Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Jason shifts, his grip loosening a fraction as he glances around, maybe looking for a way out. In that heartbeat of hesitation, I remember what Orion showed me about self-defense—aim for the instep. Summoning every scrap of courage, I slam my foot down on Jason’s ankle, driving my heel into his vulnerable spot.
He yelps in pain, reflexively letting go. I twist free, scrambling out of his reach. Before Jason can even retaliate, Orion’s finger tightens on the trigger. The muzzle flash lights the night, and my ears ring as gunfire shatters the tense silence.
Jason staggers, eyes wide, then collapses onto the grass. A single ragged breath escapes him before he goes still. I stand there, chest heaving, heart racing, time frozen in the aftermath. It’s over. It’s finally over.
I turn to Orion, tears welling up as the magnitude of what just happened slams into me. He’s already lowering his weapon, exhaling a shaky breath. Despite his injuries, despite everything, he’s here, and he saved me.
We lock eyes. My knees nearly give out, but Orion catches me before I fall. His arms fold around me, warmth radiating from him in a rush of relief. I bury my face in his shoulder, trembling as the realization sinks in—Jason’s gone. He can’t hurt me anymore.
The night air feels suddenly colder, the moonlight glaring on the motionless figure on the ground. But Orion’s presence steadies me, his heartbeat thudding reassuringly against my ear.
“It’s over,” he murmurs, pressing a careful kiss to my temple. His voice shakes, just a little. “He can’t take you from me ever again.”
And for the first time in what seems like forever, I feel safe—truly, finally safe.
Epilogue
Orion
A warm summer sun spills across my back porch, the light catching on the rim of an iced tea pitcher and reflecting in bright patches on the worn wooden boards. I suck in a deep breath, enjoying the lingering aroma of freshly mowed grass, and then return my attention to the grill. The sizzle of hot dogs and the occasional flare of tiny flames fill me with an odd sense of contentment—an anchor grounding me in this moment.
It’s been a few months since everything happened. A few months since the gunfire, the hospital stay, and that final confrontation that nearly cost me everything I cared about. But now, as I stand here grilling hot dogs in my own backyard, the smell of charcoal and spiced meat mingling with the laughter drifting through the open screen door, it all feels a world away.
Briar’s moved in with me, and though we’ve had our share of adjustments—my tidy habits versus her sudden bursts of creative clutter, Jeb’s unpredictable chatter in the early mornings—it’s better than I could’ve dreamed. She’s here. She’s safe. And that’s all I could ever really want.
“Yo, Orion!” Riggs calls from behind me, leaning against the porch rail. He’s holding a bottle of beer, wearing a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “How’re those dogs looking?”
I glance at the ten hot dogs sizzling away. “They look about done. You see Dean’s face if I burn them?” I smirk, flipping another patty. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”
Riggs chuckles, knocking back a swig from his beer. “He might make you run laps around the block.”
“Or reassign me to cooking duty full-time,” I tease. Even the thought of official assignments sends a ripple of relief through me, because the last few months have been blessedly quiet. The Russians and Heath are in custody, Jason’s no longer a threat, and the rest of us have returned to normal routines—whatever normal means for a bunch of protective detail guys.
From inside the house, I hear a burst of laughter, punctuated by the distinctive squawk of Jeb’s voice. That bird’s grown more talkative by the day, apparently thrilled to have so much company around. He’s become the unintentional life of every gathering.
Riggs nods toward the open patio door. “Sounds like Jeb’s entertaining the masses again.”
I can’t help the grin that surfaces. “He’s a show-off. Next time we have a big get-together, I’m half expecting him to break out a stand-up comedy routine.”
Riggs arches an eyebrow. “Couldn’t be worse than some of Gunner’s jokes.”
We share a laugh. Then the squeak of the screen door signals new arrivals to the porch. I glance over my shoulder and see Dean stepping out, hand in hand with Sophia. She’s beaming, dressed in a breezy sundress, her dark hair pinned up in a loose bun. Dean’s got that relaxed look of a man who’s left a thousand worries behind. The difference from a few months ago is night and day—he’s let himself enjoy life again.
“Everything okay in there?” I ask, nodding toward the house.
Sophia answers with a radiant smile. “Everything’s great. Ranger was telling Tory about his last assignment in the Bahamas, and Jeb keeps repeating the word ‘Bahamas’ in the funniest accent. Gunner’s about ready to throttle him if he says it one more time.”