hunter Daddy

1

Lila

I hunch over my laptop in the dim glow of my apartment living room, the clock on the wall ticking past midnight. The soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen is the only other sound breaking the silence. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I tweak the final details of a corporate branding project for Harrington Enterprises. The designs look clean and professional, exactly what they requested for their latest development campaign. I lean back in my chair and rub my tired eyes, feeling the strain from hours of staring at the screen. A quick stretch of my arms does little to ease the tension building in my shoulders. I open the shared drive one last time to double-check the assets before uploading everything. That's when everything changes.

A folder I've never noticed before sits tucked among the client files, labeled innocuously as "Project Archives." Curious, I click it open, expecting old reference materials or unused concepts. Instead of logos and mood boards, rows of encrypted documents spill across my screen. My heart skips a beat as I scroll through them. Emails between high-level executives. Detailed financial ledgers showing transfers that don't add up. Grainy photographs of men in expensive suits shaking hands in shadowy rooms, some faces I recognize from news headlines. I enlarge one image and my stomach drops. There's the prominent small town developer, smiling beside a judge whose rulings have favored his projects for years.

I scan the first email chain, my breath growing shallow. It details payments routed through offshore accounts, names of officials accepting bribes, and coded references to silenced witnesses who asked too many questions. This isn't some minor accounting error or internal memo gone astray. This is proof of a massive corruption network reaching the highest levels of power, involving politicians, businessmen, and possibly law enforcement. My mind races as I piece together the implications. Harrington Enterprises isn't just building condos. They're buying influence and burying anyone who stands in their way. As a freelance graphic designer I've always prided myself on staying out of the spotlight, creating beautiful visuals that help clients tell their stories while I hide behind my screen. Now that quiet life feels shattered.

My hands shake uncontrollably. I try to close the folder, but another file auto-opens with a soft chime that echoes too loudly in the quiet room. A video clip plays automatically. A man I recognize from the local news, a prominent developer with a polished public image, speaks directly into the camera. His voice is calm and chilling as he discusses eliminating loose ends, mentioning names and dates that match the ledgers. Air constricts in my lungs, making it harder to breathe. I was never supposed to see this. Panic surges through me like ice water. A notification pops up on my screen in bright red. Remote access attempt detected. They know I'm here. They're watching.

I slam the laptop shut and bolt from my chair, nearly knocking it over. The apartment feels too quiet now, every creak of the old building amplified in my ears like a warning. Shadows in the corners seem to shift as I glance around frantically. I grab my phone with trembling fingers and dial 911. My voice cracks as I explain the situation to the operator. She sounds skeptical at first, asking me to slow down and repeat details. But my panicked description of the files, the video, and the remote access attempt seems to shift her tone. She promises to send help immediately and tells me to stay on the line, and to lock myself in if possible. “Ma’am, your call has been transferred to the federal tip line due to the nature of the call.” There’s static and then another woman’s voice comes through the line. “Miss Montgomery? We’ve sent a US Marshal.”

I move toward the bedroom, keeping the phone pressed to my ear. Footsteps echo in the hallway outside my door. Heavy. Deliberate. Not the usual neighbor shuffling home late from a shift. My pulse thunders in my temples. I press my back against the wall, heart hammering so loudly I fear it'll give me away to whoever's out there. The footsteps pause right outside. A shadow blocks the thin strip of light under the door, lingering as if listening. I whisper my address into the phone, barely audible, describing the threat in hushed bursts.

The doorknob rattles. Once. Twice. Then a sharp crack as someone tests the lock with more force. I slide down the wall to the floor, clutching the phone like a lifeline, my free hand covering my mouth to stifle any sound. Minutes stretch into an eternity of terror. “Please hurry,” I whisper into the phone.

I think about my quiet life as a graphic designer, the freelance gigs that barely pay the bills, the late nights spent creating beautiful visuals for clients who never knew the darkness hiding behind their projects. I grew up moving around a lot with parents who chased their own dreams, leaving me to find comfort in sketchbooks and digital canvases. I never asked for any of this.

A loud knock finally sounds at the door, authoritative and different from the earlier threat. "US Marshals. Open up, Miss Montgomery," a deep voice commands from the other side, steady and commanding.

"Miss, you can open the door now," the 911 operator says through the phone.

I crawl to the door on unsteady knees and peer through the peephole. A tall man stands there, broad shoulders filling the frame. His dark jacket bears a badge that catches the hallway light. His sharp jaw is set in a determined line, and intense eyes scan the hallway with practiced vigilance. Something about his presence both terrifies and steadies me in that moment. He looks capable, unyielding, like a force that could push back the danger closing in. I unlock the door with sweaty palms, opening it just enough to let him in.

Once the 911 operator ensures I'm with the marshal, she hangs up and I pocket my phone.

The man steps inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door firmly behind him and engaging the deadbolt. Up close he's even more imposing, well over six feet with a powerful build that speaks of disciplined strength and years of training. His gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that sees through the panic and lands somewhere steadier — assessing not just the threat but me.

"Lila Montgomery?" he asks, voice deep and unhurried, like the mountain itself had learned to speak.

I nod, unable to find my voice at first. "Yes. They saw me. The files on my laptop. I didn't mean to open them. It was an accident."

He scans the room quickly, his movements efficient and alert, then focuses back on me. "I'm US Marshal Kane Beckett. You're now under federal protection. Pack a bag. We leave in two minutes. Don't turn on any lights or make unnecessary noise."

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet there's a protective edge beneath the command that makes my racing heart slow just a fraction. I rush to my bedroom, stuffing clothes, my sketchbook filled with unfinished drawings, toiletries, and the laptop into a duffel bag while he stands guard at the doorway. Every few seconds his eyes flick to me, tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my skin feel warm despite the fear gripping my chest.

As I zip the bag closed, another noise comes from the stairwell, closer this time. Kane's hand moves instinctively to the weapon at his hip. "Time's up," he says, grabbing my arm with firm but careful strength. He pulls me close to his side. His body heat cuts through the chill of panic that's settled in my bones. "Stay behind me. Do exactly as I say. No questions until we're clear."

We slip into the hallway, his broad frame shielding mine as we move toward the emergency stairs. Snow falls outside the windows, thick flakes swirling in the wind like a curtain drawing over Timber Creek. The mountain route he mentions in clipped tones as we descend sounds remote and isolating, far from anything familiar. Part of me wants to protest, to cling to my familiar life in this apartment where I have built a small but safe routine of late nights and creative flow. But the memory of those footsteps outside my door and the shadow under it silences any objection. I grip the strap of my duffel tighter, focusing on the solid presence of the man beside me.

Kane leads me down the stairs with careful steps, his hand never leaving my arm as we emerge into the alley. A black SUV waits there, engine running quietly. He bundles me into the passenger seat with surprising gentleness, his large hands brushing my arm as he buckles me in securely. The touch lingers a fraction longer than necessary, sending sparks through me that have nothing to do with the danger. He climbs behind the wheel, jaw tight, eyes scanning the mirrors for any sign of pursuit.

"Phone," he barks out.

"Huh?"

"Your phone. Give it to me."

I grab my phone from my back pocket and hand it over. He slips it into a pouch and secures it. "You'll get that back once it's safe."

"Okay," I whisper, wondering when that'll be.

"Steel Mountain safe house," he mutters, more to himself than to me as he pulls out into the street. "Blizzard's coming in fast. We'll make it before the roads close completely."

As the small town lights fade behind us and the road begins to climb into the darkening foothills, I steal glances at him. Kane Beckett radiates controlled power, every movement deliberate and commanding. The way his hands grip the steering wheel, the tension in his shoulders, it all speaks of a man who's seen too much and trusts too little. I wonder how long I'll be trapped with this stranger, this mountain of a man whose presence already stirs something deep and unfamiliar inside me. The snow thickens around the vehicle, and so does the tension between us, unspoken but electric and growing with every mile.

The laptop bag rests at my feet like a bomb waiting to explode. Whatever comes next in this nightmare, I know one thing for certain: my life will never be the same, and Marshal Kane Beckett has just become the undeniable center of it all.

2

Kane

The SUV engine rumbles steadily as we push deeper into the foothills. Snow comes down in thick relentless waves, forcing me to slow our pace. Lila sits beside me, her sketchbook still clutched like armor. Her breathing remains uneven after the chaos in her apartment. I keep my eyes on the road but my awareness stays locked on her. Every small shift in her seat, every glance she steals my way, registers.

This isn't just another extraction. From the second I saw her—wide eyed and terrified, yet clutching that laptop like it held the weight of the world—something territorial locked into place inside me. I've guarded plenty of witnesses, but none have stirred the kind of fierce instinct that makes me want to shield her from every shadow with my own body if necessary.

"You're safe with me," I say, my voice rugged over the sound of the wipers fighting the storm. "The Steel Mountain cabin's off grid and defensible. The blizzard will actually work in our favor. It hides our tracks and buys us time before anyone can organize a real search."

Lila exhales shakily and turns toward me a little more. "I still can't believe this is happening. One minute I'm finishing a branding project, the next I'm in a car with a US Marshal heading into the mountains. I have clients waiting on deadlines. An apartment full of half-finished designs and art supplies scattered everywhere. This feels like my life is being erased."

Her words carry a quiet strength mixed with vulnerability. I respect that. Most people in her position would be in full panic mode by now. She questions and pushes back even while fear lingers in her voice. "Your life is not being erased, Lila," I reply, keeping my tone firm but steady. "It's being protected. Harrington Enterprises and the people tied to those files don't play games. They eliminate threats. You became one the moment you opened that folder. I'll get you through this so you can go back to your designs and your life. But right now following my lead keeps you alive."

She nods slowly, tracing the edge of her sketchbook with her fingertips. The nervous habit reveals a creative soul who processes the world through lines and images. I want to know more about that world. The questions feel dangerous because they pull me toward her on a personal level. I've always kept my distance on protection details. Professional boundaries. But something about Lila Montgomery cracks those walls already.

The road climbs steeper and the snow thickens. Wind buffets the SUV and I adjust our speed navigating a curve where drifts start forming on the shoulder. Lila grips the door handle, her knuckles pale. Without thinking, I reach over and rest my hand on her arm for a brief reassuring moment. Her warmth seeps through the fabric. I pull back focusing on the road. "Breathe through it," I tell her. "I've driven these routes in worse conditions. Tell me something about your work. It'll help distract from the storm."

She hesitates, then begins to open up. Her voice grows steadier as she describes her freelance graphic design career. Late nights perfecting logos and branding, the nomadic childhood with parents who chased their own artistic dreams leaving her to create stability in sketchbooks and digital canvases. The loneliness that sometimes creeps in during empty evenings, but the satisfaction of seeing a client light up at a finished project. I listen closely. This woman creates entire worlds on paper while mine has been defined by navigating the darkest parts of reality. The contrast pulls me in.

I share fragments of my own past in return. Clipped sentences about my ex-military days. Deployments where corrupt orders from higher up cost lives. Brothers in arms lost because someone took a bribe or looked the other way. The decision to leave special forces and become a marshal so I could stand directly between innocent people and the kind of evil that destroys from the shadows. With Lila, that instinct burns hotter than it should. But I hold back. Holding her isn't the assignment.

Hours slip by as the conversation ebbs and flows. We hit a stretch where visibility drops to almost nothing and I mutter under my breath while adjusting our route. Lila offers quiet observations about the storm and even suggests watching for hazards from her side. Her willingness to help despite her fear impresses me. I become aware of the faint huckleberry— the soft berry scent of her shampoo that cuts through the leather and snow. I fight the urge to reach for her again.

"You give orders like the world has no choice but to obey," she says. There's a small challenging smile on her lips that surprises me.

"Because in my world it has to," I reply. "Lives depend on it. Yours especially now."

The road narrows further and the trees press closer. We're deep in Steel Mountain territory. The cabin's close.

The headlights finally cut through the whiteout revealing the sturdy outline of the cabin ahead. I park as close to the door as possible and kill the engine. The sudden quiet amplifies the howl of the wind outside. "Stay here until I clear the immediate area," I instruct. My tone leaves no room for argument but I soften it with a quick look in her direction. "Then we go in together. This is home for now, Lila. Whatever comes next, I'll face it right beside you."

Kane

I wake with a start in the wooden chair pulled close to the bed, my neck stiff from the awkward angle where my head tipped back against the rough log wall. The fire has burned down to glowing embers that cast a faint red light across the cabin floor. My back protests as I straighten, the hard slats of the chair digging into my spine through the night. Snow still lashes against the shutters in rhythmic bursts, the wind howling like a living beast trying to claw its way inside. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand and glance over at Lila. She sleeps curled under the heavy blankets and furs on the king sized bed, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, one hand resting near her cheek. Her breathing comes slow and even now, the tension from yesterday eased in sleep.

I watch her sleep. This is just another protection detail, I remind myself. Keep her alive. Get her through the storm. Nothing more. But my eyes linger on the soft lines of her face, the way her lips part slightly with each breath. She’s pretty. Delicate features that contrast with the spark in her eyes when she talks about her work. I’ve never let attraction creep into a job before. Never. This storm and this forced closeness are getting under my skin already. I push up from the chair, boots scraping against the wooden planks as I stretch my arms overhead. Muscles pull tight across my shoulders from the long drive and the hours of vigilance.

The cabin air feels cool against my skin as I move to the stone hearth and add fresh logs from the stack beside it. The wood thuds heavily into place, and I strike a match, watching the flame catch and spread with sharp pops and crackles. Heat builds gradually, pushing back the chill that seeps through the walls. I cross to the small kitchen area, my footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space. Shelves line the wall with canned goods, dried provisions, and basic cookware. I pull out a heavy cast iron skillet, its surface cool and smooth under my palm, and set it on the wood stove. The metal clangs against the grate. From the supplies I find oats, a tin of condensed milk, and some dried fruit. Simple fare, but it’ll fill us and keep energy up.

I work methodically, measuring oats into a pot with water from the filtered jug. The liquid splashes as I pour, and I stir with a wooden spoon. Steam rises in lazy curls as the mixture thickens, bubbling with soft pops. I add a spoonful of the condensed milk, watching it swirl and melt into the oats. The texture turns creamy under the spoon. Dried berries go in next. I taste a small spoonful, the warmth spreading across my tongue with subtle sweetness. It’s not fancy, but it’s hot and sustaining. I portion some into two bowls, the ceramic warm in my hands, and set them on the table with spoons.

Lila stirs at the sounds, blinking awake and pushing herself up on one elbow. The blankets slip down her shoulder, revealing the oversized shirt she wears. She looks around the cabin, eyes adjusting to the firelight, then lands on me. "Morning," she says, voice still thick with sleep. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cool floorboards. She winces slightly at the chill but stands, running fingers through her tangled hair.

"Breakfast is ready," I tell her, keeping my tone steady. "Eat while it's hot. The storm’s still going strong, so we stay put." I gesture to the table, watching as she pads over and sits. Her fingers wrap around the spoon, and she takes a bite, eyes closing briefly at the warmth. I sit across from her, my larger frame making the chair creak under me. The oats taste hearty on my tongue, the berries adding bursts of texture. We eat in relative quiet at first, the only sounds the scrape of spoons against bowls and the endless roar of wind outside battering the shutters.

She glances up between bites. "Thank you for this. I didn't expect you to cook." Her voice carries a note of surprise, and she traces the rim of the bowl with one finger, a habit I notice from her sketching.

"Keeps us going," I reply, shoveling another spoonful. The food settles warm in my stomach, chasing away the last of the night's stiffness. I watch her eat, the way she savors each bite, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. She’s pretty in the morning light filtering through the small gaps in the shutters, soft and real amid this chaos. But I shove the thought down. This is a job. Attraction has no place here. The blizzard traps us together, and it grates on me. I wish I was anywhere else, back on a routine patrol or even at the office handling paperwork. Not stuck in this cabin with her, where every shared space heightens the tension.

We finish the meal, and I clear the bowls, rinsing them in the basin with cold water that numbs my fingers. The liquid sloshes as I scrub, metal utensils clinking. Lila stands and moves to her sketchbook on the table, flipping pages with quiet rustles. I add more wood to the fire, the logs shifting and sending sparks dancing up the chimney. The heat builds against my face as I kneel there, embers glowing bright orange.

My secure satellite phone buzzes on the table. I snatch it up, checking the screen before answering. "Beckett here."

Mason's voice comes through clear on the other end, steady and professional. "Kane, we've got updates. Jax is with me. Harrington Enterprises released a press statement late last night. They're claiming their systems were hacked. Saying sensitive files were accessed by unknown parties and they're cooperating with authorities."

I put the call on speaker so I can move around the cabin. The wind howls louder for a moment, rattling a loose shutter. Lila looks up from her sketchbook, eyes widening as she catches the words.

Jax chimes in, his tone clipped. "It's a clean statement. No specifics on the content, but they're painting themselves as victims. Public relations move to get ahead of any leaks."

Lila lets out a short laugh, the sound sharp in the cabin. She mutters under her breath, "More like they hacked me." Her fingers tighten on the pencil, snapping it against the page with a small crack.

I end the call after a few more details from the team, promising to check in later. I set the phone down and turn to her. The firelight plays across her face, highlighting the frustration there. "They're covering their own asses," I say, voice low and firm. "If you leak what you found, they can scream deep fake or manipulated files. Discredit everything before it spreads. Standard playbook for these types."

She pushes back from the table. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, knuckles pale. "I hate this. My whole life uprooted because I clicked the wrong folder. One stupid accident, and now I'm here in the middle of nowhere with armed men outside and a blizzard trapping us. When can I go home, Kane? Back to my apartment, my deadlines, my normal routine?"

I step closer. "Not until it's safe," I tell her, meeting her gaze directly. My height towers over her, but I keep my posture controlled. "Harrington has reach. The files you saw go high up. We wait for the all clear from my team. This cabin is secure for now, but one slip and they find us."

She paces a few steps toward the window, then back, her bare feet padding softly. The floorboards creak under her lighter weight. "This isn't living. It's hiding. I have clients waiting, projects half done. My sketchbook is all I have left of normal." She picks it up, flipping pages with quick snaps, the paper whispering under her touch.

I watch her move, the way her body shifts with restless energy. "I get it. Your world got flipped. But rushing out there gets you killed. My job is to make sure that doesn't happen."

“Well, I hate it,” she sulks, and I realize now I’m the only one attracted to her. I’m almost happy being stuck in this cabin with her.

She’s obviously not feeling the same.

Noted.

“Hopefully it all gets resolved soon.” It’s the only thing I can think of saying. I don’t have any answers for her. Wish I did, but I don’t.

The morning stretches long. I check the shutters periodically, fingers running over the reinforced wood, feeling for any give. Snow piles visibly against the small gaps, pressing heavy and cold. The wind gusts in waves, each one making the cabin timbers groan and settle with deep wooden protests. Lila settles back at the table with her sketchbook, pencil scratching steadily across the page. I move around the space, securing supplies, testing the door bar with a firm shove. The metal feels solid under my palm.

3

Lila

The wind howls louder as Kane steps out of the SUV into the blinding whiteout. I watch through the frosted window until his tall figure vanishes into the swirling snow. My heart beats fast against my ribs and I press my sketchbook harder into my lap, trying to draw comfort from its familiar weight. Everything feels surreal. Only hours ago I was safe in my apartment finishing a routine project. Now I sit in a stranger's vehicle deep in the mountains with danger on my heels and a man whose commanding presence already fills every corner of my thoughts. I trace the edges of the sketchbook with trembling fingers, the way I always do when the world spins too fast.

Kane returns sooner than I expect. He opens my door and the cold rushes in like a living thing. His large hand reaches for mine with firm, steady strength. "Perimeter looks clear for now. We move quickly. Stay right beside me."

I nod and let him pull me out into the storm. The snow immediately stings my face and the wind tries to knock me sideways, but Kane's right there, wrapping one powerful arm around my waist to anchor me against his side. We push through the deep drifts together toward the cabin door. He unlocks it with practiced efficiency and guides me inside first before securing the heavy wooden door behind us. The sudden quiet inside feels almost deafening after the roar of the blizzard.

The cabin's exactly as he described. One solid room with a large stone fireplace taking up most of one wall. A single king-sized bed sits in the far corner piled high with thick blankets and furs. A small kitchen area lines the opposite side with stocked shelves and basic supplies. A wooden table and two chairs fill the center space. No other rooms. No other beds. The reality of our forced proximity sinks in deep.

Kane immediately goes to work. He checks every window and reinforces the shutters. His broad shoulders flex under his jacket. I stand near the table still clutching my bag, watching him. His commanding presence both terrifies and intrigues me.

"Get settled, Lila," he says, turning to me. "I'll start the fire. We need heat before the temperature drops any further. Stay away from the windows for now."

I set my bag down and move to one of the chairs, pulling out my sketchbook. The pencil feels familiar in my hand as I begin to draw. Simple lines first. The stone fireplace. The heavy beams overhead. Anything to steady my racing thoughts. Kane works at the hearth and soon flames crackle to life. He adds more wood then joins me at the table, sitting across from me. His gaze stays focused on me with that intensity that makes my skin warm.

"You draw when the fear hits," he observes. His voice is measured, carrying a roughness that comes from years of hard country and harder decisions. "Tell me about it. Helps pass the time and I want to know the woman I'm protecting."

I hesitate at first, then the words start to flow. I tell how I learned early to find peace in sketchbooks because real homes never lasted. The freelance graphic design work that finally gave me independence. Late nights perfecting branding projects and book covers. The quiet satisfaction of seeing a client light up when something I created brings their vision to life. The loneliness that sometimes creeps in during empty evenings, but the freedom that comes with building my own small world.

He listens without interrupting. His sharp jaw relaxes slightly and he begins sharing pieces of his own story. His ex-military background comes through in clipped, honest sentences. Deployments in harsh places where corrupt orders from above cost lives. Friends lost because someone higher up chose money over loyalty. The decision to leave special forces and join the marshals so he could protect people directly instead of following broken chains of command. His voice stays controlled but I hear the scars beneath every word. This man carries heavy burdens on those massive shoulders. It makes his dominant, commanding nature feel less like control and more like armor forged from real pain.

The conversation stretches as the blizzard rages harder outside. Wind rattles the shutters and snow piles visibly against the windows. Kane checks them periodically, his movements alert and precise. Each time he returns his eyes find mine and the tension between us crackles like the fire. I've never felt so seen by someone I barely know. He asks thoughtful questions about my art and I show him a few pages from my sketchbook. He studies them with genuine interest, commenting on the emotion I capture in simple lines. His approval feels warm and unexpected in the middle of this nightmare.

We prepare a simple meal together from the cabin supplies. Working side by side in the small kitchen our arms brush occasionally. Kane notices but says nothing, though his gaze lingers. The forced closeness heightens everything. The low timbre of his voice when he reassures me that the storm will keep us hidden for now.

Night deepens and we settle near the fire. The talk turns more personal and he reveals how the losses in his past fuel his determined protectiveness. I share how my lonely routines left me unprepared for someone like him stepping in and taking charge so completely.

"You give orders like you expect obedience without question," I say softly, meeting his eyes.

"Because obedience keeps people alive," he replies, his voice deep and steady. "I've seen what happens when it doesn't. You're under my protection now, Lila. I won't lose you to the same kind of evil that took others."

