Page 19 of Raven's Mark
"No," Jesse agrees, and his gaze holds mine with an intensity that makes the air between us feel combustible. "We're not."
The moment stretches and the energy shifts between us. It is subtle but undeniable. I'm standing in his kitchen, in a cabin no one else has ever seen, with a cartel hunting us and my uncle pulling strings from a thousand miles away. Right now, the only thing I know for certain is that Jesse Hollister is the most dangerous man I've ever met.
It has nothing to do with what he can do with a rifle or how many men he's killed. It's the way he looks at me like I'm theanswer to a question he's been asking since that night so long ago. It's the dreams that have left me panting and aching with want no matter how hard I try to deny them.
I should hate him. Part of me does, and that part is loud and justified. But the other part, the part that remembers a young man who betrayed his own blood to save my life, who killed his father and disappeared into Shadowland for years, that part wants to close the distance between us and find out if this need burns hotter when I'm pressed against him.
I can't have both the mission and the man, and I can't afford to choose wrong.
But as Jesse holds my gaze across the kitchen island, I know the truth. Whether I trust him or hate him doesn't matter anymore. The cartel is coming, Uncle Robert is playing games with our lives, and Jesse Hollister is the only piece on the board I can see clearly.
That will have to be enough.
6
JESSE
My phone buzzes against the granite, shattering the moment. Knox's name flashes across the screen, and the timing is either perfect or the worst in history. I answer without breaking eye contact with Raven.
"Beckett's tracking something and it's getting worse." Knox's voice is clipped, with no preamble. "We need to see you as soon as possible."
"I can meet. Where do you want to do this?"
"Somewhere private. Not Devil's Acre. That place you mentioned once?"
Knox knows I have the cabin. He just doesn't know where.
"Meet me on County Road 12, a mile marker past the turnoff to Miller's Pond. I'll bring you in from there."
"Copy."
I lower the phone. Whatever was building between us fractures under the weight of reality. Raven steps back first, putting distance between us like she can reset the moment by sheer force of will.
"Your brothers?"
"Beckett's been tracking cartel movement. They need to meet." I pocket the phone. "And I'll bring them here."
Her eyes narrow. "To the cabin?"
"Knox knows it exists but not the location. Beckett doesn't even know I have it." I grab my keys from the hook by the door. "But if we're going after the cartel and whoever is coordinating locally, I need them in on this."
"How much do they know?"
"They know I killed Bo and disappeared into Shadowland." I stop at the door. "What they've never heard is why, or what really happened leading up to that night."
She doesn't respond, just watches me with those dark eyes that see too much.
"Stay inside. Don't open the door for anyone but me. The alarm is set and I'll know before you do if anyone crosses the property line." I move toward the pantry. "But if things go sideways, you need to know where everything is. Come with me."
She follows me into the small pantry off the kitchen. I push aside a shelf unit, revealing a hatch cut into the floor. The latch releases with a soft click.
"You've got a hidden basement?" Raven's eyebrow arches.
"It's my armory." I pull the hatch open and flip on the light below.
Concrete steps descend into a reinforced bunker I built myself over the course of six months. The walls are lined with gun racks and ammunition storage, and the space is less a panic room than a fortress.
I descend first and Raven follows, her boots hitting concrete. AR-15s are mounted on the far wall with their barrels cleaned and oiled, and shotguns hang beside them. A Barrett M82 sniper rifle, the same model I used to take down Bo, sits secured in a hard case. The shelves are stocked with ammunition in 5.56mm, 12-gauge, .50 BMG, and 9mm, enough rounds to hold off a small army. Body armor hangs on hooks with Level III plates, tactical vests, and ballistic helmets. A med kit stocked for gunshotwounds sits on the shelf beside water purification tablets, MREs, and emergency cash in waterproof bags.
