Page 212 of Unleashed
But all I see is a man who's running out of time. Whose father is dying. Whose scheme has gotten messier than he expected. And who needs one final performance from the woman he blackmailed into playing his wife.
"One more lie," I say.
"One more lie."
I open the car door and step out onto the gravel.
My hand lands on my lower stomach. And then I walk toward the front door of the Blake mansion with my husband's hand on my back and my real family's heartbeat inside me.
One more lie.
And then I'm going home. For good this time.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Ace
We ride in at dawn. Literally. Four trucks. Two horse trailers. Colten, Jett, me, and twelve men who know how to work a fence line and clear a building. Hunter stays on the radio, coordinating from the boundary.
Jett's in black from head to toe. No flamingo shirt. No grin. The version of Jett most people never see.
"Let's go take my ranch," Jett says.
Hunter wants Jett to have Ranch 42, and we all agreed it’s best.
We move.
Three teams of four. East outbuildings. Bunkhouse. Main house. Colten, Jett, and I ride straight up the center drive on horseback.
First shots come from the bunkhouse. Just short bursts that are over in seconds. Two Greeks stumble out with their hands up. Our guys finish the job with a single bullet to the skull and move on.
Jett clears the hay barn. Colten and I take the main house. The front door is open. Mattresses on the floor. Ammunitionboxes in the hallway. The kitchen table filled with maps. Arizona. New Falls. Sterling Ranch circled in red. Our fence lines marked. Our patrol routes documented.
They've been studying us.
By eight a.m., the property is clear. Seven dead Greeks that were stupid enough to think they could fight.
I stand in the front yard and watch Jett's men bolt a new sign to the crossbeam above the gate.
LAWSON RANCH
Black iron letters on weathered wood. Jett stands beneath it, hands on his hips, hat pushed back. Something settles across his face I've never seen. Pride.
"Looks good," I tell him.
"Looks fuckin' perfect."
Sterling Ranch is big enough, Ranch 42 was between us and the Lawson’s Ranch, and now, there ain’t no one wedged between us.
I ride Seven along the southern fence line, scanning the hills. The territory is sealed. Sterling to the west. Lawson to the east. No gaps. No way in.
And that's when I see it.
A dark sedan. Parked on the service road a half mile out. Blacked-out windows. My skin prickles. I've seen that car before. Outside the feed store last week. On Route 9 after the rodeo. Third time isn't a coincidence.
I call Colten. "Dark sedan. South service road. Blacked-out windows. It's not the first time."
I wait until he rides up beside me.