His words wrap around me like the warmth from the fire. Fear still simmers beneath the surface. Yet sitting here with Kane, the terror mixes with a growing intrigue. The single bed in the corner looms larger as exhaustion sets in.

Kane nods. "Take the bed, Lila. I'll keep watch for a while."

I crawl under the heavy blankets, my mind still racing. The cabin feels smaller with every passing hour. The storm seals us in completely and the tension between us grows thicker. Marshal Kane Beckett has upended my world in one night. His commanding dedication both scares and draws me in. I wonder how long we'll be trapped here and how much more of myself I'll reveal to this man before the blizzard breaks. For now I close my eyes, listening to the wind and the quiet sounds of him moving around the cabin. Sleep comes slowly, but when it does, his presence makes the darkness feel a little less frightening.

4

Kane

I wake with a start in the wooden chair pulled close to the bed, my neck stiff from the awkward angle where my head tipped back against the rough log wall. The fire has burned down to glowing embers that cast a faint red light across the cabin floor. My back protests as I straighten, the hard slats of the chair digging into my spine through the night. Snow still lashes against the shutters in rhythmic bursts, the wind howling like a living beast trying to claw its way inside. I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand and glance over at Lila. She sleeps curled under the heavy blankets and furs on the king sized bed, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, one hand resting near her cheek. Her breathing comes slow and even now, the tension from yesterday eased in sleep.

I watch her sleep. This is just another protection detail, I remind myself. Keep her alive. Get her through the storm. Nothing more. But my eyes linger on the soft lines of her face, the way her lips part slightly with each breath. She’s pretty. Delicate features that contrast with the spark in her eyes when she talks about her work. I’ve never let attraction creep into a job before. Never. This storm and this forced closeness are getting under my skin already. I push up from the chair, boots scraping against the wooden planks as I stretch my arms overhead. Muscles pull tight across my shoulders from the long drive and the hours of vigilance.

The cabin air feels cool against my skin as I move to the stone hearth and add fresh logs from the stack beside it. The wood thuds heavily into place, and I strike a match, watching the flame catch and spread with sharp pops and crackles. Heat builds gradually, pushing back the chill that seeps through the walls. I cross to the small kitchen area, my footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space. Shelves line the wall with canned goods, dried provisions, and basic cookware. I pull out a heavy cast iron skillet, its surface cool and smooth under my palm, and set it on the wood stove. The metal clangs against the grate. From the supplies I find oats, a tin of condensed milk, and some dried fruit. Simple fare, but it’ll fill us and keep energy up.

I work methodically, measuring oats into a pot with water from the filtered jug. The liquid splashes as I pour, and I stir with a wooden spoon. Steam rises in lazy curls as the mixture thickens, bubbling with soft pops. I add a spoonful of the condensed milk, watching it swirl and melt into the oats. The texture turns creamy under the spoon. Dried berries go in next. I taste a small spoonful, the warmth spreading across my tongue with subtle sweetness. It’s not fancy, but it’s hot and sustaining. I portion some into two bowls, the ceramic warm in my hands, and set them on the table with spoons.

Lila stirs at the sounds, blinking awake and pushing herself up on one elbow. The blankets slip down her shoulder, revealing the oversized shirt she wears. She looks around the cabin, eyes adjusting to the firelight, then lands on me. "Morning," she says, voice still thick with sleep. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cool floorboards. She winces slightly at the chill but stands, running fingers through her tangled hair.

"Breakfast is ready," I tell her, keeping my tone steady. "Eat while it's hot. The storm’s still going strong, so we stay put." I gesture to the table, watching as she pads over and sits. Her fingers wrap around the spoon, and she takes a bite, eyes closing briefly at the warmth. I sit across from her, my larger frame making the chair creak under me. The oats taste hearty on my tongue, the berries adding bursts of texture. We eat in relative quiet at first, the only sounds the scrape of spoons against bowls and the endless roar of wind outside battering the shutters.

She glances up between bites. "Thank you for this. I didn't expect you to cook." Her voice carries a note of surprise, and she traces the rim of the bowl with one finger, a habit I notice from her sketching.

"Keeps us going," I reply, shoveling another spoonful. The food settles warm in my stomach, chasing away the last of the night's stiffness. I watch her eat, the way she savors each bite, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. She’s pretty in the morning light filtering through the small gaps in the shutters, soft and real amid this chaos. But I shove the thought down. This is a job. Attraction has no place here. The blizzard traps us together, and it grates on me. I wish I was anywhere else, back on a routine patrol or even at the office handling paperwork. Not stuck in this cabin with her, where every shared space heightens the tension.

We finish the meal, and I clear the bowls, rinsing them in the basin with cold water that numbs my fingers. The liquid sloshes as I scrub, metal utensils clinking. Lila stands and moves to her sketchbook on the table, flipping pages with quiet rustles. I add more wood to the fire, the logs shifting and sending sparks dancing up the chimney. The heat builds against my face as I kneel there, embers glowing bright orange.

My secure satellite phone buzzes on the table. I snatch it up, checking the screen before answering. "Beckett here."

Mason's voice comes through clear on the other end, steady and professional. "Kane, we've got updates. Jax is with me. Harrington Enterprises released a press statement late last night. They're claiming their systems were hacked. Saying sensitive files were accessed by unknown parties and they're cooperating with authorities."

I put the call on speaker so I can move around the cabin. The wind howls louder for a moment, rattling a loose shutter. Lila looks up from her sketchbook, eyes widening as she catches the words.

Jax chimes in, his tone clipped. "It's a clean statement. No specifics on the content, but they're painting themselves as victims. Public relations move to get ahead of any leaks."

Lila lets out a short laugh, the sound sharp in the cabin. She mutters under her breath, "More like they hacked me." Her fingers tighten on the pencil, snapping it against the page with a small crack.

I end the call after a few more details from the team, promising to check in later. I set the phone down and turn to her. The firelight plays across her face, highlighting the frustration there. "They're covering their own asses," I say, voice low and firm. "If you leak what you found, they can scream deep fake or manipulated files. Discredit everything before it spreads. Standard playbook for these types."

She pushes back from the table. Her hands clench into fists at her sides, knuckles pale. "I hate this. My whole life uprooted because I clicked the wrong folder. One stupid accident, and now I'm here in the middle of nowhere with armed men outside and a blizzard trapping us. When can I go home, Kane? Back to my apartment, my deadlines, my normal routine?"

I step closer. "Not until it's safe," I tell her, meeting her gaze directly. My height towers over her, but I keep my posture controlled. "Harrington has reach. The files you saw go high up. We wait for the all clear from my team. This cabin is secure for now, but one slip and they find us."

She paces a few steps toward the window, then back, her bare feet padding softly. The floorboards creak under her lighter weight. "This isn't living. It's hiding. I have clients waiting, projects half done. My sketchbook is all I have left of normal." She picks it up, flipping pages with quick snaps, the paper whispering under her touch.

I watch her move, the way her body shifts with restless energy. "I get it. Your world got flipped. But rushing out there gets you killed. My job is to make sure that doesn't happen."

“Well, I hate it,” she sulks, and I realize now I’m the only one attracted to her. I’m almost happy being stuck in this cabin with her.

She’s obviously not feeling the same.

Noted.

“Hopefully it all gets resolved soon.” It’s the only thing I can think of saying. I don’t have any answers for her. Wish I did, but I don’t.

The morning stretches long. I check the shutters periodically, fingers running over the reinforced wood, feeling for any give. Snow piles visibly against the small gaps, pressing heavy and cold. The wind gusts in waves, each one making the cabin timbers groan and settle with deep wooden protests. Lila settles back at the table with her sketchbook, pencil scratching steadily across the page. I move around the space, securing supplies, testing the door bar with a firm shove. The metal feels solid under my palm.

5

Lila

Exhaustion tugs at every muscle as the fire settles into glowing coals inside the wide stone hearth. I perch on the edge of the massive bed, the heavy quilts already folded back, and track Kane while he completes another deliberate sweep of the cabin. He presses each shuttered window with a solid shove, his corded muscles rolling beneath the worn flannel shirt that stretches across his back. Outside, the blizzard hammers the log walls with furious gusts, but inside only the soft pop of dying embers and the measured thud of his boots cut through the quiet.

I swallow against the dryness in my throat and force the words out. “Kane, there’s only one bed.”

He halts beside the rough-hewn table and swings those piercing eyes toward me. “I know.”

My fingers knot into the edge of the quilt. “Where will you sleep?”

He tips his chin at the faded couch pushed against the far wall. “There.”

I study the couch. It might hold an average man. “You’ll never fit on that.”

A subtle twitch lifts one corner of his mouth, the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

The image of this possessive mountain of a man sprawled across the cold wooden planks twists something uneasy in my stomach. I sweep my eyes around the single-room cabin again, catching the deep pools of shadow gathering in every corner while the wind claws at the windows like restless hands trying to break inside. My heartbeat spikes. I shift on the mattress and lock eyes with him.

“Sleep with me on the bed.” The request comes out softer than I planned, almost swallowed by the crackling fire.

Kane’s whole body locks in place. “Absolutely not.”

Warmth floods my face, but the deep fatigue from the endless drive and the raw terror of the evening presses me to continue. “What if someone grabs me in the middle of the night?”

“I’ll hear them long before they reach the door.” His deep voice carries absolute certainty, the kind carved from years of facing real threats. He folds his arms, the flannel pulling snug over biceps that look strong enough to snap branches.

I catch my lower lip between my teeth and wrap my arms around my middle. Tiredness sinks heavier into my bones, making my shoulders sag. “What if you’re too far away?”

He watches me in silence for several long breaths, his jaw set hard, those intense eyes scanning my face as if he can read every flicker of leftover fear. The raw possessive weight in his stare sends a slow, unexpected warmth sliding down my spine, separate from the chill seeping through the cabin walls. At last he releases a controlled breath through his nose and gives one reluctant nod.

“Fine. I stay on the bed. But only because you need real rest and I need you steady.”

Relief eases the tight band around my ribs. I reach for the spare pillow at the head of the bed and set it firmly down the center, forming a clear divide between our sides. “There. We won’t be touching.”

Kane observes me arrange the pillow with the same sharp focus he gives every task. He offers no reply, yet the solid force of his presence expands to fill the small space as he circles to the far side. I slip beneath the layered covers on my half, the cool sheets brushing my legs. He lowers himself on top of the blankets on his side, still fully dressed, and tucks one thick arm beneath his head. The mattress dips noticeably under his weight, tugging me a fraction toward the middle until I plant my heels and hold position.

I stretch out on my back and fix my gaze on the heavy wooden beams overhead. His body heat drifts across the pillow barrier in steady waves, comforting and real. The faint scent of pine, woodsmoke, and warm male skin reaches me, blending with the last traces of the fire. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute. For the first time since that folder opened on my laptop, the frantic drum of my heart eases into a calmer rhythm.

He remains motionless next to me, a living shield against the night. I tilt my head just enough to glimpse the strong angle of his jaw and the steady rise of his chest in the dim firelight. A sense of safety settles over me like one of the thick furs piled at the foot of the bed. I let my eyes drift shut and surrender to the pull of exhaustion, trusting that Kane Beckett lies close enough to guard every shadow that might creep near.

Tomorrow the storm could keep howling and the danger outside might sharpen its teeth. Tonight his quiet, unyielding strength beside me feels like enough. I slip toward sleep with the pillow wall between us and the undeniable comfort of his nearness slowly chasing the last chills from my bones.

6

Kane

Morning light fights its way through the slats in the shutters and paints thin stripes across the cabin floor. I wake before the sun truly rises, the way I always do, body tuned to threat and routine. Lila still sleeps on her side of the bed, the pillow barrier undisturbed between us. Her dark lashes rest against her cheeks and her breathing stays slow and even under the heavy quilts. I lie there a moment longer than I should, watching, fighting the urge to reach across that divide and pull her closer. She looks too soft and too innocent in my bed. The fierce need to shield her from every danger claws at my gut. I force myself up instead, feet quiet on the planks as I stoke the fire back to life.

She stirs a short while later. I keep my back turned while she slips from the covers and pads across the room. When I glance over, she already sits at the wooden table with her sketchbook open. The pencil moves across the page in quick, sure strokes. She captures the heavy beams overhead, the stone hearth, and the way the morning light slants through the shutters. Her brow furrows in concentration and a small strand of hair falls across her forehead. She brushes it away without looking up.

I grab the block of soft pine I keep stored in the supply chest along with my folding knife. The rocking chair in the corner creaks as I settle into it. The familiar rhythm of the chair soothes the restless energy in my muscles. I turn the wood over in my hands, feeling the grain, then start to carve. Shavings curl away from the blade and drop to the floor in pale spirals. The work keeps my hands busy and my mind focused while I stay alert to every sound outside. The blizzard still howls but its fury has lessened overnight.

Lila glances up from her sketchbook. Her eyes follow the movement of my knife. I keep whittling, shaping the rough outline of a small figure. Ears first, then the curve of a back and a tail that flicks upward. The cat takes shape under my fingers. I add whiskers with careful flicks of the blade and smooth the rounded head until it looks almost alive.

I hold the finished piece up and turn it in the light. “Here.”

She sets her pencil down and accepts the carving. A genuine smile spreads across her face, lighting her eyes and softening every feature. She traces one finger along the cat’s back, exploring the details. Warmth spreads through my chest at the sight of that smile directed at something I made.

“It’s adorable,” she says, voice still husky from sleep.

Pride swells for a brief second. Then she tilts her head and adds, “I’m more of a dog person though.”

I roll my eyes and lean back in the rocker. “Figures.”

She laughs softly, a sound that cuts through the cabin and lands somewhere deep in my ribs. I shake my head and return to the wood, carving a few more practice strokes to hide the way her laugh affects me. This woman already slips past every defense I own. I carve another small shape while she returns to her sketchbook, but the air between us feels charged now.

Hunger eventually drives us both toward the kitchen area. I stand and stretch the stiffness from my shoulders. “We should eat. Need to keep your strength up.”

Lila closes her sketchbook and joins me at the counter. The space is tight, built for one man, not two. Our arms brush as we gather supplies from the stocked shelves. She reaches for the cast iron skillet while I pull down a slab of bacon and a few eggs. The faint scent of huckleberry from her skin mixes with the woodsmoke and makes it hard to concentrate. I focus on the task instead.

We work side by side. I show her how to stoke the small stove properly so it throws even heat. She listens closely and follows my lead, cracking eggs into a bowl with steady hands. Flour dusts her fingers when she mixes up simple biscuits from the dry stores. I fry the bacon until it crisps, then scramble the eggs in the rendered fat. The smells fill the cabin and make my stomach growl. Lila’s stomach rumbles too. She gives me a sheepish grin that pulls another reluctant smile from me.

We plate the food and carry it to the table. The storm retreats for now. That buys us time, but it also means trouble could move again soon. I push the thought aside and focus on the woman across from me.

Lila takes a bite of biscuit and closes her eyes in appreciation. “This tastes better than anything I’ve eaten in weeks.”

“Mountain air and real hunger improve everything,” I reply. I watch her eat with a quiet satisfaction. Every bite she takes feels like another small victory in keeping her safe and whole.

After we finish, I clear the plates while she wipes down the table. The simple routine settles something primal inside me. I want more mornings like this with her. The thought shocks me, but I don’t push it away. Instead I store it deep where it belongs.

“Time for a few lessons,” I say once the kitchen sits clean. “If we lose power or need to move fast, you should know basic skills.”

She nods, curiosity bright in her eyes. We move to the cleared table. I pull out a length of sturdy rope from the supply chest and sit across from her. She watches me closely as I demonstrate a basic square knot. My fingers work the rope with practiced ease, showing the over and under motion. The lines of concentration on my face feel heavy under her steady gaze.

“Like this,” I say, repeating the knot slowly.

Lila leans forward. Her attention stays fixed on my hands at first, then drifts up to my face. I catch her studying the angle of my jaw and the set of my brow while I concentrate. Heat stirs low in my belly. I keep my expression neutral and hand her the rope.

She tries the knot. Her fingers fumble at first but she persists. I reach over and adjust her grip, my large hand covering hers for a moment. Her skin feels soft and warm against my calluses. She succeeds on the next attempt and flashes me another smile.

I teach her a bowline next, explaining how it creates a secure loop that will not slip. Then a clove hitch for tying down gear or securing shelters. Each knot comes with a story from the field or a deployment where the skill mattered. She listens with genuine interest, head tilted and pencil occasionally scratching notes in the margin of her sketchbook.

The afternoon light shifts through the cabin as we work. The storm continues to weaken outside. Occasional gusts still rattle the shutters, but the worst has passed. I demonstrate a taut line hitch and watch her replicate it. Her tongue peeks out in concentration and a lock of hair falls forward again. I resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

“You pick this up faster than most recruits I trained,” I tell her. Pride laces my words despite my effort to keep them even.

She looks up, eyes sparkling. “Maybe I have a hidden talent for survival.”

I grunt in response, but the corner of my mouth twitches. This woman continues to surprise me. Her creativity and resilience cut through the hardened layers I built over years. The possessive instinct I felt from the moment I saw her in that apartment grows stronger with every hour trapped here.

We continue the lesson. I show her how to build a basic snare with the rope and a few sticks from the kindling pile. She watches my hands move, then tries it herself. Our shoulders brush when she leans in for a better view. Her sweet scent surrounds me again. I breathe through it and focus on the task, but my awareness stays locked on her. Every small shift of her body, every quiet exhale registers.

Later I demonstrate proper fire building techniques using the driest tinder and precise placement of logs. She participates fully, arranging kindling under my guidance. The fire catches and throws fresh warmth into the room. Lila sits back on her heels and studies my face once more while I explain how to bank the coals for long burning. I feel the weight of her gaze on the strong lines of my profile, the stubble along my jaw, the scar that cuts through one eyebrow.

“You concentrate so completely,” she says softly.

I meet her eyes. The air thickens between us. “Focus keeps people alive.”

She nods, but the look she gives me holds new layers. Curiosity. Interest. Something warmer that makes my blood run hotter. The snow falls lighter now. The mountains stand clearer in the distance. Relief and tension war inside me. Less storm means safer travel eventually, but it also means her enemies can move more freely.

We return to small tasks after that. She sketches more of the cabin while I repair a loose hinge on one of the storage chests. The quiet companionship feels natural. Too natural. I steal glances at her bent head and the way her fingers fly across the page. The cat carving sits on the table near her sketchbook. She picks it up occasionally and turns it over in her hands, a small smile playing on her lips despite her earlier comment about dogs.

Evening approaches. I prepare a simple stew from canned goods and dried herbs while she sets the table. We eat together as the light fades. Conversation flows easier now. She tells me more about her freelance work and the way she builds entire visual worlds for clients. I share fragments of past operations, careful to keep the darkest details locked away. Her eyes stay on me the whole time, studying the planes of my face when I speak.

After dinner I insist she rest. She returns to the bed with her sketchbook while I take up watch in the rocking chair. The knife returns to my hand and I start another small carving. This time I shape a rough dog, broad head and sturdy legs, just to tease her. Shavings fall steadily.

I glance over at her. She watches me again, eyes tracing the movement of my hands and the set of my shoulders. The possessive fire in my chest burns hotter. Lila Montgomery belongs under my protection now. I’ll teach her everything she needs to survive. I’ll keep her safe. Whatever it takes. And every day we spend locked together in this cabin pulls me closer to the line I swore I’d never cross.

For now I rock slowly and carve, content to stand guard while she creates beauty on the page. The night deepens around us, but I remain vigilant. Her safety matters more than the growing need to close the distance and claim her as mine.

7

Lila

I sit cross-legged on the bed with my sketchbook balanced on my knees, but I'm not drawing the cabin tonight. I'm drawing for work. Or trying to. My pencil moves across the page in rough thumbnail shapes—the ghost of a book cover concept I'd been developing for a client before everything fell apart. A fantasy novel. The brief called for something atmospheric. Misty forest, a figure emerging from shadow. I'd had three solid concepts sketched out on my desk at home, none of them finished. Now I work from memory, trying to reconstruct what I'd started, pulling the ideas out of the chaos my brain has become.

It helps. Somewhere under the fear and the adrenaline I'm still a designer. These lines belong to me in a way the last few days haven't.

I watch Kane across the room while my pencil moves. He rocks slowly in the chair near the hearth, knife working a piece of pine. The fire casts warm golden light across his face and highlights the strong lines of his features. His jaw stays set in firm concentration, and thin shavings drift to the floor like pale snowflakes. I study him the way I study everything I might eventually draw—the angle of his shoulders, the way the flannel pulls across his chest with each breath, the scar cutting through one eyebrow. A face that has lived in hard weather and harder choices.

I look back down at my page before he catches me staring.

Kane finishes the carving and holds it up to inspect it in the firelight. A small dog takes shape in his hands, broad-headed and sturdy. He turns it over once and nods to himself, satisfied. He sets it on the small table beside the chair and glances my way.

"Not bad for a cat person trying to make a dog," I say with a teasing lilt.

He grunts. One corner of his mouth twitches. He pushes up from the rocker and crosses the room, the old floorboards quiet under his boots. The mattress dips as he sits on the edge near the pillow barrier. His eyes drop to the sketchbook in my lap and the thumbnail grids filling the page.

"What is that?" His voice carries genuine curiosity.

"Work." I turn the book slightly so he can see without having to lean. "Book cover. I had the concept half-built when all of this happened. I'm trying to reconstruct it from memory before I lose it completely."

He studies the page without speaking. I watch his eyes move across the thumbnails — the figure emerging from the shadow in the first one, the layered fog effect I was attempting in the second, the bolder typographic approach in the third. His expression is unreadable at first, then something shifts in it. Actual interest.

"You design for books," he says. It isn't quite a question.

"Among other things. Branding, logos, campaigns." I tap the edge of the sketchbook. "But covers are my favorite. You get to build a whole world in one image. The right cover tells you the tone before you read a single word."

"Which one's the right one?" He nods at the thumbnails.

I consider. "The second. The fog approach. It's more work to execute but it's truer to what the book actually is." I flip a page and show him an earlier detail study—the way light breaks through mist in layers, a technique I'd been practicing. "I'd normally do this digitally, but this is as close as I can get right now."

He takes the sketchbook from my hands carefully, the way people handle things they recognize as mattering to someone. He tilts it toward the firelight and looks at the detail study for a long moment. "You can see how it'll look finished? From this?"

"Mostly. The rest I have to feel out as I go." I watch his face. There's no polite performance there, no the-hostess-has-shown-me-her-hobby reaction. He's actually looking at it. "Does that make sense?"

"Like field prep," he says. "You map as much as you can. The rest you adapt in the moment."

I hadn't thought of it that way, but it fits. "Exactly like that."

He returns the sketchbook. His fingers brush mine in the handoff and neither of us moves for half a second longer than necessary. I look back down at the page.

"You'll get back to it," he says. "The real version. This isn't permanent."

The words are simple and certain. Coming from Kane, who doesn't offer empty comfort, they land differently than they would from anyone else. I nod and set the pencil down, letting myself believe him.

