Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“Major Chen,” he says. “Hawthorne. We may have a name.”
I hug my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how cold the cabin feels even with the fire going.
I hear his side of the conversation—short, clipped phrases.
“Riley’s ex. Evan Bell… yes… former drone operator… off-grid for months… possible obsession with her work… I want a full background pull and any contractor ties… and I want eyes on any old contacts or known associates… yes, ma’am.”
He hangs up and turns back to me.
His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are dark with something I can feel from across the room.
“What?” I ask, defensive without meaning to be. “I told you he was intense, not evil.”
Crewe takes one slow step closer. “I don’t like him.”
I blink. “You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.”
That shouldn’t make my chest warm.
It does.
And the worst part is—some stupid piece of me likes that he doesn’t like the idea of another man tied to me. Not because it’s logical. Not because it’s fair.
Because it makes me feel… chosen.
Protected.
Wanted.
Which is ridiculous.
This is not the time to be emotionally feral.
I clear my throat and shove the folder back into the pile like it’s guilty. “Okay. Well. He’s on Chen’s radar now.”
Crewe nods once. “Good.”
The air between us holds.
Then my stomach growls, loud enough to ruin the tension.
I stare at the ceiling like it personally betrayed me.
Crewe’s mouth tilts. “Dinner.”
“Please,” I mutter. “My body would like to remind me that survival requires food, not just anxiety.”
He moves around the kitchen like he belongs in it, pulling ingredients out of the stocked fridge.
Then he pauses. Slowly holds up a package of cheese like it’s evidence in a trial.
He looks at me.
I glare. “Don’t.”
“Just checking,” he says, deadpan. “You still hate cheddar?”
“With my whole soul.”
He sets it back like it offended him. “Why, though?”
“Because it tastes fake,” I say, grabbing plates from a cabinet. “It’s too sharp but also weirdly bland. It’s orange for no reason. It squeaks sometimes. It’s the haunted house of dairy.”
Crewe hums, amused, and starts cooking something simple—pasta, I think, with whatever he can find that doesn’t involve my mortal enemy. The domesticity of it hits me unexpectedly.
This man jumped into a blizzard for a stranger. Took down a rogue drone. Threatened invisible enemies on my behalf.
Now he’s boiling water like this is normal.
It makes my heart do something stupid.
We eat at the small table near the window while the storm presses in on the world outside. The cabin light makes everything softer—the wood grain, the steam from the food, Crewe’s face.
He eats like he does everything else—calm, efficient, but not rushed. Like he’s built for patience.
I poke at my pasta. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He looks up. “For what?”
“For… not treating me like I’m fragile,” I admit. “For letting me dig through my notes like a lunatic. For calling Chen without making me feel crazy.”
His gaze holds mine. “You’re not crazy.”
That simple certainty hits harder than it should.
I swallow. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
I tap my fork against the plate, nerves making me fidget. “That phone call earlier. You looked… different after.”
His posture shifts slightly, but he doesn’t shut down. He just watches me like he’s deciding how much truth I can hold.
“It was my brother,” he says.
“You have a brother?” I ask before I can stop myself. Then I realize how dumb that sounds. “I mean—obviously you have family. You just… you give off only child energy.”
“Really?” His mouth twitches. “I have brothers. I have a lot of brothers.”
“How many?”
He leans back in his chair, eyes drifting to the fire like it’s easier to talk when he’s not looking at me too directly. “Six.”
My eyes widen. “Six brothers? Were your parents okay? Did anyone check on them?”
A low chuckle rumbles out of him. It’s not loud, but it’s real. “We grew up in a small Texas town,” he says. “Valor Springs.”
“Of course you did,” I murmur. “That sounds like a place where people ride horses to school and drink sweet tea as a personality trait.”
His eyes flick back to me, amused. “Not far off.”
I smile despite myself. “Tell me about them.”
His gaze softens. The hard lines of him ease just a fraction.
“Nash is the oldest,” he says. “He’s… steady. The kind of guy who always knew what to do, even when none of us did. I’m the second eldest. Then there’s Mack. He’s loud. Big laugh, bigger opinions. Sin’s quiet but he watches everything—like he’s always calculating angles. Banks is trouble wrapped in charm. A lot of charm. Jace’s the one who could talk a rattlesnake into leaving the porch. Colt’s…” He exhales. “Colt’s the kind of brother who’d drag you out of hell by your collar and yell at you the whole way.”
I can’t help it—I’m smiling. “And you?”
His eyes hold mine. “I’m the one who learned early that if you stay calm, you can hold the whole thing together.”