Adonis walked to Ike, patting him on the back as he grabbed the compass. “You’ve given us everything we need, Ike. We’ll take it from here. Go back to the house before Remi or someone else sees you.”
For a moment, rebellion flashed in Ike's eyes, but then he nodded. The old Ike would have bulldozed past their objections, would have insisted on leading from the front. This new, more tempered version understood when to pick his battles. Lachlan wasn't sure if that was progress or another sign of how much they'd all changed.
The room erupted into focused activity. Lachlan watched as his teammates—his family—prepared for war. They moved with the practiced efficiency of men who'd faced death together before and expected to do so again.
"You good?" Sebastian asked, appearing at Lachlan's side as he checked his sidearm.
Lachlan holstered his weapon, feeling the familiar weight settle against his ribs. "I will be. When we find her."
And when he put a bullet between Wesley Thomas’s eyes for daring to take his family from him.
"I can't lose her, Seb," he whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep and primal. The thought of his little hen with a stranger, wondering why he hadn't come for her yet. Why her daddy, who promised to always protect her, wasn't there gutted him. The thought cut deeper than any knife.
Sebastian gripped Lachlan’s shoulder hard enough to anchor him to the present as the guys surrounded him. “We won't let that happen. That's a promise."
"Thank you," Lachlan managed, his throat tight. "All of you." He looked around at the men preparing to risk their lives for his daughter, feeling simultaneously humbled and strengthened by their loyalty.
Twenty-two hours his daughter had been missing. But in the next two, she would be found. He had to believe that.
“I’m coming, hen,” Lachlan whispered as he followed Adonis to the door. “Hold on just a little bit longer. Daddy’s coming.”
Chapter 50
Night had fallen over The Bluffs, bringing with it a blanket of stars that pierced the darkness like distant beacons. Britt stood on the balcony, her fingers wrapped around the wrought-iron railing as she stared out at the obsidian waters. The whisky in her glass hadn't dulled her senses—it had sharpened them, bringing every memory into painful focus.
Three years of her life stolen by The Visitor.
A man entrenched within the PISCOs.
They wanted to destroy her. She’d told them she would turn over evidence against her father. Help them take down the man who raised her, who’d been her hero her whole life. It was a move of desperation when she’d first found out she was pregnant and was consumed with fear that her child would be a constant target of her father’s rivals. A misguided plan that she could never follow through with. Reneging on that deal had consequences far beyond what she ever realized.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, turning from the balcony.
The door opened, and a tall figure stepped into the room. Broad-shouldered and lean, with dark hair cropped short at thesides. The years had hardened his features, but she'd know those eyes anywhere—dark like molten chocolate.
"Hunter," she whispered.
For a moment, Hunter Quaid stood frozen in the threshold, his expression locked in rigid disbelief. Then something broke behind his eyes, and he crossed the marble floor, pulling her into an embrace so tight she could barely breathe.
"It's really you,"he muttered against her hair.
Britt returned his embrace, bringing unexpected tears to her eyes. This man who had been like a brother to her, sharing all the ups and downs of growing up in the shadow of the cartel, who had put aside his grief to become her father’s most trusted protector after his own father’s death simply because she asked him to. The last piece of her old life falling into place.
"I thought you were dead," he said, releasing her but keeping his hands on her shoulders, studying her face as if cataloging every detail.
"I know you did," Britt said, squeezing his forearm.
Hunter stepped back, running a hand over his face. "When one of our enforcers claimed there was a woman who looked exactly like you in St. Felipe—" Hunter shook his head. "I couldn't believe it. I knew about the rumors of Britt lookalikes, the decoys our enemies tried to use after your supposed death."
A flicker of understanding passed through her. "You thought I was a fake." Britt led him to the sitting area, gesturing for him to take a seat on the leather chaise that still carried a faint scent of her father's cologne.
"Hope is dangerous in our world," Hunter said simply. "We had your remains, or what we thought were yours. I couldn't let myself believe otherwise."
“Yet here I am," Britt said with the ghost of a smile. "Risen from the dead."
“And ready to take your rightful place in this organization?”