We tidy the space together as evening deepens. I fold the blankets while Kane banks the fire for the night. He checks every shutter and tests the door one final time. The storm outside has quieted to occasional flurries that tap softly against the windows. The mountains stand clearer in the distance when I peek through a narrow gap. Relief mixes with a strange reluctance in my thoughts. Part of me wants the blizzard to keep us isolated longer.

"Time to rest," Kane says. His deep voice fills the room with quiet authority.

I nod and slip into the bathroom to change into soft sleep clothes. When I return he already sits on his side of the bed on top of the covers. I crawl under the quilts on my half and arrange the pillow barrier with careful precision. Something shifts inside me as I settle. Nervous energy I didn't feel last night bubbles up. My pulse quickens for no clear reason. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling beams. Kane stretches out beside me, one arm behind his head, fully clothed as before. The mattress dips under his weight and I feel the solid warmth of him even across the pillow divide.

I turn my head slightly and study his profile in the low firelight. The nerves flutter stronger. Why does my stomach flip now? He protected me from the moment he stepped into my apartment. He kept watch while I slept. He carved a silly dog just to make me smile. He looked at my work sketches like they were worth understanding. Yet lying here beside him feels different tonight. More intimate. More real. I shift under the covers and try to settle my thoughts.

The cabin holds perfect quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the distant whisper of wind. I draw in a slow breath and gather courage.

"Kane?"

He turns his head toward me. "Yeah?"

I hesitate, then push the question out. "Do you sleep in bed with all the witnesses you protect?"

He stays silent for a long moment. The firelight dances across his face. "No," he says. "This is definitely a first."

I exhale slowly. The tension in my shoulders eases. The answer makes me feel better in a way I can't fully explain. Warmth spreads through me and I sink deeper into the pillows. Kane doesn't treat every person in his care this way. The knowledge settles something quiet and hopeful inside my chest. I close my eyes and let the exhaustion from the long day pull me under. His steady breathing anchors me. Safety wraps around me like the thick quilts and the mountain man who lies close enough to guard every shadow.

8

Kane

Somewhere in the night the chair had become impossible. I don't remember moving to the bed, only that at some point the exhaustion of three days of vigilance had overridden the professional voice in my head, and now I lie beside her on top of the covers, the pillow barrier undisturbed between us. What pulls me from sleep isn't a sound from outside. It's something from inside my own skull.

A scream rips from my throat and jerks me upright.

Sweat chills my skin. My heart slams against my ribs like it wants to break free. The nightmare still clings to me with sharp claws. Explosions flash behind my eyes and the acrid smell of smoke fills my nose even though the cabin air carries only woodsmoke and the faint berry scent of her shampoo. I blink hard and scan the dark room. The fire has burned low. Shadows dance across the walls.

Lila bolts upright on her side of the bed. Her eyes look wide and frightened in the faint glow of the embers. She clutches the quilt to her chest with both hands. Guilt crashes over me immediately. I woke her. This woman already carries enough fear because of the corruption she uncovered and the enemies hunting her. Now I add to it with ghosts from my own past. I haven't had a nightmare in years. The fact that one struck tonight unsettles me more than I want to admit.

I reach for her without thinking. My arms wrap around her smaller frame and pull her close. I hold her tight, one hand splayed across her back and the other cradling the back of her head. I tell myself I do this to calm her down. Deep down I know the truth. I need the anchor of her warmth just as much. Her heartbeat flutters against my chest. The soft strands of her hair brush my chin. I breathe her in and let the solid reality of her push the last fragments of the dream away.

Minutes stretch while I hold her. Neither of us speaks. I stroke slow circles on her back through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt. Her breathing gradually evens out but she stays pressed to me. The pillow barrier lies forgotten somewhere on the floor. I don't care. Right now only the feel of Lila safe in my arms matters. I'll shield her from every threat, including the ones that live inside my own head.

She shifts slightly and tilts her face up toward mine. "Are you okay?" Her voice comes out soft and concerned in the quiet cabin.

I swallow hard and nod. "I'm fine." The words scrape out rougher than I intend.

Lila rests her cheek against my chest again. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt. "Do you have nightmares often?"

I exhale slowly and tighten my hold on her. "I haven't had one in years." The admission costs me. I keep my tone even but memories press at the edges of my mind. Tonight something cracked the walls I built. Maybe the constant proximity to Lila stirs up old vulnerabilities. Maybe the responsibility I feel for her safety digs deeper than any assignment before. I push the thoughts down. She doesn't need to carry my burdens.

She stays quiet for a moment. I feel her breath warm against my collarbone. "What was it about?"

I tense. The war. Flames and shouts and the weight of decisions that still haunt me. I keep the details locked away. "The war," I say simply. I don't expand. I refuse to paint those pictures in her head and frighten her more. She already faces enough darkness. My job is to keep her safe from it.

Lila nods against me. She doesn't press for more. Gratitude fills my chest at her understanding. I rub my hand up and down her arm and feel the goosebumps on her skin. "Go back to sleep," I murmur. "I'll keep watch."

She hesitates, then speaks again in a whisper. "Will you keep holding me until I fall asleep?"

The request hits me square in the sternum. I agree without pause. "Yeah. I will."

I shift us both down onto the mattress and pull her fully into me. My arms wrap around her completely. One leg drapes over hers. Her head tucks perfectly under my chin. I tuck the quilts around us and create a warm cocoon. Her body molds to mine, soft curves against the hard planes of my chest and thighs. Heat builds between us but I keep my touch respectful. This moment is about comfort. About trust.

My hand rests on her hip. The feeling runs deeper than it should for a protection detail. I want her safe. I want her here. The rest of what I want, I push it down. She trusts me. That trust matters more than what my blood is doing right now.

I lie awake long after her breathing deepens into the steady rhythm of sleep. My mind refuses to quiet. Why tonight? The question circles. I've faced down armed fugitives and protected witnesses in far worse conditions without the nightmares returning. Something about Lila cracks my armor. Her quiet strength. The way she works on her designs even while danger hunts her. The way she showed me her client sketches tonight like she was handing me something real. The trust she places in me when she asks me to hold her. It all pulls at parts of me I thought long buried.

I trace light patterns on her back with my fingertips. She doesn't stir. Trust like this is rare. I vow silently to earn it every single day.

The war dream flickers again at the edges of my thoughts. I shove it back. Those memories stay locked. Lila doesn't need them. She needs my strength. My focus. My complete dedication to her safety. I breathe deep and match my inhales to hers. The rhythm calms me.

Hours pass. The sky outside lightens slowly. I remain awake and hold her through it all. My body stays alert to every sound but my mind drifts between protectiveness and deeper feelings I have no business naming yet. This woman crashed into my life through a 911 call and upended everything.

Lila murmurs something unintelligible in her sleep. I press a light kiss to the top of her head before I catch myself. The gesture feels natural. Right. I tighten my arms around her and let the warmth of her body chase away the final chill from the nightmare. Dawn creeps closer. I lie there and guard her sleep while my own thoughts whirl. The reasons for the bad dream don't matter as much as the woman in my arms.

I close my eyes for a moment and simply feel. Her steady heartbeat. The soft weight of her against me. The quiet strength she offers without even realizing it. This changes everything. I know it in my bones.

When she wakes I'll make breakfast. We'll continue the survival lessons and I'll steal every glance she gives me. For now I hold her close and let the cabin wrap us in its sturdy protection.

9

Lila

I sit curled on the couch with my sketchbook open on my lap and watch Kane move around the kitchen area. It’s morning and he stands at the counter cracking eggs into a bowl with efficient movements. His sleeves roll up to reveal strong forearms, and I watch the way the muscles shift as he works. Last night still lingers in my mind. The sudden scream that tore me from sleep scared me at first. Now worry sits heavier in my chest. This big strong man who commands every space he enters carries violent dreams at night. I want to learn more about the shadows he keeps locked away. I want to understand the parts of him that haunt his sleep.

The worry mixes with a growing warmth. Kane protects me without hesitation yet he fights battles alone in his dreams. I soften even more toward him. The past version of me would have buried herself in work to avoid these feelings. Here in the quiet cabin I let myself feel them.

I turn my attention to the sketchbook page in front of me. Hands again. They always beat me. I've been working on studies of Kane's hands since I woke up, pulling from memory because I couldn't exactly ask him to hold still while I stared. Large capable hands that whittle animals from pine and tie secure knots and held me steady through the night. I struggle with hands in every drawing. The fingers never look quite right. The proportions fight me. I erase a line and rework the curve of a thumb. I add shading to show the calluses I felt when he adjusted my grip during the knot lessons, and the way the veins stand out across the back. I tear out the page and start fresh. The new sheet fills quickly. One hand holds a wooden spoon. Another grips the edge of a counter. I lose myself in the details but something still isn't landing. The weight of the hands feels off. The knuckles sit wrong.

Kane glances over his shoulder. "What are you focusing on so hard?" His deep voice carries curiosity and a hint of amusement.

I look up at the back of his hands where they rest against the counter and make a decision.

I stand from the couch and carry the sketchbook toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee and frying bacon fills the air and makes my stomach rumble. Kane turns fully to face me when I reach the counter. I open the book to the hand studies and hold it out to him.

"I've been trying to draw your hands from memory," I say. "They're not right. I can never get hands right and yours especially, they're too specific. The proportions are off and I can't figure out where."

He wipes his hands on a towel and takes the book. His eyes scan the pages. Something in his expression shifts, moving past the polite interest I might have expected into something more careful. He looks at the studies the way he looks at everything, like there's information there worth extracting. "These are close," he says. He points to the second study. "The knuckles sit too high here."

"That's what I thought." I step closer to look where he's pointing. "Can I see them? The real ones. I need the reference."

He sets the sketchbook on the counter and holds both hands out in front of him, palms up, like it's the most natural thing in the world. I take his right hand in both of mine. His skin feels warm and rough with calluses. The size of it dwarfs my fingers. His breath hitches the moment we make contact. I notice the small catch in his chest. My own heart beats harder, though I tell myself I'm just studying the form.

I trace one finger along the lines on his palm and study the thick knuckles and the strong tendons that shift under his skin. I press gently where the knuckle sits to feel the structure beneath. Heat travels up my arm from the point of contact.

I turn his hand slowly and examine the back of it. The veins create patterns I want to memorize. Kane stays perfectly still but I feel the tension in his muscles. His breath stays controlled yet deeper than before. I lose track of time. Every detail matters. The way his fingers flex slightly when I press on a callus. The faint scar that crosses one knuckle. I run my thumb across it without thinking.

"What happened here?" I ask, not looking up.

"Bar fight. Long time ago. Before the marshals."

I glance up at that. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. I look back down at his hand. "These held me last night," I say quietly. I don't plan to say it. It comes out on its own.

"Yeah," he says. Just that.

When I finally release his right hand and reach for the left one his fingers give a tiny twitch. The small movement sends a spark through me. I glance up at him. Our eyes lock. The kitchen fades around us. Only the space between us remains. Kane stares down at me with an intensity that makes my pulse thunder. The air grows thick and charged. I notice the way he licks his lips, the quick dart of his tongue, and my gaze drops to his mouth before I can stop it. Heat pools low in my belly.

Neither of us speaks. The moment stretches. I still hold his left hand in both of mine. His thumb brushes once across my knuckles, almost unconsciously. The gentle touch sends electricity racing across my skin. The sketchbook sits forgotten on the counter. All the careful study I came over here for has dissolved into something else entirely.

Kane clears his throat and steps back. The distance feels sudden and cold. "Breakfast is ready," he says. His voice comes out rougher than usual.

I release his hand slowly and miss the contact immediately. He turns toward the stove and plates the eggs and bacon with quick movements. I pick up my sketchbook and return to the table. My cheeks still feel warm. I flip to the hand studies and look at them with fresh eyes. I know exactly what to fix now. The knuckles. The weight. The specific architecture of scars and calluses that make his hands his.

I pick up my pencil and start again, this time getting it right.

10

Kane

Afternoon sunlight breaks through the last scattered clouds and lights up the fresh snow covering the mountain. The storm finally passed. I stand at the window and scan the tree line before I turn to Lila. She sits at the table with her sketchbook but she looks up when I approach.

“The storm stopped,” I say. “I want to show you the property. You need to know the layout in case anything happens.”

Lila closes her sketchbook and stands. She pulls on her boots and coat with quick movements. I grab my jacket and check the weapon at my hip out of habit. We step outside together. The cold air hits us fresh and clean. Snow crunches under our boots as we walk away from the cabin. I stay close to her side. My shoulder brushes hers occasionally. The simple contact feels good after the tension of the past days.

I lead her toward the shed first. The sturdy structure sits fifty yards from the main cabin. I push open the heavy door and gesture inside. “Extra fuel, tools, and emergency supplies stay in here. Generator runs on propane. I keep it topped off.”

Lila steps in beside me. Her eyes move over the organized shelves. She asks about the fuel rotation and how long the generator lasts. I answer each question and watch her absorb the information. Her curiosity pleases me. Most people in protection would stay passive. Lila engages. She wants to understand her environment. We walk the perimeter next. I point out the markers I placed years ago.

“Property line runs along these rocks and the old fence posts,” I explain. I show her how I check for tracks in the snow. Fresh prints could mean animals or something worse. I demonstrate how I scan for broken branches or disturbed ground. Lila listens closely and asks sharp questions about what signs of human passage look like. I like walking with her. Her presence beside me in the open air feels right. The mountains stretch around us and the air carries the scent of pine and clean snow.

I point out natural defensive positions as we move. A cluster of boulders that offers cover. A narrow trail that funnels movement. Lila stays right with me. Her cheeks flush pink from the cold and her eyes brighten with interest. Every time she asks a question I feel that possessive pull strengthen. This woman learns fast. She belongs here with me on this mountain. I keep the thought buried but it sits warm in my chest.

We complete the full loop and return toward the cabin. Snow clings to her boots and the hem of her coat. I brush a clump from her shoulder without thinking. She smiles up at me. The look hits me harder than it should. I clear my throat and focus on the next steps.

“Supplies are running low,” I say as we reach the porch. “We should do a supply run. Timber Creek sits at the base of the range. Small town. Quiet. We go in together.”

Lila agrees without hesitation. We head inside and pack what we need. I grab my go bag and add extra ammunition. She gathers a small list of items from the kitchen and her sketchbook. I watch her move around the cabin. The easy domestic rhythm between us continues to build. We load everything into the black truck parked in the lean-to beside the shed. I clear snow from the windshield and check the tires.

Lila climbs into the passenger seat. I slide behind the wheel and start the engine. The truck rumbles to life. We pull out onto the narrow mountain road. Snow still covers the ground but the main path remains passable. I keep my speed steady and my eyes on the mirrors. The drive down the mountain takes time. Tall pines line the route and the terrain drops gradually toward the valley. Lila watches the scenery through her window. She points out a hawk circling overhead and asks about the local wildlife. I answer and enjoy the sound of her voice filling the cab.

Timber Creek comes into view after nearly an hour. The small town nestles at the base of Steel Mountain with a single main street lined by practical buildings. A general store, a diner, and a few other shops make up the center. I park the truck near the store entrance but keep it pointed toward the exit. Habit.

“Stay close when we go inside,” I tell Lila. I meet her eyes and hold the gaze. “Keep me in sight at all times. We get what we need and leave.”

She nods. I see understanding in her expression. We walk into the store together. I stay within arm’s reach. The bell above the door jingles. A few locals browse the aisles but the place feels calm. I grab a cart and we move through the sections. Lila picks out fresh produce while I load up on canned goods and dry staples. Our hands brush when we reach for the same bag of rice. The contact sends heat through me. I remember the way she studied my hands yesterday. The memory lingers.

She asks quiet questions about what lasts longest in storage. I explain and watch her select items with care. We work efficiently as a team. The cashier greets us with a nod. I pay in cash and keep my body positioned to shield Lila from the open doorway. She stays right beside me. Her shoulder presses lightly against my arm while we wait. The closeness feels guarded and personal at the same time.

We carry the bags to the truck. I load them into the back and scan the street. No unusual vehicles. No one paying us extra attention. Still I stay alert. Lila climbs back into the cab. I join her and start the engine. We pull away from the curb and head back toward the mountain road.

The drive up feels different with supplies secured and the town behind us. Lila relaxes into her seat. She talks about a new sketch idea inspired by the mountain views. I listen and offer comments when she pauses. The connection between us grows with every shared mile. I like having her here. I like protecting her. The possessiveness I feel runs deeper than duty now. Keeping her safe isn’t just a job anymore.

We reach the cabin as daylight begins to fade. I back the truck close to the door and we unload together. Snow crunches under our boots again. The routine feels good. Domestic. Right. I carry the heavier loads while she manages the lighter bags. Once everything sits inside I secure the truck and do a quick perimeter sweep. Lila waits on the porch and watches me work.

Back inside we put supplies away side by side. The kitchen fills with the simple satisfaction of preparation. I catch her eye across the counter. She smiles. That smile hits me every time. The afternoon outside showed me more of her strength and curiosity. The supply run reminded me how well we move together. I want more days like this. More nights holding her when shadows creep in.

The cabin feels warmer with her in it. The mountains stand guard around us. For now the threats stay distant. I focus on the woman beside me and the growing bond that strengthens with every step we take together.

11

Lila

Morning light fills the cabin while I sit at the table with a fresh cup of coffee. Kane stands near the window. He fills the frame and his movements stay alert even in these quiet moments. I watch him over the rim of my mug. The supply run yesterday and the walk around the property still linger in my thoughts. We move together so naturally now.

His phone rings suddenly. Kane pulls it from his pocket and answers with a clipped greeting. I stay seated but every sense tunes to his side of the conversation. He paces slowly near the hearth. His voice stays low and professional.

“Yes. Status on the Harrington network?” he asks.

I grip my mug tighter and listen. The other marshals update him on the case. They work to secure the threat. Evidence mounts and arrests could come soon. Relief tries to surface but Kane’s next words tighten my chest.

“She might be able to go home soon,” he says.

Home. The word hits me hard. My apartment with its scattered art supplies and half finished projects feels like another lifetime. I set the mug down before I drop it. Kane continues the call. The county commissioner appears on the video I found. The authorities want to make a deal but the man refuses to cooperate. He and his associates stick to the story that someone hacked their systems. They deny everything.

Kane’s expression turns to stone as he listens. He asks sharp questions about security details and timelines. I stand and move to the kitchen area. My hands need something to do. I wipe the already clean counter and try to steady my breathing. Going home should feel good. Instead fear coils in my stomach. If I return to my old life someone will still want me dead. The people on that tape hold real power. They bury threats. I know too much.

Kane ends the call and sets the phone down. He turns toward me. His expression stays controlled but I see the tension in his shoulders. I cross my arms and lean against the counter.

“They think I can go home soon,” I say. My voice comes out quieter than I intend.

He nods once. “They’re making progress.”

I shake my head. The fear rises sharper now. “If I go back they’ll come for me. The commissioner refuses to talk. They’ll tie up loose ends. I become the loose end.”

Kane crosses the room in a few strides. He stops in front of me but doesn’t touch me yet. His presence fills the space and pushes some of the panic back. I look up into his face. The strong lines I sketched so many times feel like safety now. Still the worry gnaws at me. I spent years building a quiet independent life behind my screen. Now that life could end because I opened the wrong folder.

The day passes in a quieter rhythm after the call. We go through more training exercises. Kane shows me additional perimeter checks and reviews the knots I learned. I participate but my mind stays half on the phone conversation. He notices. He adjusts our pace and keeps explanations patient. His steady presence helps but the fear lingers.

Evening arrives and we prepare a simple meal with supplies from town. We eat at the table while the fire crackles. Conversation flows but stays lighter. I ask about his favorite spots on the mountain. He tells me about a ridge with clear views of the valley. I share stories from client projects that went comically wrong. Small smiles break through the tension.

We clean up together. Our arms brush in the small kitchen space. Each touch reminds me how close we’ve grown. The heated moment from yesterday when I held his hands still simmers under my skin. I want more of that connection. I need it tonight when fear tries to take hold.

Night deepens. We prepare for bed. I change into my sleep clothes and slide under the covers. The pillow barrier sits in place but it feels symbolic now. Kane settles on his side fully clothed as always. I turn toward him. The worry from the phone call presses on me. I need his strength. I need to feel grounded.

“Kane,” I whisper.

He shifts closer. His eyes meet mine in the low firelight. The air between us changes. Heat builds slowly. I reach across the small divide and rest my hand on his chest. His heartbeat thuds strong and steady under my palm. He covers my hand with his larger one. The contact sends warmth racing through me.

He leans in. I meet him halfway. Our lips touch in a kiss that starts gentle but deepens fast. His mouth moves against mine with controlled hunger. One of his hands slides to my waist and pulls me closer. I thread my fingers into his hair and hold on. The kiss grows heated. Years of careful distance melt away in the quiet cabin. I taste toothpaste and mountain air on his tongue. His body radiates strength and heat. I press against him and pour my fear and longing into the connection.

Kane groans softly against my mouth. The sound vibrates through me. His hand tightens on my waist. We break apart for air but stay close. Foreheads rest together. Our breaths mingle. The kiss leaves my lips tingling and my heart racing. I trace my fingers along his jaw. The stubble feels rough and real.

He kisses me again. Slower this time. Deeper. I melt into him. The fear about going home fades for these precious minutes. Only Kane exists. His strong arms. His possessive touch. His mouth claiming mine with a passion that matches the intensity I see in him every day.

We eventually ease back against the pillows. He keeps one arm around me. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. The kiss changed something between us. It confirmed the pull I felt growing since the first night. I still fear the future but Kane’s arms make me believe I can face it.

12

Kane

Morning light creeps through the shutters and pulls me awake. I lie still for a moment and become aware of the woman beside me. Lila sleeps curled against my side with her head on my chest. Her soft breathing brushes my skin in warm puffs. The memory of last night’s kiss floods back immediately. Her mouth eager and warm under mine. Her fingers threading through my hair and tugging with just the right pressure. The way she pressed her body to mine like she needed me as much as I needed her. My cock throbs hard and insistent under the blankets. I stay completely erect for her. The ache runs deep and urgent. I want more. I want to roll her beneath me right now and explore every inch of her soft curves with my hands and mouth. I want to taste the skin at her throat and hear her moan my name while I claim her completely.

I know better though. She remains a client under my protection. Crossing that line fully could compromise everything. I force myself out of the bed before I do something I can’t take back. The floor feels cool under my bare feet. I grab clean clothes and head straight for the bathroom. I close the door behind me and turn the shower on hot. Steam quickly fills the small space and fogs the mirror. I strip off my clothes. My cock juts heavy and aching against my stomach.

I step under the spray. The hot water pounds against my shoulders and back like punishing fists. I close my eyes and let the heat soak into my muscles. My hand wraps around my thick cock without hesitation. I stroke slowly at first. Firm strokes from base to tip. The soap makes everything slick and smooth. Heat builds fast in my groin. I picture Lila on her knees in front of me. Those talented artist hands wrapped around my shaft while she looks up at me with wide trusting eyes and parted lips. I pump harder. My grip tightens. Water cascades down my chest and mixes with the precum leaking steadily from the swollen head.

I brace one hand on the tile wall and let the fantasy take over completely. Lila beneath me in our bed. Her legs spread wide and trembling. My thick cock sliding deep inside her tight wet heat inch by inch. I picture the way she’d gasp and clutch my shoulders. The needy sounds she’d make when I thrust into her harder. Deeper. I stroke faster. My balls draw up tight. The pressure coils at the base of my spine like a live wire. I growl her name under my breath as I chase release. “Lila.”

I imagine her moaning mine in return. Her nails digging into my back while I pound into her. Her pussy clenching around me as she comes hard. The fantasy pushes me over the edge. The orgasm hits me like a freight train. I come with a low guttural groan. Thick ropes of cum splash against the tile and wash down the drain in hot pulses. My cock jerks and pulses in my fist. I keep stroking through the powerful aftershocks until the last drop spills. My knees feel weak. The release takes the edge off but it does nothing to satisfy the deeper hunger. I still want her. All of her. Body and soul.

I rinse off thoroughly and stand under the hot spray for one minute longer. Steam swirls thick around me. The water beats against my skin and helps clear my head. I shut the water off and towel dry with rough strokes. My body feels looser but my mind stays fixed on Lila. I dress in fresh clothes and step out of the bathroom. The faint scent of her still lingers on my skin.

I move to the kitchen and start breakfast. Eggs crack easily under my hands. Bacon sizzles in the pan and fills the cabin with savory smoke. The routine helps ground me. I pull out my phone and dial Mason first. I add Jax to the call and set it on speaker. I step out onto the porch for privacy after the food is cooked. Cold mountain air hits my face and clears the last of the steam from my thoughts.

“Mason. Jax. Got a minute?” I ask.

Both men answer with familiar voices. They know the tone I use when something serious weighs on me.

“What’s going on?” Mason asks.

I lean against the porch rail and watch the tree line. “What do you do when you start falling for a client?” The question comes out raw.

Silence stretches for a beat. Then Mason chuckles low. “Been there brother. I fought it hard at first with Riley. Told myself it was just the intensity of the protection detail. But she turned my whole world upside down and I never looked back. You protect her harder once you admit it.”

Jax jumps in with a knowing tone. “Same here. I crossed every line I swore I’d keep when I fell for Ava. Best decision I ever made. If she feels it too, don’t fight the pull. Keep her safe first. The rest falls into place.”

Their advice lands but it doesn’t really help. I already protect Lila with everything I have. The pull grows stronger every day. Last night’s kiss only made it worse. I thank them and end the call. I stand on the porch a while longer. The mountains rise steady and solid around the cabin. I want Lila here with me. Not just for protection. For good.

I head back inside. The smell of breakfast fills the cabin. Lila stirs at the table with her plated food. My eyes meet hers. The memory of her mouth on mine flares hot between us. I want more. I know better. For now I focus on keeping her safe and fed. The rest will have to wait.

But it won’t wait forever.

13

Lila

I wake to the rich scent of coffee and something savory sizzling on the stove. My body still hums from last night, from the way Kane pulled me close and claimed my mouth like he owned every breath I took. I never thought a mountain man would wreck me so completely. His rough hands, that hard body built for survival, the intense way he looks at me. Nothing like the quiet artists or boring guys I dated before. Those relationships felt safe and predictable. Kane feels dangerous in the best way. Maybe that’s the whole point.

I slip out of the big bed, my bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor. The heavy quilts slide off my shoulders as I pad toward the bathroom first, and then to the small kitchen area. A plate waits on the table. Scrambled eggs, thick slices of bacon, and buttered toast. Steam rises from a mug of coffee beside it. He made this for me. The simple gesture sends warmth blooming through my chest.

I glance toward the door. Kane stands outside on the covered porch, his broad back to me as he speaks low into his satellite phone. Snow swirls around him, but he remains steady, one hand braced against the railing. His tactical jacket stretches across those powerful shoulders. I watch the way he moves, controlled and alert even in the middle of his conversation. Heat pools low in my belly. I’m still turned on from that kiss, from the memory of his mouth on mine and the way my toes curled hard.

The door opens. Cold air rushes in with Kane as he steps inside and shakes snow from his dark hair. I smile up at him, my pulse quickening. "Hi."

He stops. Those granite eyes lock onto me and hold. No words. Just that intense stare that pins me in place. My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. Nervous energy sparks through my veins. Does he regret the kiss? Did the call bring bad news? Or did I do something wrong in the heat of the moment last night?

I set the fork down. "Kane, what's wrong?"

He crosses the room in three powerful strides. Before I can stand, his large hands grip my waist. He lifts me clean off the chair like I weigh nothing. My breath catches as he drags me toward the bed. My back hits the mattress a second later. Kane comes down over me, his body caging mine in solid heat.

His mouth crashes onto mine. This kiss burns hotter than the last one. Possessive. Hungry. His beard scrapes my skin in the most delicious way while his tongue demands entry. I open for him and moan into his mouth. Sparks shoot straight down to my core. My toes curl tight against the blankets again. I clutch his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex under my fingers.

He pulls back just enough to growl against my lips. "Been thinking about this since I tasted you last night." His hand slides under my shirt, rough palm gliding over my bare skin. "You taste like mine, Lila."

14

Kane

I crush my mouth to hers again, unable to stop myself. The kiss from moments ago still burns through me, and now I take it deeper. My tongue slides against hers, tasting every soft sound she makes. Lila arches under me, her body small and warm against my larger frame. I brace one hand beside her head on the mattress while the other grips her hip, holding her exactly where I want her. My cock presses hard against the front of my pants, aching with a need I’ve never felt this sharp before. I can’t hide it. I don’t want to hide it anymore.

She moans into my mouth, and the sound shoots straight down my spine. I rock my hips once, letting her feel how much I want her. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt. I break the kiss just long enough to drag my lips along her jaw to the sensitive spot below her ear. “You feel that?” I rumble low against her skin. “That’s what you do to me, Lila. I’ve been fighting it since the second I saw you.”

Her breath hitches. I feel it against my neck. I slide my hand under the hem of her shirt, palm flat against the smooth skin of her stomach. She trembles but doesn’t pull away. Good. I push the fabric higher, exposing more of her. My fingers trace the curve of her waist, then higher until I cup one breast through her bra. The soft weight fills my hand. I squeeze gently, then firmer when she pushes into my touch.

I sit back on my heels and strip my own shirt off in one motion. Her eyes widen as they roam over my chest and the scars that mark it. I let her look. Then I reach for her shirt and pull it up and over her head. She lifts her arms to help. The sight of her in just her bra and jeans makes my mouth water. I lean down and press open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, down the center of her chest. My heart pounds rapidly in my chest. My beard rasps lightly against her skin. She gasps when I hook one finger under the cup of her bra and tug it down. Her nipple tightens in the cool air. I close my mouth over it and suck.

“Oh,” she whispers, voice shaky and sweet. Her hands come up to my hair, holding me there. Fuck, she tastes so damn good. I swirl my tongue around the peak, then bite down just enough to make her squirm. I move to the other side and give it the same attention. Her hips shift restlessly beneath me. I can feel the heat of her even through our clothes.

I kiss my way lower, across the soft plane of her stomach. I tug her sweatpants down her legs along with her panties in one slow pull. She helps by lifting her hips. When I have her bare, I sit back and look. My breath hitches. Every inch of her is perfect. Soft curves, smooth skin flushed pink from my mouth and hands. My cock throbs harder at the sight of the dark curls between her thighs and the slickness already glistening there.

I stand long enough to shove my own pants and briefs off. My erection springs free, heavy and flushed dark. Lila’s eyes drop to it and stay there. Her lips part. I see the mix of nerves and hunger in her expression. I crawl back over her, settling between her spread thighs. My weight presses her deeper into the mattress. I brace on my forearms so I don’t crush her.

I kiss her again, slower this time, letting her feel every stroke of my tongue. One hand trails down her side, over her hip, then between us. I cup her mound first, just holding the heat of her. She makes a small sound against my lips. I slide one finger lower, through the slickness. She’s soaked. I groan into her mouth. “So wet for me already. You want this as bad as I do.”

My finger finds her entrance and circles it. I push in just the tip. Tight. So fucking tight. I work it deeper slowly, feeling her walls flutter around me. She gasps and her thighs try to close. I nudge them wider with my knee. “Easy, baby. Let me in.”

I pump my finger in and out, shallow at first, then deeper. My thumb finds her clit and rubs small circles. Her hips start to move with me. I add a second finger, stretching her carefully. She’s so snug around me. The realization hits like a punch to the gut.

I still my hand and lift my head to look at her. “Lila. Look at me.”

Her eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure. I keep my fingers inside her but hold still. “Is this your first time?”

Color floods her cheeks. She nods, biting her lower lip. “Yes. I… I never…”

Protectiveness surges through me, stronger than the lust. I kiss her forehead, then her mouth, gentle now. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll take care of you. We go at your pace. You tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop. Understand?”

She nods again. “I trust you, Kane.”

Those words settle deep in my chest. I kiss her again, pouring everything I feel into it. Then I start moving my fingers once more, slower, twisting them to find the spot inside that makes her breath catch. I work her open carefully, adding more slickness with every stroke. My thumb keeps circling her clit. Her body relaxes around me little by little. Wet sounds fill the space between us as I fuck her with my fingers.

When she starts rocking her hips to meet every thrust, I pull my fingers free. She whimpers at the loss. I bring them to my mouth and lick them clean while she watches. The taste of her makes my cock jerk against her thigh. So fucking good.

I shift lower on the bed, settling between her thighs. I hook her legs over my shoulders and spread her open with my thumbs. She’s pink and glistening and perfect. I lean in and drag my tongue through her folds in one long lick. Lila cries out, back arching off the mattress. I do it again, slower, savoring the way she tastes on my tongue. I seal my mouth over her clit and suck. Her hands fly to my hair. I slide two fingers back inside her while I work her with my mouth. In and out. Suck and lick. I feel her thighs start to shake.

“Kane,” she gasps. “Oh God, Kane…”

I hum against her, the vibration making her moan louder. I curl my fingers inside her and find that spot again. She comes with a broken cry, walls pulsing hard around my fingers. I keep licking her through it, gentler now, until the tremors ease. Only then do I pull back and kiss the inside of her thigh.

I crawl up her body again. My cock drags along her inner thigh, leaving a wet trail. I notch the head against her entrance and hold there. “Look at me, Lila.”

Her eyes meet mine. They’re wide and trusting. I push forward just an inch. The head slips inside. She’s so tight it steals my breath. I stop immediately. “Breathe for me. You’re doing so good.”

She exhales shakily. I kiss her, slow and deep, letting her adjust. Then I push another inch. Her body resists at first, then yields. I feel every flutter and clench around me. I go slow, rocking in tiny increments, praising her the whole way.

“That’s it. Take me just like that. You feel incredible. So tight and perfect around my cock.” Another inch. “Good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

Halfway in, I pause again. Sweat beads on my forehead. The effort of holding back is almost painful. Her inner walls grip me like a fist. I reach between us and rub her clit in slow circles. “Relax for me. Let your body open up. I won’t hurt you.”

She nods, eyes glassy. I feel her soften around me. I push deeper. Another inch. Then another. Finally I bottom out, hips flush against hers. I stay still, buried to the hilt, and kiss her everywhere I can reach. Her forehead. Her eyelids. Her mouth. “You did it. You took all of me. Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

I start to move. Shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before sliding back in. The drag of her walls along my length is almost too much. I grit my teeth and keep the pace slow. Lila’s hands roam my back, nails scratching lightly. Her legs wrap around my waist. I angle my hips and hit that spot inside her on every stroke. Her moans grow louder.

I pick up the pace a little. Not fast. Deep and steady. “You like that? My cock filling you up?” I growl against her ear. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So full,” she breathes. “So good. Kane… please…”

I give her what she asks for. My thrusts grow longer, harder, but I stay in control. One hand braces beside her head. The other grips her hip, holding her in place. The bed creaks under us. Skin slaps against skin. Her wetness coats my cock and makes every slide smooth. I watch her face. Every flutter of her lashes, every parted gasp. I kiss her again, swallowing her moans.

When I feel her start to tighten again, I reach between us and rub her clit faster. “Come for me again. Let me feel you squeeze my cock while you come.”

She does. Her whole body goes taut. Her walls clamp down hard around me in rhythmic pulses. The sensation rips a groan from my throat. I fuck her through it, pace still controlled but deeper. “That’s my good girl. Coming so pretty on my cock. You’re perfect.”

I’m close. The pressure builds at the base of my spine. I slow down just enough to draw it out. I want to feel every second. I kiss her neck, suck a mark there that she’ll see later. Mine. The thought sends another surge of heat through me.

“Lila,” I rasp. “I’m going to come inside you. Tell me you want it.”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Please, Kane. I want it.”

That’s all it takes. I bury myself deep and let go. Pleasure crashes through me in hot waves. I pulse inside her, filling her. My hips jerk with every spurt. I keep moving through it, shallow and slow, until the last tremor fades.

I stay inside her for a long moment, both of us breathing hard. I kiss her softly, over and over. Then I carefully pull out. She winces a little. I notice the faint trace of pink on my cock. I grab a clean towel from the stack near the bed and gently clean between her legs. She watches me with soft eyes.

I lie down beside her and pull her into my arms. Her head rests on my chest. I stroke her hair, her back, anywhere I can reach. “You okay?” I ask quietly.

She nods against me. “More than okay. That was… I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

I smile into her hair. “It gets better. We’ve got time.” I tilt her chin up so I can see her face. “You were amazing. So brave. So responsive. I loved every sound you made.”

She blushes but smiles. I kiss her again, slower this time. My hand keeps moving over her skin in long, soothing strokes.

My cock twitches again already, half-hard against her thigh. I ignore it for now. She needs rest. But the need for her hasn’t faded. It’s only grown deeper. I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Sleep if you want. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

She settles against me with a contented sigh. Her breathing evens out. I stay awake a while longer, listening to the wind and the soft sounds she makes in her sleep. My hand rests possessively on her hip. Breakfast is ruined, but I don’t give a fuck.

After a while I ease out of bed without waking her. I add more wood to the fire and check the shutters one last time. Everything is secure. I clean up the kitchen, salvaging what’s left of the breakfast as I can. I return to the bed and slide in behind her, pulling her back against my chest. My arm drapes over her waist. I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in. The cabin feels smaller with her in it. Smaller and warmer and right.

My mind drifts to the threat outside these walls. The corruption she uncovered. The people who want her silenced. My teeth clench so hard they ache. They won’t touch her. Not while I still draw breath. I’ll keep her here as long as it takes. And every night I’ll remind her body who she belongs to now.

Lila shifts in her sleep and presses back against me. My cock responds instantly, hardening again. I grit my teeth and will it down. Later. She needs time to recover. I content myself with running my palm slowly up and down her side, feeling every curve. She’s soft where I’m hard. Light where I’ve lived in shadow. She makes me want things I thought I’d buried years ago.

I close my eyes and let the steady rhythm of her breathing pull me under. For the first time in a long time, I sleep without the usual tension coiled in my muscles. She’s here. She’s safe. And she’s mine.

When I wake again the fire has burned low. Gray light filters through the shutters. Silence has settled outside, the kind that comes after a storm has emptied itself out. Lila’s still tucked against me, one leg thrown over mine. I shift carefully and she stirs. Her eyes open, soft and sleepy. A small smile curves her mouth when she sees me.

“Morning,” she whispers.

I answer by rolling her onto her back and kissing her slow and deep. My hand slides between her thighs. She’s already wet again. I groan against her mouth. “Good morning to you too.”

I take my time this time. More foreplay. More praise. I make her come on my fingers and my tongue before I slide inside her again. She’s still tight, still a little sore, so I go slow. I talk her through every inch. “That’s it. Open up for me. You’re doing so good. Look how well you take my cock.”

We move together in the pale morning light. Her legs wrap around me. Her hands explore my back and shoulders. I watch every expression cross her face. When she comes this time it’s quieter, softer, but just as powerful. I follow her over the edge with a low groan, spilling deep inside her once more.

Afterward I hold her close and stroke her hair. “You’re incredible,” I tell her. “Every time.”

She traces one of the scars on my chest with her fingertip. “You make me feel safe. Even when everything else is falling apart.”

I catch her hand and kiss her fingers. “That’s my job. And my privilege.” I pull the blankets higher around us.

I know the real world will intrude soon enough. Phone calls. Updates from the team. Plans to move her to a more permanent safe house once the weather breaks. But right here, right now, she’s in my arms and I’ve claimed every inch of her. The possessive heat in my chest has only grown stronger.

I kiss the top of her head again. “Rest a little longer. I’ll make us something to eat. Then we can talk about what comes next.”

She nods and settles back against the pillows. I watch her for another moment, memorizing the way the firelight plays across her skin. Then I force myself out of bed and pull on my pants. My body already misses the feel of hers.

As I move around the small kitchen area, I keep glancing back at the bed. At her. The need has not eased. If anything, having her has made it worse. I want her again already. I want to keep her here indefinitely. I want to hear every sound she makes when I’m buried inside her. I want to watch her come apart under my hands and mouth until she forgets every fear she ever carried.

I crack eggs into a bowl and whisk them with more force than necessary. The whisk clinks against the sides. Outside the wind howls louder. I keep working, but my mind stays on the woman in my bed. The woman I have sworn to protect. The woman who has somehow slipped past every wall I built.

When a new breakfast is ready I carry the plates to the table. Lila sits up in bed, sheet pulled up over her breasts. Her hair is messy from my hands. Her lips are still swollen from my kisses. She looks thoroughly claimed.

I set the food down and return to the bed. I cup her face in both hands and kiss her once more, slow and thorough. “Eat,” I tell her. “You’re going to need your strength.”

15

Lila

After breakfast we move to the couch. The morning light falls across his face and I think about how different this feels from everything I've known, the quiet evenings alone, the freelance work that kept me just busy enough to pretend I wasn't lonely. Kane shifts closer, his fingers brushing my jaw, and I stop thinking about any of that entirely.

The sharp, electronic trill of Kane's phone cuts through the quiet cabin like a blade. Kane stills. He pauses mid-kiss, hoping the phone will stop ringing. I know I'm hoping for that. The phone rings once more, and he leaves the couch to cross the room to answer it.

"Beckett."

I can't hear the other side clearly, but the voice on the line sounds male and clipped. Mason. I remember the name from something Kane mentioned yesterday. Another marshal. The one who helped set up this safe house.

Kane listens. His free hand grips the edge of the counter so hard the tendons stand out. I see the shift in him. The protective warmth from moments ago hardens into something colder. Sharper. His lips press together into a thin line. A muscle ticks there. He stands and starts to pace the small space between the bed and the table.

"What the fuck do you mean they're dragging her name through the mud?" His voice comes out rough. Dangerous. I've never heard that tone from him before. It sends a chill down my spine even though I know it isn't aimed at me.

I sit up straighter. My heart beats faster. Something's wrong. Very wrong.

Kane stops pacing. His free hand curls into a fist at his side. "She's the victim here. She stumbled on their corruption. She's the one they tried to kill. How the hell are they spinning this as her being behind some hack?"

The words hit me like ice water. My stomach drops. Acid churns low in my gut. They're saying I'm behind the hack? The files I found? The video? My mind races. Harrington Enterprises. The developers. The bribes. They're turning it around on me. Painting me as the criminal. My heart feels like it might crack through my sternum.

Kane's voice rises a fraction. Still controlled, but I hear the fury underneath. "No arrest warrant yet? Mason, you listen to me. You keep that shit from happening. She's under my protection. I don't care what story they're feeding the press. She didn't do anything wrong. You and I both know that. Hell, everyone knows it."

I can't breathe right. My chest feels tight. This cannot be happening. I'm the one who saw too much. I'm the one who called 911 and ran. Now they want me arrested? For what? Exposing them? My hands start to shake. I press them flat against the couch to stop it. Images flash through my head. Handcuffs. A cell. My sketchbook taken away. My clients dropping me. My quiet life as a graphic designer erased because powerful men decided I was the threat instead of them.

Kane glances back at me. His eyes are dark with anger and something fiercer. He covers the phone for a second. "Breathe, Lila. I've got this."

But I can't. The spiral pulls me under fast. What if they come for me? What if Mason can't stop it? What if Kane has to hand me over? I picture myself in an orange jumpsuit. Fingerprinted. Photographed. My name in headlines next to words like "corrupt" and "criminal." I never asked for any of this. Now my entire future is collapsing because I clicked on the wrong folder.

Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back hard. Kane turns away again but I see the tension in every line of his body. He listens to whatever Mason says. His chest expands with a heavy breath.

"They want the threat taken care of," Kane repeats, voice flat and furious. "Of course they do. She's the only proof that exists. So they manufacture a story that she's the hacker. That she planted the files. That's bullshit and you know it."

He pauses. Listens. His free hand scrubs over his face. When he speaks again his tone has dropped even lower. "I don't give a damn about politics or press cycles. You tell them she's in federal protection and any attempt to touch her goes through me. I won't let this happen."

The words reach me clearly. They should comfort me. Instead the fear only twists tighter. Because if Mason can't keep an arrest warrant from being issued, what can Kane really do? He's one man. One marshal. Against a company with money and connections and lawyers who spin lies into truth.

My breathing turns shallow. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Cold air from the cabin brushes my skin but I barely feel it. All I feel is the panic rising like floodwater. I can't go to jail. I wouldn't survive it. I'm not built for that. I create things. I organize color palettes and sketch quiet moments. I don't belong in a system that chews up innocent people to protect the guilty.

Kane's voice grows harder. "No. You listen. She's not going anywhere. I don't care what they're threatening. You stall them. Buy me time. I'll handle the rest."

He listens one more time. Then he says, "Understood." The word comes out clipped. Final. He ends the call and sets the phone down on the table with deliberate care. Like he wants to throw it instead.

For a second he just stands there. Back to me. Shoulders rising and falling. His hands open and close at his sides. I see the effort it takes for him to pull the rage back under control. When he turns around his face is set in hard lines. But his eyes soften the moment they land on me.

He crosses the room in two strides and sits on the edge of the couch. His big hands come up to frame my face. Thumbs stroke my cheeks. "Look at me, Lila."

I try. My eyes are blurry. I focus on the scar through his eyebrow. The strong line of his jaw. The way his gaze holds mine like an anchor.

"They're lying," he says. Voice low and steady. "Every word. They know you have the proof and they're trying to discredit you before it can come out in court. This is desperation. Not truth."

I shake my head. "But what if they get an arrest warrant? What if Mason can't stop it? I can't go to jail, Kane. I didn't do anything. I just opened a folder. I just saw too much."

My voice cracks on the last words. The spiral pulls harder. I see my apartment raided. My sketchbooks scattered. My laptop taken as evidence. My name dragged through every news cycle until no client will ever hire me again. I see myself behind bars while the real criminals walk free. The fear makes my stomach twist. I press a hand there like I can hold it in.

Kane pulls me forward into his arms. I go willingly. My cheek presses against his bare chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady under my ear. One hand cups the back of my head. The other rubs slow circles on my back. "You're not going to jail. I won't let that happen. Do you hear me?"

I nod against him but the fear doesn't ease. Not yet. "How? How can you stop it if they have the press and the lawyers and everything on their side?"

"Because I'm not alone in this," he answers. His voice vibrates through his chest into me. "Mason and the others are working it from their end. I'm working it from here. We have the files you found. We have the video. We have your testimony. That's real evidence. Their story is smoke. We just have to keep you safe until we can prove it."

He tilts my chin up. His mouth brushes mine. Not hungry like before. Gentle. Reassuring. "I promised to protect you. That promise doesn't change because they decided to lie. You're mine to keep safe now. Body and name and future. All of it."

The words sink in slowly. I cling to them. To the solid warmth of his body. To the way his arms feel like a shield around me. The panic is still there, fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird, but his presence makes it smaller. Manageable.

Kane shifts us both so I'm sitting in his lap. My legs straddle his thighs. I don't feel exposed. I feel held. His hands stroke up and down my back in long, soothing passes. He kisses my forehead. My temple. The corner of my eye where a tear slipped free.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he says quietly. "All of it. Don't hold it in."

I swallow. My voice comes out small. "I keep seeing myself in a cell. Alone. With no way to draw or create anything. No way to fix this. I keep thinking about how they win if they lock me up. How the people who actually did the bribes and the silencing get to keep doing it while I pay for seeing the truth."

Kane's arms tighten. "They don't win. Not while I'm breathing. I've spent years putting people like them away. I know how they operate. They attack the witness because the witness is the weak point. But you're not weak. And you're not alone. You've got me. You've got the badge and every resource I can pull. We're going to clear your name. We're going to burn their entire operation down."

He says it with such certainty that some of the ice in my veins starts to thaw. I rest my forehead against his. Our breaths mingle. This moment isn't about anything except the fear and the promise and the way he refuses to let me drown in it.

I close my eyes and focus on the details of him. The heat of his skin. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The low timbre of his voice when he speaks again. "We stay here until the storm clears enough to move safely. Then we get you to a more secure location if we need it. Mason's already pushing back on the press angle. He's leaking the real story where it counts. Counter-narrative. Truth over lies. We've also got agents working on authenticating the files you found, making sure they're ironclad."

My fingers trace one of the scars on his chest without thinking. The raised line feels rough under my fingertip. "What if they come here? What if they find the cabin?"

Kane's hand covers mine on his chest. He presses my palm flat over his heart. "Then they deal with me. And I don't lose what's mine."

The certainty in his voice grounds me. I remember the way he talked me through last night, the patience in him, the care. This man doesn't make empty promises. He means every word.

I take a deeper breath. The tightness in my chest eases another fraction. "I'm scared, Kane."

"I know." He kisses me again. Slow. Thorough. Like he's sealing the words into me. "You don't have to be brave alone. Lean on me. Let me carry the weight until you can stand again."

We stay like that for a long time. Me in his lap. His arms around me. The phone silent on the table. The fire crackling low. The wind still moving through the trees outside. I let his strength seep into me. I let the fear sit beside it instead of drowning me. My mind still spins with worst-case scenarios, but they feel farther away now. Manageable. Because Kane's here. Because he looked at Mason and said no. Because he chose this. Chose me.

After a while he shifts us both onto the bed. He pulls the blankets up over us and tucks me against his side. One leg hooks over mine. His hand keeps stroking my hair. "We're going to eat something. Then I'm going to check in with the team again. You're going to sketch if you want. Or rest. Or talk. Whatever you need."

I nod against his shoulder. My fingers trace idle patterns on his stomach. The solid muscle there. "I don't know how to thank you for this."

"You don't thank me for protecting what's mine." His voice rumbles under my ear. "You just let me do it."

I lift my head and look at him. Really look. The intensity in his eyes. The set of his mouth. The way he watches me like I'm the only thing that matters in this cabin or outside it. Something warm and fierce blooms in my chest alongside the fear. Trust. Deeper than before. He could have handed me over. He could have kept his distance. Instead he chose this. Chose me.

I kiss him this time. Soft at first. Then with more feeling. He meets me halfway. His hand slides into my hair and holds me there. When we break apart I rest my forehead against his. "Okay. I'll try. To lean. To let you carry it."

"Good girl." The words come out calm and approving. Softer than last night. Like praise for trusting him with her fear instead of holding it alone.

We stay in bed a little longer. Talking in low voices about nothing and everything. He tells me more about the team. About Mason and the others who have his back. I tell him about the projects I was working on before everything shattered. The branding campaign. The book cover concept I'd been rebuilding from memory. Small pieces of my old life that I want to keep. He listens like every word matters. Like he's memorizing the shape of who I am beyond the threat.

16

Kane

The fire’s burned down to glowing embers by the time I decide we need sleep. Lila sits curled in the chair near the hearth, sketchbook balanced on her knees. Her pencil moves in slow strokes across the page. I watch the way her fingers grip the pencil. The way her brow furrows in concentration even after everything that happened today. The call from Mason still sits heavy in my chest. The lies they are spinning. The threat of an arrest warrant hanging over her head. I will not let it touch her. But right now she needs rest. And I need to feel her under me again.

I cross the room and close the sketchbook gently. “Time for bed.”

She looks up at me. Her eyes are tired but clear. The fear from earlier has eased into something quieter. She nods and sets the book aside. I help her stand. My hands settle on her waist. She fits against me like she was made for it. I lead her to the big bed in the corner. The blankets are still rumpled from this morning. I pull them back and guide her in first. She slides under the covers wearing only my shirt. The fabric swallows her smaller frame. I strip off my pants and shirt before joining her.

The mattress dips under my weight. I pull her close immediately. Her back to my chest. My arm drapes over her stomach. For a while we just lie there. The wind has died down outside. Only faint taps of snow hit the shutters now. The cabin feels smaller. Her breathing slows. I think she might drift off. Then she turns in my arms to face me.

Her hand comes up to my jaw. Fingers trace the line of my beard. I lean into the touch. She rises up and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss starts soft. Just a brush of lips. I let her lead for a moment. Then I take over. My hand slides into her hair. I angle her head and deepen the kiss. My tongue strokes against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She tastes like the tea she drank earlier. Sweet and warm. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat and presses closer.

I roll her onto her back without breaking the kiss. My body covers hers. One thigh slides between her legs. She opens for me. The heat of her core presses against my skin through the thin shirt. I feel her nipples tighten against my chest. My cock hardens fast. It presses against her hip. Thick and insistent. I rock once, letting her feel exactly what she does to me.

Lila’s hands roam my back. Nails scrape lightly down my spine. I groan into her mouth. The sound vibrates between us. I break the kiss to trail my lips along her jaw. Down the column of her throat. I find the spot just below her ear that makes her breath catch. I suck there. Not hard enough to mark. Just enough to make her hips lift against me.

“Been thinking about this all day,” I murmur against her skin. My voice comes out rough. “About getting you under me again. About feeling you come apart all over me.”

She arches. Her fingers tighten in my hair. I push the shirt up her body. Expose her breasts. The firelight paints her skin in soft gold. I lower my head and close my mouth over one nipple. I suck slow and firm. My tongue circles the peak until it stands tight and wet. Lila gasps. Her back bows off the mattress. I move to the other side and give it the same attention. My hand slides down her stomach. I cup her mound through the shirt. She’s soaked for me.

I push the shirt higher until it bunches under her arms. Then I strip it off completely. She lies bare beneath me. I sit back on my heels to look. Her legs are parted. Her chest rises and falls fast. Her eyes are dark with need. I run my palms up her thighs. Spread her wider. The sight of her slick and ready makes my cock twitch.

I lean down and kiss the inside of her knee. Then higher, like I’ve got all the time in the world. I work my way up one thigh. My beard rasps against sensitive skin. She squirms. When I reach the crease where thigh meets hip I pause. Blow a soft breath over her center. She whimpers. I do the same on the other side.

“Please, Kane,” she whispers.

I look up at her, and hold her gaze. “Please what? Tell me what you want.”

Her cheeks flush. But she doesn’t look away. “Your mouth. On me.”

I reward her honesty by dragging my tongue through her wetness in one long stroke. She cries out. Her hands fly to my hair. I do it again. Slower. Tasting every inch of her. I circle her clit. Flick it with the tip of my tongue. Then seal my mouth over it and suck. Lila’s thighs tremble against my shoulders. I slide two fingers inside her. She’s tight and hot. I pump them in time with my tongue. Curling to find that spot that makes her moan louder.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” I growl against her. “Dripping all over my fingers. You like when I eat this pretty pussy?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “God, yes.”

I add a third finger. Stretch her carefully. Work her open while I suck and lick. Her hips start to move. She rides my face and hand. I let her. Encourage it with low sounds of approval. When her walls start to flutter I pull back. She whines at the loss. I kiss the inside of her thigh. “Not yet. I want you coming on my cock first.”

I crawl up her body. My cock drags along her inner thigh. I notch the head at her entrance. Rub it through her wet pussy, teasing her clit with the tip. Lila’s hands clutch my shoulders. Her legs wrap around my waist. I push in slowly. One inch at a time. I watch her face as she takes me. Her mouth opens. Eyes flutter. She’s still so tight. The drag of her walls along my length is almost too good.

“That’s it,” I rumble. “Take every inch. Your tight little cunt feels so good squeezing me.”

I bottom out. Hips flush against hers. I stay still. Let her adjust. Kiss her deep. Taste myself on her tongue from earlier. Then I start to move. Long, deep thrusts. Pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. The bed creaks under us. Skin slaps against skin. Her wetness makes every stroke smooth and filthy.

Lila meets me thrust for thrust. Her heels dig into my lower back. I brace on one forearm. My other hand grips her hip. I angle her just right. Hit that spot inside her on every stroke. Her moans grow louder. I kiss her neck, sucking another mark there.

“Tell me how it feels,” I demand. Voice raw and threadbare. “Tell me how my cock feels stretching you open.”

“So full,” she breathes. “So deep. Kane… harder.”

I give her what she asks for. I increase the pace, driving into her harder. The headboard knocks against the wall. I don’t give a fuck. The whole cabin could come down and I wouldn’t stop. Not when she feels like this around me.

I reach between us, and rub her clit in tight circles with my thumb. “Come for me. Let me feel this pussy vibrate around me.”

She comes hard. Walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses. Her cry echoes off the logs. I fuck her through it, keeping the pressure on her clit until she shakes. Only then do I slow, and pull out. I flip her onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps. I pull her hips up, guiding her to her knees, her chest down on the mattress. I slide back inside from behind in one thrust.

The new angle is deeper. I groan at the feel of her. “Fuck. You take me so well like this. Ass up. Presenting this greedy cunt for me.”

I grip her hips, and pull her back onto my cock as I thrust forward. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room. I reach under her, and find her clit again, rubbing fast. She pushes back against me. Chasing every stroke.

“You’re mine,” I growl. “This body. This pussy. All mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to see you come apart like this.”

“Yes,” she moans into the pillow. “Yours.”

I lean over her. Cover her smaller body with mine. One hand braces beside her head. The other stays between her legs. I fuck her in short, deep thrusts, grinding against her ass. My balls slap against her with every stroke. I bite the back of her shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to feel her clench around me.

“Going to fill you up again,” I tell her, voice strained. “Pump you full until it leaks out. Mark you inside and out.”

She turns her head, and looks at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are glassy with pleasure. “Do it. Please, Kane.”

I lose the last thread of control. I pound into her. Hard and fast. The bed slams against the wall. Her moans turn to cries. I rub her clit faster, and feel her tighten again. She comes a second time, her body locking up around me. The squeeze is too much. I bury myself deep and let go. Pulse after pulse of heat spills inside her. I groan her name while thrusting through it. Drawing out every drop.

When the last tremor fades I stay buried, and collapse over her. Careful not to crush her. I kiss the back of her neck. Her shoulder. The mark I left. Then I pull out slow, watching my come drip from her. The sight sends another surge of possessiveness through me. I roll her onto her back. And kiss her slow and deep, tasting the sweat on her lips. Her heart hammers against mine.

I clean her gently with a cloth from the basin, wiping between her legs with careful strokes. She watches me with soft eyes. I toss the cloth aside and pull her into my arms. She curls against my chest. One leg thrown over mine. I stroke her hair. Her back. Anywhere I can reach.

“You okay?” I ask quietly.

She nods, and presses a kiss to my chest. “More than okay. That was… intense.”

I smile against her hair. “Needed to feel you. After today. Needed to remind both of us that you are safe. That you are here with me.”

She traces one of my scars with her fingertip. “I needed it too. The fear’s still there. But when you touch me like that… it gets smaller.”

I tighten my arms around her. “Good. Because I’m not done reminding you.” My hand slides down to cup her ass. “We have all night. No one’s coming for you while I’m on guard.”

She shifts, and presses closer. I feel my cock stir again against her thigh. Already half-hard from just holding her. From the thought of taking her again. Lila notices. She reaches between us, and wraps her small hand around me. She strokes slowly, and I hiss through my teeth.

“Again?” she asks, voice soft but hungry.

I roll her under me once more, and settle between her thighs. My cock notches at her entrance. Still slick from before. I push in, watching her eyes flutter. “Again. And again. Until you forget everything except how good I make you feel.”

I move over her in long, lazy strokes this time. Not rushing. Savoring. I kiss her mouth. Her neck. Her breasts. As I whisper filthy praises against her skin. “Look at you. Taking my cock like you were made for it. So wet. So tight. This pussy was made to be fucked by me.”

She wraps her legs higher around my waist, pulling me deeper. We move together like that for a long time. Slow and deep. Building the heat again. When she comes a third time it’s quieter. A soft cry against my shoulder. I follow her over and spill inside her once more, holding her through the aftershocks.

Later, much later, I pull the blankets over us. She sleeps curled against my side. One hand resting over my heart. I stay awake a while longer, listening to her breathe. The call from Mason still lingers in the back of my mind. The lies. The threat. But right now she’s here.

I press a kiss to the top of her head. My hand rests possessively on her hip. “I’ve got you,” I whisper into the dark. “Whatever comes tomorrow.”

Outside the wind’s gone quiet. The cabin holds the heat from the fire and from us. I close my eyes, letting sleep pull me under. My body curves around hers like a shield. My last thought before I drift is simple.

She’s here. And I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone take her from me.

17

Lila

I wake to the low murmur of Kane's voice. Morning light filters through the shutters in thin gray lines. The bed still holds the warmth from last night. My body’s pleasantly sore in places that remind me exactly how he claimed me again and again. I stretch under the heavy quilt and turn toward the sound. Kane stands near the table. Shirtless. Phone pressed to his ear. His shoulders look tight. The muscles in his back stand out as he listens.

He glances over at me. His eyes soften for a second, and then they harden again. I sit up, pulling the sheet around my chest. Something’s wrong. I can tell. I feel it in the way he paces two steps and stops. The way his free hand curls into a fist at his side.

Mason's name drifts across the room. The other marshal. The one who called yesterday. Kane's voice drops lower. Controlled but edged with steel. "An arrest warrant. For her. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me."

The words hit like cold water down my spine. I clutch the sheet tighter. My heart races out of control. An arrest warrant. For me. The room tilts a little. I press my palm flat against the mattress to steady myself. This cannot be real. I did nothing wrong. I opened a folder. I saw the truth. Now they want to lock me up for it.

Kane listens for another moment. His jaw clenches so hard I see the muscle jump. "I hear you. But I’m not bringing her in. Not like this. Not when they’re the ones who should be in cuffs." He ends the call and sets the phone down with careful control. It look like he’d rather smash it instead.

He crosses to the bed in four powerful strides, and sits on the edge. His large hand cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. "They issued a warrant for your arrest. Harrington and their people pushed it through. They’re painting you as the hacker who planted everything. Mason says they want you brought in for questioning. But we both know what happens next."

Panic surges through me. My breath comes too fast. My chest feels tight. I see myself in handcuffs, sitting in an interrogation room, and losing everything I built. My freelance work. My quiet apartment filled with sketchbooks and half-finished designs. The life I carved out after years of moving around with parents who never stayed in one place. All of it gone because powerful men decided I was the problem.

"I can’t go to jail," I whisper. My voice shakes. "Kane, you know I didn’t do this. I can’t..."

He pulls me into his arms. Strong and solid. One hand strokes my hair. The other rubs my back in slow circles. "You’re not going to jail. Not one minute. We’re leaving. Right now."

I nod against his chest. The fear still claws at me but his words cut through some of it. He stands and helps me up. I move on autopilot, grabbing the clothes I wore yesterday, and stuffing them into my small duffel along with my sketchbook. The laptop stays behind. Too risky. Kane packs his own bag with quick efficient movements. Tactical gear. Extra ammunition. Supplies from the kitchen shelves. He works like a man who’s done this before. Who knows exactly how to disappear when he needs to.

Within minutes we’re ready. He takes my hand and leads me outside. The cold air bites at my face. Snow crunches under our boots. His truck waits where he parked it days ago. Covered in a fresh layer of white. He brushes it off quickly. He loads our bags into the back. Then helps me into the passenger seat. His hands are gentle as he buckles me in. Like I might break if he moves too fast.

He climbs behind the wheel. The engine rumbles to life. Deep and steady. We pull away from the cabin. Tires cut through the snow. The Steel Mountains rise around us. Tall pines heavy with white. The road narrows as we descend. I stare out the window. My hands twist in my lap. The panic sits heavy in my stomach. Questions swirl but I stay quiet. This shit has never happened to me before. I honestly don’t know what to say. I don’t know where we’re going. I only know that Kane’s driving and I trust him with my life.

Miles slip by. The truck eats up the snowy road. Kane keeps one hand on the wheel. The other rests on my thigh. He drives with the same focused attention he gives everything. I find myself watching him more than the road.

We approach a familiar turnoff. The one that leads toward Timber Creek. Toward the library where my old life waits. Toward the town I called home before everything shattered. Kane drives straight past it. Doesn’t even slow down. I turn in my seat, watching the road disappear behind us.

"Where are we going?" My voice comes out softer than I intend.

Kane looks over at me. His expression softens. He squeezes my thigh. "As far away as I can get you until the truth comes out. Because I’m not letting you spend one minute in jail."

The words settle over me. Scary and comforting at the same time. Fear still churns inside my chest. The warrant. The lies. The unknown road ahead. But beneath it something else blooms. A quiet ease. Kane means every word. I see it in the set of his shoulders. In the way he drives with purpose. In the steady pressure of his hand on my leg. He’ll do anything to protect me. He already proved it last night. In the way he held me. In the way he touched me like I was the only thing that mattered. He’ll keep proving it now.

I cover his hand with mine, and squeeze. "Okay."

He nods once, and sets his eyes back on the road. "We’ll find a place to hole up. Contact Mason when it’s safe. Keep moving until we can fight this the right way. I've spent my career doing the right thing. Right now, the right thing and the legal thing aren't the same. You’re not alone in this, Lila. Not for one second."

The truck rumbles onward. Snow flies past the windows in soft flurries. The mountains give way to wider valleys. I lean my head against the seat and watch the landscape change. My mind still spins with what-ifs. What if they track the truck? What if the warrant spreads? What if I never get my old life back? But every time the panic rises I look at Kane. At the strong line of his profile. He means something to me.

He’ll do anything. I know it down to my bones. He already risked his badge. His safety. Everything. For me. A graphic designer who stumbled into the wrong files. The thought should terrify me more. Instead it anchors me. I close my eyes for a moment. Feel the vibration of the truck. The warmth of his hand. The steady beat of my own heart slowing to match his calm.

We drive for hours. Kane stops once at a remote pullout to check the truck and stretch our legs. He pulls me close against the cold, and kisses the top of my head. "You holding up?"

I nod. "Scared. But I trust you."

"Good." He tips my chin up, and kisses me slow and sure. "That’s all I need right now."

We climb back into the truck. He starts the engine again, pointing us down another back road. Away from everything familiar. Toward whatever comes next. I watch the trees blur past. My sketchbook sits in my bag behind us. A small piece of home. I think about drawing this moment later. The attentive set of Kane's shoulders. The endless white road ahead. The way fear and safety twist together in my chest.

The warrant hangs over us. The lies from Harrington Enterprises chase us down the mountain. But Kane drives forward. He’s so steady it calms me. I lean my head against the window and let the rumble of the tires soothe me. He won’t let them take me. He won’t let me spend one minute behind bars. I feel the truth of it in every mile we put between us and the cabin. In every glance he sends my way.

Sure, I’m scared, and the future feels uncertain and vast. But with Kane beside me I feel something stronger than fear. I feel protected. Safe in the middle of the storm we’re driving through. He’ll do anything. And right now that’s enough to keep me breathing through the panic. To keep me watching the road with him instead of crumbling under the weight of what might come.

The truck keeps rolling, deeper into the unknown. I squeeze his hand again. He squeezes back. We drive on. Together.

18

Kane

I keep one hand on the wheel and the other on Lila's thigh. The truck cuts through the snow-covered road. Tires grip the packed white. Mountains rise on either side. Tall and silent. I know every turn in these back roads. Every safe route away from prying eyes. The call from Mason this morning still burns in my mind. The arrest warrant. The lies they spread about her. None of it matters. I made my choice the second I heard the words. I refuse to bring her in. Not now. Not ever.

This could cost me my badge. Years of service. The life I built after leaving special forces. But I don’t fucking care. Lila sits beside me. Her hand rests over mine. I glance at her every few minutes. The fear still lingers in her eyes. I feel it like a knife in my gut. She’s where she belongs. Every soft curve. Every quiet breath. Every piece of her creative soul that lights up when she holds a pencil. I won’t let them cage her. I won’t let them touch one hair on her head.

I’m feral for this woman. The need to protect her runs deeper than duty. Deeper than the law I swore to uphold. It burns in my blood. She belongs with me. I’ll drive until the tank runs dry if that’s what it takes. I’ll burn every bridge behind us. The badge means nothing if it can’t keep her out of a cell.

An hour passes. The road straightens into a long stretch through the foothills. Lila stays quiet. Her fingers tighten on mine every so often. I squeeze back, reassuring her without words. The engine hums steady beneath us. Heat blasts from the vents. Snow flurries swirl across the windshield. My mind runs through routes. Possible stops. Ways to stay off the grid.

My satellite phone rings. I check the screen. Brock. Another marshal on the team. I answer and put it on speaker. His voice fills the cab.

"What the hell are you doing, Kane? Mason told us about the warrant. You’re supposed to bring her in."

I keep my eyes on the road. My grip on the wheel tightens. "There’s no way in hell I’m bringing her in. The men know she’s innocent. We all saw the files. We know what Harrington did. This warrant is smoke. I’m not handing her over to them."

Silence stretches on the line for a beat. Then Brock exhales. "Yeah. We know. The whole team knows. She stumbled into their mess. Not the other way around."

Relief hits me hard. They’ve got my back. I expected nothing less from these men. Battle-hardened. Loyal. "I need your help. Somewhere safe and off grid to take her. We can’t keep moving forever. And the team needs to work with the tech unit at the federal office. Validate everything Lila found. Authenticate the files. The video. The ledgers. Make it ironclad so the truth comes out."

Brock doesn’t hesitate. "I’m on it. I have a fishing cabin near the Montana-Idaho border. Remote. Stocked. No one will look for you there. Coordinates incoming. Mason’s already working angles to stall on his end. Paperwork. Procedural delays. He’ll buy you time."

I feel the tension in my shoulders ease a fraction. "Thank you. All of you. Tell the team I owe them."

"You owe us nothing," Brock says. "Keep her safe. We’ll handle the rest."

The call ends, and I set the phone on the dash. The truck keeps rolling forward. Lila watches me. Her eyes wide but steady. I take her hand again, bringing it to my lips, and kiss her knuckles. "Everything’ll be okay."

She nods, and squeezes my fingers. I see the fear still there. But trust shines through it too. She knows I mean every word. I’ll tear the world apart before I let them lock her away. The feral part of me that woke the moment I saw her in danger roars louder now. She’s under my protection. I press the accelerator, heading toward the coordinates Brock sent. Toward the next safe haven.

The road stretches ahead. Snow dusts the pines. Lila leans her head against the seat. Her breathing evens out a little. I keep driving with my hand on her thigh, my eyes scanning every mirror. Every shadow. No one will touch her. Not while I draw breath. The badge might be gone after this. I don’t care. She’s worth every sacrifice. Every mile. Every risk.

I glance at her again. The soft curve of her cheek. The way her hair falls across her shoulder. My pulse picks up speed with something fierce and deep. I’ll get her to that cabin. I’ll hold her through the nights. I’ll fight until the truth clears her name. And when it does I’ll still be right here. Protecting what’s mine.

The truck eats up the miles. The border draws closer. I feel the weight of the decision settle on my shoulders. No regret. Only purpose. Lila shifts in her seat. Her hand stays in mine. Warm. Steady. I drive on. Ready for whatever comes next. Because she’s with me. And that’s all that matters.

19

Lila

The truck slows as Kane pulls into a roadside gas station tucked along a lonely stretch of highway. The faded sign swings in the wind and advertises cheap fuel along with a big store attached to the main building. Snow clings to the sloped roof and piles around the bases of the pumps like forgotten drifts. I shift in my seat. My legs feel stiff and heavy from the long hours on the road. The constant tension in my shoulders makes every movement ache. Kane stops at the pump farthest from the entrance. Smart. Always thinking ahead. He turns off the engine and looks at me. His hand squeezes my thigh once. The warmth of his palm cuts through the chill that’s settled in my bones.

"I need to fill up," he says. His voice stays low and calm. "You go inside. Use the bathroom. Grab a snack if you want. I’ll get the gas." He pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them to me. The paper feels crisp against my fingers. "Get us some drinks too. Whatever looks good."

I nod and take the cash. My fingers brush his. The brief contact grounds me. It reminds me I’m not facing this alone. I climb out of the truck as cold air hits my face like a sharp slap. I pull my jacket tighter around me and walk toward the store. The building looks like one of those classic roadside stops. Wide windows fogged at the edges. Bright lights spilling out onto the snow. Shelves visible through the glass packed with everything from chips and candy to motor oil and basic tools. A few cars sit out front. The place feels surprisingly busy for such a remote stretch of road. Families. Truckers. People just passing through. My stomach twists at the thought of all those eyes.

I push through the door. Warm air washes over me. I head straight for the bathroom in the back corner. The small room is clean enough. Fluorescent light buzzes overhead. I lock the door and take a moment before splashing cold water on my face. I look at myself in the cracked mirror. My eyes look tired. Haunted. Shadows linger under them. I barely recognize the woman staring back. The graphic designer who once lost herself in color palettes and client briefs now runs from a life that no longer feels like hers. I dry my hands on a rough paper towel and step back out into the main store.

People move through the aisles. A young family argues over candy selections near the front registers. The kids point and whine. Two truckers laugh loudly by the coffee machines. Their voices carry across the space. I keep my head down. Grab a red plastic basket from the stack near the entrance, and walk the snack aisle with careful steps. My stomach rumbles so I pick up a bag of pretzels and some granola bars. Simple things. Easy to eat on the road without making a mess. Nothing that would draw attention. I head toward the drinks. Bottles of water and soda line the cooler doors. Condensation beads on the plastic. I choose two waters and a couple of sodas. Kane didn’t specify flavors. I hope he likes the options I picked. Small choices like this feel normal in the middle of everything falling apart.

The basket feels light in my hands. Almost too light for how heavy my thoughts weigh on me. I wander toward the checkout. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. The floor tiles show years of scuffs and boot prints. That’s when the TV in the corner catches my eye. A small screen mounted above the counter. The news plays without sound but the captions scroll fast across the bottom. My picture fills the frame. A recent headshot from my freelance profile. The one I used on my website. Professional smile. Neat hair. The woman in that photo feels like a stranger now. The words underneath hit like a punch to the chest.

"Fugitive wanted in connection with major corporate hacking scandal. Lila Montgomery. If you have any information on her whereabouts contact your local police station immediately."

My heart slams against my ribs. The basket slips in my grip. I catch it before it drops. Terror floods through me in a cold wave. The store is packed. People everywhere. Laughing. Shopping. Living normal lives. Any one of them could glance at the screen. Glance at me. Recognize the woman on the news. My mind races with worst-case images. Someone pointing. Phones coming out. Sirens in the distance. I force my feet to move. Just another traveler buying supplies. I set the basket on the counter. Pay with the cash Kane gave me. My hands shake as I take the change and the plastic bag. The cashier barely looks at me. She hands me the receipt with a distracted smile. I thank her in a voice that sounds too high. Too strained.

A man glances my way and then back to the screen. I can see the recognition on his face as he pulls out his phone.

I bolt toward the door. Every step feels too loud. Too slow. My pulse thunders in my ears. The bag crinkles with each movement. I keep my eyes on the floor. On the scuffed tiles. Just get to the truck. Get to Kane. My thoughts spiral. What if this is it? What if that man is calling this in? What if my old life of quiet design work and late nights with sketchbooks ends in handcuffs in a crowded gas station? I push the fear down, focusing on the door.

I push through the door. Cold air slaps me again. Kane stands by the pump. He finishes screwing the cap on the tank with quick movements. His eyes find me immediately. He sees something in my face. His posture changes. Shoulders square. Ready for anything. I hurry across the lot. The bag crinkles in my grip. Snow crunches under my boots.

"They’ve got my picture on the news," I whisper when I reach him. The words tumble out fast. "Inside. On the TV. They called me a fugitive. Hacking scandal. I think a man spotted me. I think he’s calling it in."

Kane doesn’t waste time. He takes the bag from me, and puts it in the back seat with efficient motions. His hand lands on my lower back. "Get in."

I climb into the passenger seat. My heart still hammers. He slides behind the wheel. The engine roars to life. He pulls away from the pump smooth and fast. No squealing tires. No drawing attention. Just steady acceleration. We merge back onto the road. The gas station shrinks in the side mirror. No one runs out after us. No sirens.

I clutch the seat belt across my chest. My breath comes in short bursts. "I’m so scared."

Kane reaches over, and takes my hand. His grip is warm and strong, his calluses rough against my skin. "We’ll keep moving. Brock gave us coordinates. We stay off the main roads where we can."

The truck eats up the miles again. Snow flies past the windows in gentle swirls. I lean back and close my eyes for a second. The fear still claws at my throat. My own face on the news. Wanted. Criminal. The words loop in my head like a bad dream I can’t wake from. I open my eyes and look at Kane. His jaw is set, eyes scanning the mirrors and the road ahead. He drives like nothing can stop us. Like the whole world could be looking and it wouldn’t matter. Because he stands between me and everything else.

I squeeze his hand. "Thank you for this. For getting me out."

He glances over. His expression softens just a fraction. The hard lines around his eyes ease. "You don’t need to thank me for keeping you safe. This is what I do. What I am. For you it’s everything."

The words settle over me. Warm against the terror still churning inside. I know he means them. He already risked his badge. His team. His entire career. For me. A woman he met in the middle of chaos. A graphic designer whose biggest worry used to be client deadlines and running out of ink. I watch the trees blur past. The mountains shift around us. We head toward the border. Toward the fishing cabin Brock has waiting for us. Another hiding spot. Another step away from the net closing in.

My heart still races but it slows bit by bit. Kane's hand stays in mine. The truck rumbles on. We drive deeper into the wilderness. Away from the gas station. Away from the picture on the screen. For now we’re still free. Still together. I hold onto that. Onto him. The protective mountain man who refuses to let them take me.

The road curves ahead. Kane follows it without hesitation. I breathe through the fear. One mile at a time. One squeeze of his hand at a time. We keep going. The wilderness swallows us up. And for the first time since seeing my face on that screen I feel a small spark of hope. Kane won’t let them win. I won’t let them break me. We drive on. Together.

20

Kane

I keep both hands on the wheel as the truck rolls down the winding mountain road. Snow has started falling again in soft flakes that stick to the windshield before the wipers clear them. The engine hums steady beneath us. Every mile takes us closer to the coordinates Brock sent. The fishing cabin near the Montana-Idaho border. Remote. Off grid. A place where we can breathe for a while. But my shoulders stay tight. My grip on the wheel feels too hard. Someone at that gas station might have seen her. Might have glanced at the news playing on that small screen and put the pieces together. The thought sits like a stone in my gut.

Lila sits quiet beside me. Her hand rests on my thigh. Small and warm. She hasn't spoken much since we left the station. I feel her fear in the way her fingers tighten every so often. I squeeze her hand back when I can, keeping my eyes moving between the road ahead and the mirrors. No one has followed us. No flashing lights in the distance. But the worry won't leave. I know how these things work. One call to local police. A description. A license plate if someone got it. We're not invisible out here.

The satellite phone rings. The sharp tone cuts through the low rumble of the truck. I glance at the screen. Jax. Another marshal on the team. I answer and put it on speaker. His voice comes through clear and urgent.

"Kane. They spotted you. Someone at the gas station called it in. Local PD has your location. They're moving. You need to be ready."

My teeth grind. I keep my voice even. "How long ago?"

"Minutes. They're scrambling units now. Stay off the main roads if you can. But Kane, it's already in motion."

I thank him, tell him we'll handle it, and end the call. The phone clicks off. Silence fills the cab again. Lila looks at me, her eyes wide. She heard enough. I don't have to explain. My mind races through options. Outrunning them would be stupid. Dangerous. It would paint us both as guilty while making everything harder for the team working to clear her name. I've spent years following the rules. Breaking them now wouldn't help her. It would only make the mess bigger.

Then I see it in the mirror. A car behind us. Dark. Marked with the local sheriff's department logo. It stays back at first, then the distance closes. My pulse stays steady, my training kicking in. I've faced worse. But this is different. This is her. I glance at Lila. She hasn't noticed yet. Her gaze stays on the snow-covered trees sliding past the window.

The siren lights up. Red and blue flashing across the snow. The wail follows a second later. It echoes off the mountains. I can't outrun them. I won't. That would be bad for everyone. For her most of all. My hands stay calm on the wheel. I ease off the gas and signal as I pull to the shoulder. The truck slows, snow crunching under the tires. The cop car stops behind us. Lights still flashing.

I turn to Lila, keeping my voice steady. Like I'm briefing her on a mission. "Listen. They're going to pull us over. And they're going to arrest you. There's nothing we can do about it right now."

Her breath catches. I see the panic rise in her eyes. The same fear from the gas station. The news report. The warrant. I reach over and take her hand, holding it firmly. "We'll work double time to get you free. You'll be out soon on bail. The team's already moving. They'll validate every file you found. Every piece of evidence. We'll clear this up as quickly as we can. But I have to pull over. I have to let them do their job or it gets worse."

She breathes deep. Her chest rises and falls. Tears fill her eyes. They spill over her cheeks in quiet lines. Her voice comes out small. "Okay."

I pull the truck fully to the shoulder and put it in park. The engine idles low.

I think back to the moment I first saw her. Terrified in her apartment. Clutching that laptop like it held the world. Wide eyes. Soft voice. Then the cabin. The blizzard sealing us in. One bed. Forced proximity. The way she opened to me. Trusted me with her body. Her fear. Her laughter in quiet moments. The strength in her that she doesn't even see. I've claimed her in every way a man can claim a woman. But this feeling now, this knowing, it's bigger than possession. Bigger than the badge I might lose for her. It's the quiet truth that she's it for me. The one whose tiny "okay" in the face of arrest breaks something open inside me and fills it with her.

I turn to her again, cupping her face with both hands and wiping the tears with my thumbs. Her skin feels soft. "Stay calm. Answer only what they ask. The team's already working. Mason. Jax. Brock. All of them. We'll have you out as soon as we can. Whatever it takes."

She nods and leans into my touch for one last second. Her eyes stay on mine. Even through the tears. I see the trust there. The same trust she gave me in the cabin. It humbles me every time. I want to shield her with my body. Tell the world she's with me and they can't touch her. But the law has rules. And breaking them now would only chain her tighter.

The officer approaches. I see him in the mirror, hand on his belt. I keep my hands visible on the wheel.

My breath hitches so hard I can't speak for a second. Then I do.

I turn to her. "Lila." My voice comes out rugged and raw, meant only for her. "I love you. I know the timing is wrong." I stop. There is no good timing for this. "I love you. I'll get you back. That's a promise."

Her eyes widen. Fresh tears spill, rushing down her cheeks. She nods once, tiny and certain. "Okay."

That single word breaks me open and fills every crack with her.

The officer reaches the window. I hand over my badge and license, explaining that she's under my protection. He listens, then asks for Lila, telling her to step out of the vehicle. My chest stays locked tight but I hold it together. For her. I keep my eyes on her face as she opens the door. I want her to carry the last thing she saw in me into that cruiser. Not fear. Not helplessness. Just the certainty that I meant every word.

They cuff her gentle enough. Read her rights. Put her in the back of their cruiser. The lights keep flashing, red and blue painting the snow. I watch every second. Memorize the faces. The car number. Anything I can use later. My mind already races ahead. Calls to make. Strings to pull. The team will move fast. We have the evidence. We have the truth on our side. This arrest is temporary. A bump in the road we'll crush.

I follow in the truck, staying close but legal. The cruiser heads toward town. I keep my eyes on the taillights. On her silhouette in the back. Every mile I plan. Every mile I promise her in my head. They won't keep her. Not one minute longer than necessary. I'll work the angles. Use every contact. Every favor owed. The badge might be on the line. I don't care. She's worth it. She's everything.

The cruiser turns onto a side road and I follow. The town comes into view. Small. Quiet. The station sits ahead, lights on. I park and watch them take her inside. My hands stay steady. My mind stays sharp. I pull out the phone. Start making calls. Jax first. Then Mason. Then Brock. The team moves. They always do. For one of our own. For her.

I sit in the truck for a bit. Snow gathers on the windshield. The flashing lights are gone. The resolve burns hotter than they ever could.

I'm in love with Lila Montgomery. The woman who stumbled into danger and stole my heart without trying. I won't fail her.

I step out into the cold and head toward the station. Ready to fight. Ready to bring my woman home.

21

Lila

The police cruiser pulls up to the small station. Lights still flashing. I sit in the back with my hands cuffed behind me. The metal feels cold and heavy against my wrists. I’ve never been arrested before. Never even had a speeding ticket. Now this. My life has turned upside down in a matter of days. One folder. One video. One wrong click. That’s all it took. I stare out the window at the plain building. Snow piles against the walls. The officer opens the door and helps me out. His grip is firm but not rough. I walk inside with him. My legs feel shaky. The station smells like coffee and old paper. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Everything feels too bright. Too real. Too hopeless.

They take me to a processing area. My heart pounds. A desk sits in the middle of the room. Papers stacked neatly. A computer screen glows. Another officer waits there. He reads me my rights again. I nod along even though the words blur together. They remove the cuffs for a moment. My wrists ache where the metal pressed. They roll my fingers across an ink pad, pressing them onto a card. One by one. The black ink feels sticky. I watch my prints appear on the paper. Evidence. Proof that I am here. That this is really happening. They take my picture next as I stand against the wall, holding a board with numbers. The camera flashes. I blink. The light leaves spots in my vision. I look straight ahead, trying to keep my face neutral. Inside I feel like I’m falling.

They book me. Ask questions. Name. Address. I answer in a voice that doesn’t sound like mine. They take my jacket. My shoes. Give me a thin blanket and basic clothes. Everything feels wrong. They lead me down a short hallway. The temporary holding cell waits at the end. Bars on the front. Concrete walls. A metal bench bolted to the floor. A toilet in the corner. Nothing else. The door clangs shut behind me. The lock clicks. I stand there for a moment. Just breathing. The air feels cold. Heavy. I’ve never felt this small.

I sit on the bench. The metal presses hard through the thin blanket. I pull my knees up to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. My mind races. How did my life get turned upside down so fast? Days ago I worked on branding projects in my quiet apartment. Late nights with my sketchbook. Client emails. The simple rhythm of freelance work. Now I sit in a cell. Labeled a criminal. All because I saw what I shouldn’t have seen. The bribes. The silenced witnesses. The corruption that runs deep. I didn’t ask for any of it. I just wanted to finish the job and maybe treat myself to new paints. Now I wait in a cell. Terrified. Tired. The exhaustion pulls at me. My eyes burn. My body aches from the long drive and the fear that hasn’t left since the gas station.

I lay down on the bench. The metal feels hard against my side. I curl up under the blanket, trying desperately to get some sleep. The station hums with distant sounds. Voices. Phones ringing. Footsteps. I close my eyes, trying my best to block it out. For what I’m waiting I’m not sure. Bail? More questions? The next step in this nightmare? The uncertainty makes my stomach twist. I breathe in slowly. In and out. Focus on the one thing that feels solid. Kane.

I trust him. I know he cares. He’s a man of his word. He’ll fight for me. I think about the way he looked at me when the sirens started. His voice low and sure when he told me what would happen. He promised they would work double time. Get me out on bail. Clear my name. I believe him. He’s already risked everything. His badge. His safety. His future. For me. A woman he barely knew when this started. Now he drives through snow and danger to protect me. The memory of his hands on me in the cabin. The way he moved inside me. Gentle at first. Then fierce. The way he held me after and whispered that I was his. It all floods back. Warm against the cold cell.

Tears fill my eyes, and I let them fall. Silent at first. Then quieter sobs shake my shoulders. I cry for the life I lost. For the fear that grips me. For the uncertainty of what comes next. But mostly I cry because I realize something deep and true in this moment. I love him. Kane Beckett. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life. Not the quiet artists I dated before. Not the safe choices that never quite fit. Kane’s different. He’s strong and feral in his need to keep me safe. He makes me feel seen. Protected. Cherished. Even now. From outside these bars. I love the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters. How he touches me like I’m precious and powerful at the same time.

The tears keep coming. I curl tighter under the blanket. The bench digs into my hip. The cell feels smaller. Colder. But the love in my chest burns warm. It gives me something to hold onto. Kane will come for me. He’ll fight. He’ll get me out. I know it in my bones. I cry until the sobs ease. Until exhaustion pulls me under. Sleep comes in fits. Restless. Filled with dreams of flashing lights and strong hands pulling me close. I drift, loving him even in this cold place.

Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. Time feels strange in here. I wake to the sound of footsteps. A guard. He says something about bail. About calls being made. I sit up and wipe my face. Hope sparks small but real. Kane’s out there. Fighting. I hold onto that. Onto the love I finally named. It keeps me steady as I wait for whatever comes next. The cell door stays closed for now. But my heart stays open. For him. Always for him.

22

Kane

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white as I pull into the parking lot of the US Marshal’s field office. The tires crunch over the last patches of snow. The building sits low and plain against the gray afternoon sky. Windows reflect the overcast light. I kill the engine and sit for a second. My jaw aches from clenching it. Every muscle in my shoulders feels locked tight. The drive from the county station felt endless. Every mile I thought about Lila in that cell. Her tiny voice saying okay. The tears on her cheeks. The way she trusted me even as they took her away.

I step out into the cold. The air bites at my face. My boots hit the pavement hard. I stride toward the entrance. My mind keeps looping back to the moment the sirens lit up behind us. I should’ve kept going. I should’ve stopped them. I should’ve found another way. But running would have made everything worse. Now she sits in holding because powerful people decided she was the threat instead of them.

Inside the office the fluorescent lights hum overhead. The place feels busy but focused. Phones ring in the background. Voices carry from open doorways. I head straight for the conference room where I know the team is waiting. Mason. Jax. Ryker. Brock. Colt. All of them here working to get the charges dropped on Lila. My brothers in this fight.

I push through the door. They look up. Mason stands at the head of the table. Maps and files spread across the surface. Jax leans against the wall. Ryker and Brock sit with laptops open. Colt has papers in his hands. Their faces are serious. Grim. I feel the anger surge hotter in my chest. It burns through my veins like wildfire.

“What the hell can we do?” I ask. My voice comes out charged and ready for a brawl. I don’t bother hiding the rage. “We need to take Henry Williams down. The county commissioner. This is insane. They’re railroading an innocent woman because she saw too much. We can’t let this stand.”

The room stays quiet for a beat. Mason meets my eyes. “We’re already working every angle. Warrants on their side. Pressure from higher up. We’re pushing back hard on the validity of the arrest. But they moved fast.”

Ryker shakes his head. His jaw tightens. “It’s bullshit how everything is turning into a shit storm. One minute we have solid evidence. The next the whole system flips on her. Henry Williams has friends in high places. Money talks loud around here.”

I pace the length of the room. My boots thud against the floor. Every step feeds the fury. I think about Lila curled on that metal bench. Alone. Scared. Tired. She never asked for any of this. She was just living her quiet life. Creating art. Building something small and good. Now she sits in a cell while the real criminals walk free. The thought makes my hands curl into fists. I want to tear through every wall between us. I want to drag her out myself and keep her safe in my arms. The feral need to protect her claws at my insides. It has since the first night at the cabin. Since I saw her eyes go wide with trust when I took her body slow and careful. Since I held her after and felt something shift deep in my chest.

I stop pacing, and look at each of them. “How’s the work on the evidence going? The files she found. The video. The ledgers. We need that to blow this open.”

Colt shifts in his chair, his face grim as he sets the papers down. “You’re not going to like this. The feds have lost the evidence. Poof. Gone. Powerful players can make things disappear when they want to. The chain of custody got compromised. Or bought off. Either way it’s gone.”

What in the actual fuck? My breath stops for a second. The room tilts as I brace my hands on the table. The wood feels solid under my palms. But nothing else does. They lost the evidence. The proof that would clear her name. The one thing keeping this from being a complete railroad job. Gone. Just like that. I think about the files on her laptop. The video of the developer admitting to silencing witnesses. The ledgers showing the bribes. All of it vanished into the system. Powerful men covering their tracks while Lila pays the price.

I close my eyes for a moment. The anger twists into something colder. Fear. I see her face in the cruiser. The tears. The way she said okay even when her world shattered. I see her in the cabin. Sketchbook in her lap. The way she leaned into me during the blizzard. The way her body felt under mine. Soft. Warm. Trusting. The way she whispered my name when I moved inside her. The way she cried out when she came apart. I love her. I knew it the moment she said that tiny okay at the roadside. I love every brave stubborn inch of her. And now the evidence is gone. The system is eating her alive. I’m losing hope that I’ll ever be able to get her out of this mess.

The thought settles heavy in my chest. I’ve spent years putting bad men away, and following the rules. Believing the badge meant something. Now the rules are being used against the innocent. Against the woman who’s become my whole world. I think about the cabin. The one bed. The storm sealing us in. The way she looked at me like I could fix everything. I promised her I would. I promised I wouldn’t let them take her. And here we are. Evidence gone. Charges standing. Her in a cell while I stand here helpless.

I straighten up, and look at the team again. My voice comes out steady even though everything inside me rages. “Then we find another way. We go after Henry Williams. We go after every connection. We dig until something breaks. I’m not leaving her in there. Not one more day than necessary.”

Mason nods, his expression hardening. “We keep pushing. Every contact. Every lead. The team has your back. Hers too.”

Jax pushes off the wall. “We’ll find the weak spots. Someone always talks when the pressure gets high enough.”

Ryker and Brock exchange glances. They start pulling up files on their screens. Colt gathers the papers again. They’re moving. But the weight in my chest doesn’t ease. I think about Lila trying to sleep on that hard bench. Alone. Terrified. Tired. She trusts me. She knows I’m a man of my word. I’ll fight for her. But the fight just got harder. The evidence disappearing feels like the ground giving way beneath my feet. Powerful players making proof vanish. It’s not new. I’ve seen it before in the field. But never when it mattered this much. Never when it was her.

I move to the window, looking out at the parking lot. My truck sits there. The one we drove together through the snow.

The team keeps working around me. Keyboards click. Voices murmur. Plans form. But my mind stays on Lila. On the love that hit me like a freight train at the roadside. On the way her tiny okay broke something open in me and filled it with her. I can’t lose her to this. I won’t. The unyielding part of me that woke the first night at the cabin roars louder now. Protective. Possessive. Unyielding.

I turn back to the table. The anger still burns. But it has purpose now. Sharp focus. “Tell me what you need from me. I’m in this until the end. Until she’s free.”

They nod. The work continues. Files open. Calls get made. But deep inside the hope I carried starts to fray. The evidence gone feels like a door slamming shut. I see her face again. The tears. The trust. The love I finally named. I’ll keep fighting. But for the first time since this began I feel the edges of despair creep in. What if I can’t get her out? What if the system wins? What if the woman who changed everything slips through my fingers because proof can be made to vanish?

I push the thought down. Hard. I won’t accept it. Not yet. I grip the back of a chair. The wood feels real under my hands. The team moves around me. Loyal. Fierce. We’ll find another way. For her. For us. The mountain man in me stands ready. Ready to tear down whatever stands between us. Even if the evidence is gone. Even if the hope feels thin. I’ll bring her home. I swear it on every breath I have left.

23

Lila

Hours have passed since they placed me in this cell. The fluorescent light overhead buzzes without stopping. It casts harsh, flickering shadows across the concrete walls and the scuffed floor. The air feels cold and damp against my skin. I pull the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders but it does nothing to chase away the chill that has settled deep in my bones. I’m tired. So tired. My eyes burn from the tears that won’t stop coming. I’ve slept maybe fifteen minutes here and there. Restless stretches where my body gives out only for my mind to jerk me awake again. Every time I close my eyes I see the flashing lights on the road. The metal cuffs digging into my wrists. Kane’s face as they took me away. His steady voice promising it would be okay. The memory of his hand on mine in the truck feels like the only warm thing left.

I shift on the bench. The metal presses hard into my hip no matter how I try to position myself. I curl my legs up tighter and wrap my arms around my knees. The blanket scratches against my skin. My mind keeps circling the same questions on an endless loop. How did my life get turned upside down so fast? One folder. One video. One wrong click while finishing a routine branding project. That’s all it took. I think about the quiet nights in my apartment. The soft glow of my monitor as I sketched ideas for clients. The satisfaction of building something beautiful from nothing. The stack of half-finished designs on my desk. The way I’d lose myself in color palettes and layouts until the early hours. Now I sit here on this unforgiving bench. Waiting. The uncertainty makes my stomach twist into knots that refuse to loosen.

Footsteps echo down the hallway. Heavy. Purposeful. They grow louder with every second. I sit up slowly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. The motion leaves damp streaks on my sleeve. A man steps into the room. He comes closer to my cell. He’s tall with a polished suit that looks expensive even under the harsh lighting. Familiar face. My stomach drops like a stone. It’s the man from the video. The one speaking directly into the camera with that calm, chilling tone. Admitting to silencing witnesses. Henry Williams. The county commissioner. He stops just outside the bars. I notice how the guard at the end of the hall doesn't look up. Whoever Henry Williams had spoken to on the way in had smoothed his path here the way he smoothed everything—with money and the quiet understanding that it could stop at any time.

“Well well,” he says. His voice carries smooth and confident through the bars. It echoes slightly off the concrete. “Look at you. The little graphic designer who thought she could play in the big leagues. Sitting here in your fancy new accommodations. You’ll go down for hacking the company. Nice and neat. The perfect scapegoat. The public loves a story like that. Ambitious freelancer gets greedy. Tries to bite the hand that fed her. Classic fall from grace.”

I stand up. My legs feel shaky but I force them steady. Anger rises hot through the exhaustion. It burns away some of the fog in my head. “You won’t get away with this. The US Marshals know the truth. They’ve seen the files. They know I didn’t hack anything. I just found what you and your people tried to hide. The timestamps alone prove it.”

He laughs. The sound echoes off the concrete walls. Low and mocking. It sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature. He leans in closer. His hands wrap around the bars. His knuckles turn white with the grip. “Evidence? Sweetheart. Evidence is such a fragile thing. I’ve paid off every cop and enforcer from here to Utah. No one will ever be able to bring down my operations. I’ve got my hand in everything. Judges who owe me favors. Politicians who need my donations. The right pockets lined at every level. You’re just a small problem I’m cleaning up. You should’ve stayed in your quiet little world drawing pictures and staying invisible. Now you rot in here while the real work continues. The deals keep flowing. The money keeps moving. And you? You become the headline that makes everyone feel better about the system. A nice little distraction while we tie up the loose ends.”

His words feel like ice water. They sink deep. The fear tries to rise again. Sharp and suffocating. I see flashes of a future I don’t want. Courtrooms. Headlines. A life erased. But something clicks in my mind. Something only a designer could see. The detail I noticed in the video when I first watched it. The subtle watermark in the corner of one frame. A faint overlay that didn’t belong. A digital signature from Harrington’s internal system that someone tried to scrub but missed. Only someone who works with visuals every day would’ve caught it. It proves the video was edited and re-saved on their servers, not mine.

I step closer to the bars. My voice stays steady despite the way my hands shake. “You can laugh all you want. But you slipped up. That watermark in the video. The one you tried to hide. I saw it. My design work means I notice those things. The marshals will find it too once they get my laptop. It proves the tampering came from your side. Not mine.”

He laughs again. Louder this time. The sound bounces around the small space. But I see something flicker in his eyes. A flash of uncertainty. Or maybe just irritation. He straightens his suit jacket. Brushes invisible lint from the sleeve. “Cute. A little artist playing detective. Enjoy your stay. It’ll be a long one. Maybe you’ll have time to sketch your little defense strategy on the walls. Though I doubt the guards will appreciate the artwork. And your laptop? Let’s just say certain things have a way of disappearing too.”

He turns and walks away. His footsteps fade down the hallway until only the buzzing light remains. I sink back onto the bench. My hands shake harder now. The tears come again. Hot and silent at first. Then heavier. I curl under the blanket once more. The cold presses in from all sides. The tiredness pulls at me like heavy chains. But the detail I remembered gives me something to hold onto. My laptop. It was left back at the cabin. The original files. The timestamps. The watermark. If I can just tell Kane. If the team can get to it before anyone else does.

A guard appears later. He says I can make one call. My hands tremble as I dial the number Kane gave me for the marshals office. The line connects. Kane’s voice comes through. “Lila. Are you okay?”

I swallow hard. My voice cracks but I force the words out. “I remembered something. The laptop. The one I had at the cabin. There’s evidence on it. A watermark in the video. A digital signature from their system. It proves the tampering. You need to get to it before they do. Please, Kane.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m on it. Stay strong. I’m coming for you. This ends soon.”

The call ends. I hand the phone back, sinking onto the bench again as the cold seeps through the blanket. The tears come once more. But this time they feel different. Mixed with a spark of hope. Kane will get the laptop. The team will see what I saw. The truth will come out. I curl up tighter. The exhaustion finally wins. Sleep pulls me under in fits, but I drift toward it with his voice in my head. He’s coming. I’ll hold on until he does. One breath at a time. One tear at a time. Until the door opens again and this nightmare takes the next step. Whatever that step may be.

24

Kane

Fuck this. Henry Williams is going down. I turn to the team. Mason. Jax. Ryker. Brock. Colt. All of them look up from their screens and files. The tension in the room’s already shifted. I fill them in fast. The watermark. The laptop at the cabin. The proof that can blow this whole frame job wide open.

“We move now,” I say. “Someone get to the cabin and bring that laptop straight here. I want every file authenticated within the hour. We use this to get her released into marshal custody tonight.”

Ryker nods and grabs his keys. “I’m on the laptop. I’ll have it back before dark.”

I don’t wait around. I head straight for my truck. The drive to the station feels longer than it should. My hands stay tight on the wheel. Every mile I picture her in that cell. The thought makes my blood run hot. I’ve spent hours at the field office pushing every angle. Losing the main evidence felt like the ground giving way beneath my feet. Now we have something new. Something she remembered because of who she is. Her work. Her attention to detail. It changes everything.

I pull into the station lot. The building looks smaller in the fading light. I kill the engine and sit for a second. My heart beats hard against my ribs. I’ve faced down armed men and worse without flinching. But the thought of walking in there and seeing her behind those bars still hits differently. She belongs by my side. And I’m done letting anyone keep her from me.

Inside the station the air feels thick. I flash my badge and state my business. The new evidence has already started working its way through the system. Mason and the team moved fast on their end. Emergency review. The watermark and the laptop files confirm the tampering. The charges against her don’t hold. Not anymore.

A guard leads me down the short hallway. My boots echo on the floor, every step bringing me closer. I see her before she sees me. She sits on the bench inside the cell. Blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her head lifts the second my shadow falls across the bars.

Our eyes meet. The world narrows to just that. Her face. The tired lines around her eyes. The way her shoulders straighten when she sees me. I’ve never been wrecked like this before.

The guard unlocks the cell and I step inside. She stands as the blanket slips from her shoulders. I cross the small space in two strides and pull her into my arms. She fits against me like she was made to be there. Her body’s smaller than I remember. Fragile in a way that makes the animaliztic part of me roar. I bury my face in her hair, holding her tight enough that she can feel every promise I’ve made since the day I met her.

“It’s okay,” I say against her ear. My voice comes out rough. “You’re safe now. I’m taking you out of here.”

She clings to me. Her fingers dig into my jacket. I feel the tremor that runs through her. “Kane. You came.”

“Always.” I pull back just enough to look at her. My hands frame her face, my thumbs brushing away the last of her tears. “The laptop. The detail you remembered. It worked. We’ve got the proof. The marshals office has taken custody. You’re being released into my care until this whole mess is straightened out.”

The words settle between us. Released into my care. Not just marshal custody. Mine. I made sure of that. No more local holding cells. No more corrupt hands anywhere near her. She stays with me. Where I can protect her every second until this is finished.

She nods, her eyes staying locked on mine. “The laptop. It was at the cabin. I left it there when we left. I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t have to think. You remembered the detail that matters. That’s all we needed.” I kiss her forehead. Then her temple. Then her mouth. Slow and deep. She tastes like tears and the strength I’ve always known she carried. When I pull back her cheeks are flushed. Her breathing has steadied.

The guard clears his throat. Paperwork waits at the desk. I keep one arm around her as we walk out. My body shields her from the stares. From everything. We sign the final forms. The release into my custody is official. She’s free of this place. Free to come with me.

Outside the station the night air feels cooler. I open the passenger door of my truck and help her in. My hands linger on her waist. I can’t stop touching her, checking that she’s really here. Really safe. I climb behind the wheel and start the engine. The truck rumbles to life.

She reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh. The contact grounds me more than anything else has in days. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I cover her hand with mine, and squeeze once. “You don’t thank me for this. You’re mine. And I’ll always protect you.”

We pull away from the station, and the road stretches ahead. The laptop is already on its way to the field office. The team’s working. The evidence is moving. Henry Williams and his network still think they have control. They don’t know what’s coming.

I glance at Lila beside me. Her head rests against the seat. Her eyes are heavy but clear. She’s exhausted.

I drive steady with one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers. The mountains rise around us. The night deepens. I have her back. And I’m not letting go again. Not until every threat’s gone. Not until she’s truly free. Not until the world knows exactly who she belongs to.

25

Lila

We drive away from the jail. The truck rumbles under us. Kane’s hand stays steady on mine. I lean back against the seat and let the relief wash over me. The cuffs are gone. The cell is behind us. I’m out, and released into his custody. The words still feel unreal. I breathe deep. The air feels freer already. Kane glances over at me every few seconds. His jaw stays set but his eyes soften when they meet mine. I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. For the first time in hours the knot in my chest loosens.

The road stretches ahead. Snow dusts the shoulders. The mountains rise around us like old friends. I think about the cabin waiting somewhere ahead. The fire. The big bed. The way Kane held me there. The way he promised he’d always protect me. The truck suddenly jerks hard. Tires screech. Kane swears under his breath and yanks the wheel. Another vehicle slams into us from the side. Metal crunches. Glass cracks. The world tilts. We skid off the road. The truck bounces over rough ground before it stops hard against a snowbank. My heart slams against my ribs. I grip the seat belt. My breath comes fast and shallow.

Kane’s hand is already on his phone. He dials fast. His voice stays rough and urgent when the line connects. “We’re under attack. Road just past the station. Send backup now.” He ends the call and looks at me. His eyes are fierce. “Stay in the car. Get down. Do not get out no matter what.”

I nod, my hands shaking as I slide lower in the seat. Kane reaches for the gun at his hip. He checks it once. Then he opens the door. Cold air rushes in as he steps out. The door slams behind him. I duck lower. My pulse thunders in my ears. I peek through the window. Shadows move in the trees. Men. Armed. One of them steps forward. Henry Williams. His polished suit looks out of place in the snow. His voice carries on the wind.

“This ends here,” he calls out. “She knows too much. You should’ve handed her over when you had the chance.”

Gunshots crack through the air. Kane fires back. The sound is sharp and loud. I flinch, my hands covering my ears as terror floods through me. Kane stands between me and them. Alone. Protecting me like he always does. Bullets ping off the truck. Glass shatters somewhere behind me. I curl tighter. My breath comes in short gasps. Kane’s voice cuts through the chaos. Steady. Commanding. He moves. Fires again. One of Henry’s men goes down. Henry shouts orders. His voice is angry now. Desperate.

More shots ring out, and the truck rocks with the impact. I press my forehead to the seat, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. Kane’s out there fighting for me. I want to scream for him to get back in the truck. To stay safe. But I stay down. I trust him. I have to trust him.

Tires crunch on the snow. More vehicles arrive fast, their doors slamming as shouts fill the air. Kane’s team. The fight turns chaotic. I stay down but I can hear the tide shifting. Henry’s men are outnumbered now. The marshals move with purpose. Coordinated. Relentless. A bullet ricochets near the window. I flinch harder, my hands unsteady against my ears. The terror claws at my throat. Kane’s voice cuts through again. He’s still fighting. Still standing between me and everything trying to tear us apart.

26

Kane

This is what I’ve trained for. This is how we work. My team. Us moving together as a unit. I fire my gun, taking out an attacker from the right. Jax nods, moving closer to the truck.

Henry’s men are outnumbered now. I see Ryker and Colt move in from the other side. One of the attackers tries to flank. I spin, catching him with a hard hit to the jaw. He stumbles, and I press the advantage. My fist connects again. Pain blooms in my knuckles but I don’t stop. Another man swings at me and I duck, driving my shoulder into his gut. We go down in the snow. It’s cold and wet against my face. I get the upper hand, pinning him as I press my gun to his head.

“Stay down,” I growl.

Henry tries to run. Jax’s on him fast, tackling him hard. They roll. Snow flies. Henry curses. His voice cracks with rage. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. This won’t end with me.”

I secure the man under me, grabbing zip ties from my belt. I’m efficient as I secure the criminal. Mason moves in. His phone’s already out. He calls the local PD while the rest of us hold the scene.

“Sheriff Silas James. We’ve got a situation. Henry Williams and his men. Attempted murder of a federal witness. We need you out here now.”

The fight slows. My team’s got it under control. I stay alert, scanning every shadow. Every movement. My heart still pounds. Not from the exertion. From the thought of what could’ve happened if they had reached the truck. If they’d reached her.

Silas arrives a few minutes later. His cruiser lights flash across the snow. He steps out, taking in the scene. Henry’s cuffed. His men secured. My team’s standing guard.

“Marshal Beckett,” he says. His voice is calm but firm. “You’ve got my attention.”

I nod, keeping my gun ready but lowered. “Henry Williams ordered an ambush. They ran us off the road. Tried to kill the witness we just released. We’ve got the proof from the laptop.”

Sheriff James looks at Henry. The commissioner’s face is red. His suit rumpled. Snow clings to it. He struggles against the cuffs. “This is a setup. These marshals are overstepping. You have no jurisdiction here.”

The sheriff shakes his head. “I’ve got jurisdiction over attempted murder in my county. And from what I’m seeing you brought the fight to them.” He steps closer to Henry. “Henry Williams. You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. Among other things. You have the right to remain silent.”

Henry spits words. He’s pissed. “You will regret this. All of you. I have friends. Powerful friends.”

Silas cuffs him himself, laughing to himself. I’ve known Silas James for years. Good man. He won’t let this shit fly.

Silas reads Henry his rights, his voice never wavering. My team watches. Jax gives a short nod. Brock secures the last of the attackers into the back of one of our vehicles. The scene is ours now. The threat contained.

I holster my gun as the cold air bites at my face. My arm throbs where a random bullet grazed. I ignore it. My focus shifts. Lila. I turn back to the truck. I run toward it as every step brings me closer to her. The door feels heavy when I pull it open. She’s curled low in the seat. Her hands over her ears. Her breathing fast and shallow. The terror in her eyes is real and lethal.

I reach in, keeping my hands gentle. “Lila. It’s me. You’re safe now.”

She looks up as her eyes widen. Relief floods her face. She launches into my arms and I catch her, pulling her out of the truck. I hold her tight against my chest as her whole body trembles.

“I’m here,” I murmur. My voice rough. “They’re done. Henry’s arrested. The team’s got them all.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her hands come up to my face. Her thumbs trace the cut on my cheek. The sting is nothing compared to the feel of her touch. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. You’re what matters.” I check her over. No injuries. Just fear. The kind that lingers in her eyes. “Are you okay? Really okay?”

She nods as tears spill, but she smiles through them. “I stayed down. Like you said. I was terrified. But I knew you’d come back for me. I knew you wouldn’t let them take me.”

My chest tightens. This woman. The one who stumbled into danger and stole every piece of me. I love her.

I kiss her, my hands framing her face. I taste the salt of her tears, feeling the way she melts into me. The world narrows to this. To her. Safe. In my arms. When I pull back I rest my forehead against hers. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again. Not until this is finished. Not until every last threat’s gone.”

She clings to me, her voice soft. “I love you, Kane. I was going to tell you when we got back to the cabin. But I need you to know now.”

Those words settle over me like something I’ve been missing all my life. My arms tighten around her. “I love you too. More than I have words for. You’re my everything. My reason for all of this.”

Around us the scene moves on. Sheriff James loads Henry into his cruiser. The commissioner still spits threats. My team processes the attackers. Mason walks over, his expression steady.

“Local PD is taking them in. We’ll coordinate from there. The laptop evidence holds. This gives us the leverage we need.”

I nod, keeping Lila close with one arm around her waist. “Good. We move her to the safe house after this. No more risks.”

Sheriff James approaches again. He looks at Lila with respect in his eyes. “Ma’am. I’m sorry this happened on my watch. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Lila straightens in my arms. Brave even now. “Thank you, Sheriff. Kane and his team saved me.”

He nods, turning back to his cruiser. The lights flash as he pulls away with Henry. My team starts wrapping the scene, securing evidence as the snow keeps falling.

I help Lila back into the truck. My hands linger on her as she climbs in. I climb in on the other side and start the engine. I give her a soft smile before pulling away from the scene.

But I know it’s not finished. Not yet. There are more players. More pockets lined. I’ll burn it all down if I have to. For her. For the future I see with her. The one where she sketches by the fire. Where I hold her every night. Where no one comes for her again.

Lila shifts beside me. Her hand finds mine and she squeezes. “Thank you for coming for me. For fighting for me.”

I lift her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Always. You’re my shield too. My reason to keep going. We’re in this together now. Side by side.”

The truck eats up the miles as the mountains stand guard around us. The cabin waits ahead. It’s about time I hold her without the weight of the world pressing in. I glance at her. Her eyes are heavy but clear. The terror fades. Replaced by something stronger. Trust. Love. The same things I feel for her.

My team’s behind us. The threat contained for now. Sheriff James has Henry. The arrest will stick. The laptop proof will hold. And if it doesn’t we’ll find other evidence. His whole system will crumble. He thinks he’s got higher ups on his side, but I’ve seen this plenty of times. They’ll start distancing themselves from him.

We drive on as the night deepens. The road curves. I focus on the feel of her beside me. We’ll sleep in the cabin tonight and sort the rest out tomorrow.

The cabin lights appear in the distance, and relief settles in my chest. I pull in and kill the engine. My hands cup her face again. I kiss her slowly as I claim every inch of the fear that tried to take her.

“You’re with me now,” I say. My voice low. “Where you belong.”

She smiles. “With you. Always.”

I help her out, keeping her close as we walk inside. The team will handle the rest tonight. Mason will coordinate with the sheriff. The evidence will build the case. But for now it’s just us. The mountain man and the woman who changed everything. The one I love with every beat of my heart. The one I’ll protect until my last breath.

27

Lila

I sit by the fire in the cabin. The flames crackle and pop. Warm light dances across the wooden walls. Kane’s arms stay wrapped around me. His chest rises and falls steady against my back. The fight on the road feels like something that happened to someone else. But my hands still tremble when I think about the gunshots.

I press closer to him. His body’s solid. The cut on his cheek has been cleaned. A small bandage covers it. My fingers trace the edge of it. He catches my hand and brings it to his lips as he kisses my knuckles slowly.

“You’re safe,” he says. His voice is raspy. “Everyone’s in custody now. Henry. His men. The ones who tried to run us off the road. The team moved fast after the arrest.”

I nod. The relief settles deeper with every word. Hours have passed since we got back here. The snow keeps falling outside the windows. Soft flakes pile against the glass. I watch them for a moment. The world outside feels distant. Quieter. Inside this cabin the fire keeps the cold at bay. Kane’s hand rests on my thigh. His thumb moves in slow circles. The touch grounds me. I think about the cell. The cold bench. The way my body ached from fear and exhaustion. The way Henry stood there laughing. Telling me no one could touch his operations. How wrong he was. How the watermark I noticed changed everything.

Kane’s phone rings. He keeps one arm around me while he answers. Mason’s voice comes through clear on speaker. I listen as they talk. The evidence from the laptop authenticated fast. The team worked through the night. The digital signature. The timestamps. The watermark that only someone who works with visuals every day would catch. It all lined up. Proof that the files were tampered with on Harrington’s systems. Not mine. The charges against me are dropped completely. The marshals office moved quick on the rest. Arrest warrants went out for everyone connected. Corrupt cops. The enforcers Henry paid off. The politicians and judges in his pocket. One by one they’re being taken in.

I breathe out, my chest loosening more with each update. I can go back to my life. The words feel strange. My old apartment. My freelance work. Late nights with my sketchbook. Client calls about branding and layouts. It all waits for me. But something has shifted.

I look at Kane. His jaw is still tight from the fight. His eyes hold that obsessive fire. The man who drove through snow to keep me safe. Who fought off armed men on a mountain road. Who pulled me from that cell and held me like I was the only thing that mattered. I love him. The thought fills every quiet space in my mind. I’ve never felt this way. Not with the quiet artists I dated before. Not with anyone. Kane’s different. Steady. Fierce. The mountain man who claimed me in the middle of a blizzard and never let go.

Mason finishes the call. Kane sets the phone down. He turns me in his arms so I face him. The firelight plays across his face. Highlights the cut. The strength in his features. His hands frame my cheeks. Thumbs brush away the last of my tears from earlier.

“It’s over,” he says. “For you. The evidence holds. Everyone connected is being arrested. You can go back to your life. Your work. Your apartment. Whatever you want.”

I lean into his touch. The warmth of his palms spreads through me. I think about going back. Waking up alone in my bed. Walking to the coffee shop for my usual order. Answering client emails about color palettes and font choices. It feels possible now. The fear is gone. The weight lifted. But something pulls at me. The thought of leaving this. Leaving him. The cabin where we first came together. It annihilates me.

Kane watches me, his eyes searching mine. He takes a breath. His voice comes steady but I hear the edge underneath. The one that always appears when he talks about us.

“I have a place in town,” he says. “Not far from your apartment in Timber Creek. A cabin on the edge of the woods. Quiet. Close enough to everything but far enough for privacy. I want you to live with me there. Come home with me. Stay with me.”

The words settle warm in my chest. I feel them everywhere. In the way my heart beats faster. In the way my hands tighten on his arms. He has a place. Close to mine. He wants me there. With him. Every day. The offer hangs between us. Simple. Honest. The kind of future I didn’t know I needed until he stepped into my chaos.

Of course the answer is a no brainier. But maybe I want to make him sweat a little.

“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of liked my private little life.”

His eyes widen and I can see a flicker of fear hiding beneath his gruff exterior. “Oh?” he asks, lifting a brow.

I smile, rising up on my knees between his legs. My hands rest on his shoulders. “Privacy’s overrated,” I say.

He lets out a quick breath. “Definitely.” He snuggles me closer, laughing lightly into my hair. “I love you, Lila.”

I turn in his arms. “I love you too.”

Kane stands, lifting me with him. My legs wrap around his waist. He carries me to the bed. He lays me down, and follows me down. His body covers mine. The weight is perfect. Grounding. I run my hands over his shoulders, feeling the strength there. The way he moves slow. Like we’ve got all the time in the world now.

We don’t rush. The danger’s gone. The arrests are happening. The evidence is solid. My life waits for me. But I choose this. I choose him. The mountain man who rescued me in every way.

Later we talk more. About the drive to Timber Creek. About what we’ll bring from my apartment. About the way his place has a big window where I can sketch in the morning light. About the way he’ll come home to me after his shifts. The details fill the space between us. I feel the future unfolding. Quiet. Steady. Full of the love that started in a blizzard and survived everything that tried to tear it apart.

I rest my head on his chest. His fingers trace patterns on my arm. The fire has burned low but the warmth lingers. Outside the snow keeps falling. Inside we’re safe. Together. I close my eyes, letting the relief and the love settle deep. I can go back to my life. But I’m choosing a new one. One with Kane. In Timber Creek. In his cabin. In his arms. Where I belong. Where we both belong. The man who fought for me. The man who loves me. The man I love more than I ever thought possible. This is our beginning. The one we earned. The one we’ll keep. Side by side. Always.

Epilogue

Kane

I push open the front door of our house in Timber Creek. The place feels new even though it’s not. Maybe it’s from having the place filled with love. I don’t know, but I like it. Gives me something to look forward to when I get off work.

It’s been a few months since we settled here. Lila moved her things from her old apartment. Her sketchbooks line the shelves in the living room now. My gear stays by the door. The space is ours.

Today was a long one. Paperwork. Meetings with the team. Wrapping up the last loose ends from the Harrington case. Henry’s gone. His network is crumbling. The arrests stuck. But the work never really ends. I shrug off my jacket, rolling my shoulders. The tension from the day starts to ease the second I hear her.

Lila sits at the big table near the window. Her laptop’s open and a sketchpad sits beside it. She’s bent over a design as her pencil moves in quick strokes, her hair falling forward. She tucks it behind her ear without looking up. The sight of her here hits me every time. Lila. In our home. Safe. Creating something beautiful like she always does.

I cross the room, my boots quiet on the floor. She looks up when I get close. Her eyes light up. That smile. The one that still knocks the air from my lungs. Fuck.

“Hey,” she says. “You’re home early.”

I lean down, and kiss her. Slow at first. Then deeper. My hand slides into her hair. The strands feel soft between my fingers. She tastes like the peppermint tea she likes. Her mouth opens for me and I take what I need. What I missed all day. When I pull back her cheeks are rosy red.

I don’t wait as I slide my hands under her, lifting her right out of the chair. Her legs wrap around my waist like they belong there. She laughs. The sound is light. Happy. Her arms go around my neck.

“Kane,” she says. But it’s not a protest. It’s a hundred percent permission.

I carry her through the house. The bedroom waits at the end of the hall. Big bed. Thick blankets. The window looks out over the woods. I kick the door shut behind us, setting her down on the edge of the bed. Her feet dangle. I stay standing between her knees. My hands rest on her thighs as I look at her. Really look at her. The way she fits here. The way she fits with me.

“I missed you,” I say. My voice comes out raw. “All day I kept thinking about coming home to this. To you.”

She reaches up, and touches my face. Her fingers trace the line of my jaw. “I missed you too. I was working on a new branding project but my mind kept drifting to you. To us.”

I kiss her again, harder this time. My tongue slides against hers. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat. I love that sound. I push her back onto the bed. I climb up her body, settling just above her. I place my hands on each side of her head and gaze into her eyes. “You missed this?”

She nods.

I take my time, kissing down her neck as I nibble at the spot that makes her shiver. Her hands tug at my shirt and I pull it off, tossing it aside. Then I get rid of hers as I look at her. I’m so fucking turned on. “Need to see your perfect tits,” I tell her, pushing her bra off her body. Her nipples pebble under my stare.

“Kane,” she breathes. Her voice already has that edge. She’s needy.

I take one nipple into my mouth, sucking it slowly. Then a little harder. She gasps as her fingers slide into my hair, holding me there. I switch to the other and give it the same attention. My hand slides down her stomach. Into her pants. She’s wet. Ready. I stroke her through her panties, circling her clit with my thumb. Her hips lift, chasing the feeling.

I pull back. I stand and look down at her. She’s spread out on our bed. Her hair’s messy. Lips swollen from my kisses. Eyes dark with want. I unbuckle my belt and pull it free. The sound of leather sliding through the loops makes her bite her lower lip. I drop my pants. My cock’s rock hard. Thick. Already leaking for her.

She sits up, and reaches for me. Her hand wraps around my shaft. Gentle at first. Then firmer. She strokes once. Twice. I watch her. The way her eyes stay on mine. The way her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Fuck me.

“I want to try something,” she says. Quiet. A little shy but determined. “I’ve thought about it. About tasting you. About taking you in my mouth.”

Heat floods through me, and my cock twitches in her hand. I’ve wanted this too. Dreamed about it. But I waited, letting her set the pace. Now she’s asking. Offering.

“You don’t have to,” I say. Even as my hand cups the back of her head. “But fuck, Lila. If you want to…”

“I want to.” Her voice is stronger now. “Show me. Tell me what you like.”

I step closer. My cock brushes her lips. She looks up at me. Eyes wide. Trusting. I guide her, feeding her my dick. “Open for me, baby. Just like that.”

Her mouth opens, and she takes the head in. It’s warm and perfect. Her tongue swirls around the tip and I groan. The sound fills the room. She takes more. Inch by fucking inch. Her hand strokes what she can’t fit yet. I keep my hand gentle in her hair, guiding her. I praise her.

“That’s it, baby girl. Your mouth feels so fucking good.” My voice is rough. Dirty. Loving. “Suck a little harder. Use your tongue. Just like that,” I hiss out.

She moans around me. The vibration shoots straight through me. Her eyes water a little but she doesn’t stop. She takes me deeper, hollowing her cheeks. The sight of her sucking me off. On our bed. In our house. It does something to the possessive part of me. She’s with me now. Every part of her. And she’s choosing this. Choosing us.

I let her set the rhythm at first, watching her learn. Her hand pumps the base. Her mouth works the rest. Saliva makes everything slick. The sounds are filthy. I thrust shallow. Careful not to push too far. My other hand cups her cheek, my thumb stroking her skin.

“Look at you,” I murmur. “Taking my cock so well. My good little girl. You were made for this. Made for me.”

She pulls back for air. Strings of saliva connect her lips to my cock. Her eyes are glassy. Needy. She dives back in, taking me deeper this time. I feel the back of her throat. Tight. Hot. I grit my teeth as I hold back, letting her explore.

My free hand slides down, cupping her breast again as I pinch her nipple. She moans louder around me. The vibration nearly ends me. I pull her off gently, tilting her face up, and I kiss her hard. I can taste myself on her tongue. It’s fucking fantastic.

“On the bed,” I say. “On your back. I need to be inside you.”

She scrambles back. I strip the rest of her clothes off, spreading her legs. She’s so soaked. My heart pounds as I drag my cock through her pussy, teasing her clit with the head. She whimpers.

I push in inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me. Her walls flutter, pulling me deeper. I bottom out and stay there, letting her adjust. My forehead drops to hers.

“I love you,” I say. Simple and true. “Every part of you. This life we built. You in our bed. You in my arms.”

She wraps her legs around me, pulling me closer. “I love you too. So much. Now move. Please.”

I do. Long, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out. I slide back in, her body taking me. She’s greedy. Wet sounds fill the room. Skin against skin. Her moans. My grunts. I angle my hips. Hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out. My thumb finds her clit, strumming it in time with my thrusts.

Her nails dig into my back as she clings to me. I fuck her harder. Deeper. The headboard hits the wall. I don’t care. Nothing exists but her. She looks at me like I hung the moon.

“Come for me,” I growl. “Let me feel it. Show me how good I make you feel.”

She shatters, her body clamping down as it pulses around my cock. Her cry is loud. Beautiful. I follow her over. Thrust deep one last time as I fill her, claiming her. My release is long. Intense. I stay buried inside her, kissing her through it.

We stay like that, breathing hard as our hearts slow. I roll to the side, pulling her with me. She curls against my chest as her leg drapes over mine. I stroke her hair, and kiss her temple.

A few months ago I was fighting to keep her safe. Now she’s here. In our home. In our bed. Working on her projects while I come home to her. The danger’s gone. The life we built is real. She’s mine and I’m hers. And every day I come home to this. To her mouth on me. Her body under mine. Her love wrapped around every part of me.

I hold her tighter, feeling her smile against my chest.

“Welcome home,” she whispers.

I kiss the top of her head. “Best part of my day. Every time.”

The house is quiet around us. Timber Creek outside the windows. The future stretches ahead. Full of nights like this. Her sketches. My arms around her. The kind of love that started in a blizzard and kept us fighting until we won. I close my eyes. Let the peace settle in. She’s here. Safe. Loved. And I’ll spend every day making sure she knows it.

Up Next, get ready to meet Colt Rivers as he rescues curvy gal, Nora from a crash in the Montana mountains. She’s got a secret, and he’s desperate to find out! Keep reading for a sneak peek of Growly Trapper Daddy >>>

Want more Kane and Lila? CLICK HERE to download a super spicy extended epilogue!!

Growly Trapper Daddy Sneak Peek

Chapter 1

Nora

The wind whips through the pine branches above me, sending a shower of loose snow cascading down like icy confetti. I huddle against the tree trunk, its bark rough and unyielding against my back, the chill seeping through my jacket straight into my bones. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts that cloud the air in front of my face. My fingers are numb where they clutch my small notebook, the pages crammed with quick cartoon sketches and snappy captions. This was supposed to be my day. My escape. A quiet hike to find the perfect absurd mountain moment for my next batch of funny cartoon strips. Curvy cartoonist seeks ridiculous inspiration in the wild. Instead, I found death.

The gunshot still rings in my ears, a sharp crack that split the quiet afternoon like thunder. I saw it all. The two men in dark coats standing over the third, the one on his knees in the snow. The flash of the gun, the way the kneeling man's body jerked and then folded forward, blood blooming dark and wet across the pristine white. It stained the snow in a spreading pool that looked almost artistic in its horror. And then their heads snapped up. Eyes locking on me where I stood frozen on the trail, notebook slipping from my suddenly useless fingers.

One of them pointed. "Get her!"

Terror floods my system, hot and cold all at once. I don’t think. I just move. My boots crunch over the snow-covered ground as I turn and run, the sound of my own panicked breathing loud in my head. The trees blur past on either side, dark trunks and green needles whipping by. Branches snag at my coat and hair, pulling like angry fingers. My legs pump hard, but every step feels like a battle. These curves were made for lounging with a coffee and a stack of sketch pads, not for sprinting through a Montana forest with killers on my tail. My thighs burn with the effort, muscles protesting the sudden demand. Cardio? I do it when I chase the pizza delivery guy in my dreams. Not like this. Never like this.

"Run, Nora," I gasp to myself, voice ragged and thin. "You draw funny little cartoons for a living. You’re not the girl who outruns bad guys in the movies. This isn’t your genre. This is the part where the comic relief gets axed in the first act."

Shouts echo behind me, muffled by the trees but getting closer. "Find her! She can’t get away!" The words bounce off the mountains, turning the peaceful wilderness into a nightmare echo chamber. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape my chest. I can feel every beat, every pulse of fear pushing blood through my veins too fast. The cold air stings my cheeks and makes my eyes water, but I don’t dare slow down. The ground slopes beneath my feet, uneven and treacherous. I stumble once, catching myself on a low branch that bites into my palm through my glove. The sting is sharp. Keep going. Just keep going.

The forest seems to close in around me, the trees growing denser, the light dimmer even in the middle of the day. Snow crunches under every frantic step, the sound mixing with the thunder of my pulse in my ears. I risk a glance over my shoulder. Shadows move between the trunks. They’re coming. Fast. My breath saws in and out, each inhale a battle against the burning in my lungs. The cold Montana air feels like knives in my chest, but it’s nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins. I witnessed a murder. Me. The girl who once spent three hours perfecting the perfect cartoon bear with a tiny hat.

I burst out onto the dirt road where I parked my Subaru, the familiar sight of the old car a tiny beacon of hope in the chaos. My hands fumble with the door handle, cold fingers slipping on the metal. Finally it opens and I dive inside, slamming the door behind me with a force that rattles the whole frame. The interior is cold, the leather seats stiff from the winter chill that has settled in while I was hiking. I jam the key into the ignition, twisting hard. The engine coughs once, twice, then roars to life with a reassuring rumble that vibrates through the steering wheel into my palms. Thank every mountain spirit out there. I throw it into drive and floor the gas pedal. Gravel sprays from the tires as I lurch forward, the car fishtailing slightly before straightening out on the road.

In the rearview mirror, the dark truck appears like a predator emerging from the trees. It’s gaining, fast. My stomach drops like I’ve crested the top of a roller coaster and found nothing but empty air. They’re not giving up. I witnessed their crime, and now I’m the loose end they need to tie off. Permanently. The ruthless men who put a bullet in that poor soul back there have no intention of letting me live to describe what I saw. My hands tighten on the wheel until my fingers ache. The road ahead climbs, the trees pressing closer on both sides.

I yank the wheel hard, veering onto a narrower side road that climbs into the heart of Steel Mountain. This is my only chance. Lose them in the twists and turns, the dense forest, the rising elevation. The road’s barely wide enough for one car, lined with towering pines that lean in like silent witnesses. Snow starts falling harder now, big thick flakes that swirl and dance in the wind, coating the windshield in a layer I have to clear with the wipers. They thump rhythmically, a steady beat against the growing storm outside and inside me. Visibility drops with every passing second. The world narrows to the twin beams of my headlights cutting through the white and the dark shape of the truck still visible in my mirror, relentless. "Please, please, please," I whisper, my voice cracking. I’m talking to the car, to the universe, to anyone who might be listening. "Bessie, baby, just get me through this. Let me disappear into these mountains. I promise I’ll wax you. Detail you. Whatever you want. New air freshener? Done. Just don’t strand me now. I still have three deadlines and a cartoon about a grumpy moose that needs finishing."

But the road is turning treacherous. Ice hides beneath the fresh snow, black and deadly. I hit a patch on a sharp curve, and the world suddenly goes sideways. The car spins, tires losing all grip with a sickening slide that sends my stomach into freefall. Trees whip past the windows in a dizzying blur of green and white. I scream, the sound raw and tearing from my throat, my hands locked on the wheel in a death grip that turns my knuckles bone-white. The steering wheel jerks under my palms like a living thing fighting back. Then comes the impact. A sickening, crunching jolt as the front of the car slams into the thick trunk of an old pine. Metal crumples with a sound like a giant can being crushed. Glass cracks in a spiderweb pattern across the windshield, tiny fractures spreading outward from the point of contact. The force throws me forward against the seatbelt, which snaps tight across my chest like a cruel hug, digging into my collarbone and ribs.

The airbag explodes with a deafening pop, bursting from the steering wheel and slamming into my face and upper body with shocking force. It’s like being punched by a giant pillow filled with concrete. My head snaps back against the headrest, then forward again. Pain explodes behind my eyes, a throbbing, relentless beat that matches my racing heart. My ribs ache where the seatbelt dug in, every breath a sharp reminder of the crash. My lip stings where it split against my teeth. For a few endless seconds, the only sounds are the ringing in my ears, high and piercing like a siren inside my skull, and the soft hiss of steam or fluid escaping from the damaged engine. The car settles with a groan, tilted slightly in the snowbank, the front end crumpled like a discarded piece of paper.

Everything’s still. Too still. Snow continues to fall outside, drifting down in lazy spirals that contrast violently with the violence of the last few minutes. Through the cracked windshield, the world looks softer, whiter, but I know it’s anything but safe. My notebook has flown forward, pages torn and scattered across the floorboard like wounded birds, little cartoon characters with speech bubbles now smeared and ruined. I taste blood, metallic and warm on my tongue from where my lip split on impact. I blink hard, trying to clear the stars dancing in my vision. My head throbs with every heartbeat. My chest feels tight, each inhale a careful negotiation with the pain radiating from my ribs. Cold air leaks in through the broken window, biting at my exposed skin and making me shiver despite the layers I’m wearing.

I’m trapped. The door on the driver's side is jammed against the tree or the snow, I can’t tell which. I push at it anyway, my hands shaking so hard I can barely make a fist. The handle gives nothing. The window’s cracked but not broken enough to crawl through without cutting myself to ribbons. Panic rises like a tide, threatening to drown me. What if the men in the truck catch up? What if they’re already here, circling like wolves in the falling snow? What if this crumpled metal coffin in the middle of nowhere is where my story ends? I’m just a cartoonist. I came here to doodle funny little strips about bears stealing picnic baskets, not to die in them. My mind flashes to all the cartoons I haven’t finished yet. The grumpy moose series. The tourist vs. mountain goat gag. The life I keep putting off because hiding behind my notebook always feels safer than the real world. And now the real world has come crashing in, literally.

A sound cuts through the quiet. Footsteps. Crunching through the snow, steady and deliberate. Not the frantic scramble of the men who were chasing me. This is different. Like the mountain itself decided to send someone. Each step sends a fresh jolt of fear through my already overloaded system. I press myself back against the seat, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. My breath comes faster, fogging the glass even more. The footsteps grow louder. 

Through the swirling snow and the fractured glass, I see him. A figure emerging from the tree line. Tall, so tall he seems to block out part of the falling sky. Broad shoulders filling out a heavy coat that looks like it’s seen years of hard use, the fabric dusted with fresh snow that clings to the folds and seams. He moves with a purpose that speaks of knowing every root and rock in these woods, his boots finding solid ground even where the snow has drifted deep. A beard, dark and thick, catches the snowflakes, turning white at the tips like frost has claimed him too. His face is all angles and strength, the kind of face that belongs on the cover of one of those wilderness survival magazines. Or in one of my cartoon strips, if I weren’t currently terrified for my life. There’s a glint at his hip, something metallic catching what little light filters through the storm. A badge? A knife? A gun? My mind races with possibilities, none of them comforting.

My pulse, already frantic, spikes higher. Is this one of them? Did they send someone ahead to cut me off? Or is he something else entirely? A local? The kind of man who lives out here alone and doesn’t take kindly to strangers bringing trouble to his mountain. Even through my fear, I notice the way he carries himself. Like he could lift this whole car off me if he wanted to. Like the mountain bends to him instead of the other way around.

I shrink back against the seat, my body pressing into the worn upholstery as if I can disappear into it. Every instinct screams at me to hide, to fight, to do something. But I’ve got nowhere to go. The car is my prison now. The man keeps coming, boots leaving deep prints in the fresh snow. He stops a few feet from the wreck, his head tilting as he assesses the damage with eyes that seem to see everything. The snow falls between us, soft and relentless. Then his gaze shifts, locking directly onto mine through the cracked window.

Those eyes. Intense. Piercing. Like they could see straight through the glass and into the panicked mess of my soul. Even from here, I can feel the weight of that stare. Rugged. Unyielding. And somehow, beneath the terror, a tiny, traitorous part of me notices the way his presence fills the space, solid and capable. Like he could chop down a tree with his bare hands and not break a sweat. Like he belongs to this wild place in a way I never will.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there in the falling snow, watching me with that unreadable expression.

I’m scared out of my mind. Heart hammering, body aching, blood on my lip and fear in my throat. And I have no idea if this mountain man is my doom... or my unexpected rescue.

CLICK HERE to keep reading Growly Trapper Daddy, Book #4 in the Steel Mountain Daddies Series!

About the Author

From South Carolina, Lizzie spins gripping tales of love, danger, and steamy encounters. When she’s not writing, she’s in her garden, proving that love—and flowers—need a little patience and daring to grow.

Each story gives you one OTT alpha daddy who isn't afraid to prove himself, an innocent heroine who needs a Daddy to take care of her. Popular Lizzie tropes include, mafia, cowboy, mountain man, boss, stalker, and anything daddy. Lizzie promises a daddy hero, an innocent heroine, and one gripping spellbound love story with each and every book.

Did you know I sell books over on my Tiktok Shop? I do!! Be sure to follow me and check out the beautiful paperbacks and special editions over on my shop!

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