Morning came too soon and brought devastating news.
Isla woke wrapped in Ryder's arms, her body deliciously sore, her mind blissfully quiet for the first time in weeks. Last night had been... transformative. He'd been gentle and fierce, worshipful and demanding, everything she'd fantasized and more. They'd crossed every line, shattered every professional boundary, and she didn't regret a single moment.
Ryder was already awake, watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. 'Morning,' he said, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.
'Morning.' She traced the scars on his chest, learning his body in daylight. 'Any regrets?'
'Only that we can't stay in this bed forever.' His hand slid possessively over her hip. 'The world's going to come crashing back soon. But right now, for this moment—you're mine and I'm yours and nothing else matters.'
She kissed him, soft and sweet, so different from last night's desperation. This felt like promise. Like beginning. Like—
His phone shattered the moment. Ryder checked it, his expression darkening instantly. 'Get dressed. Now.'
The tone killed any protest. Isla pulled on clothes while Ryder made rapid-fire calls, his body language screaming danger. When she emerged from the bathroom, he was fully dressed, armed, and looked ready for war.
'What's wrong?'
'Adrian escaped during transport to federal holding. Three agents dead. He killed them with his bare hands despite being restrained.' Ryder's voice was clipped, tactical. 'He's in the wind. And he left a message.'
Isla's blood ran cold. 'What message?'
Ryder showed her his phone. A text from an unknown number, sent an hour ago:
'She'll never be yours, soldier. I'm coming for what's mine. And when I take her, I'll make sure you watch before I kill you both.'
The cabin suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. Every window a potential entry point. Every shadow a threat.
'He knows we're together.' Isla's voice shook. 'He knows about... last night.'
'He's been watching. Probably has assets we haven't identified.' Ryder was already moving, grabbing bags, weapons, securing the perimeter. 'Your father's sending a tactical team, but they're twenty minutes out. We need to leave now.'
'Where? He found the apartment, the brownstone, probably knows about this cabin—'
'Then we go dark. Completely off-grid. No phones, no credit cards, no digital trail.' Ryder handed her a go-bag. 'I have a contingency plan for exactly this scenario. Trust me.'
She did. Completely. Terrifyingly. This man had infiltrated every defense, claimed every piece of her—body, heart, trust. She was in too deep to back out now.
They were loading the car when Ryder's phone rang. Malcolm Thornton. He answered on speaker.
'How bad is it?' Ryder asked.
'Worse than you think.' Her father's voice was grim. 'Adrian didn't escape alone. He had help from inside. Someone high-level in my security organization. We're investigating, but right now, we don't know who we can trust.'
'Recommendations?'
'Disappear. Take Isla somewhere even I don't know about. No contact, no updates, complete blackout until we've cleaned house.' A pause. 'Kane... keep my daughter safe. Whatever it takes.'
'Yes, sir.' Ryder ended the call, his jaw set. 'You heard him. We're ghosts until this is over.'
Isla climbed into the car, her mind reeling. Adrian had killed federal agents. Had help from someone in her father's inner circle. Was hunting them with professional assistance and obsessive determination.
They drove for hours, switching vehicles twice, taking routes designed to lose any tail. Ryder's training was evident in every decision, every turn, every precaution. He was a different person now—not the passionate lover from last night, but the lethal soldier who'd saved her life on that terrace.
Both versions were real. Both versions were hers.
Late afternoon, they arrived at a small town in upstate New York. Population: 847. The kind of place that time forgot. Ryder pulled up to a modest house with faded paint and an overgrown yard.
'Friend from the service,' he explained. 'Died two years ago. Left me his house. No one knows about it except his widow, and she's in Arizona.'
Inside, the house was frozen in time—photos on the walls, furniture from the eighties, an overwhelming sense of absence. Ryder moved through it with reverence, touching surfaces like greeting old friends.
'Davis,' he said quietly, looking at a photo of four men in military gear. 'The team I lost. This was his house. His sanctuary. He made me promise if anything happened to him, I'd use it if I ever needed to disappear.'
Isla understood the gift he was giving her—bringing her into this sacred space, this memorial to his fallen brothers. 'Thank you. For trusting me with this.'
'I trust you with everything.' He pulled her close, his kiss fierce and claiming. 'You're mine now, Isla. In every way that matters. And I protect what's mine.'
The possessiveness should have bothered her. Instead, it felt safe. Right. She'd spent so long being independent, strong, untouchable. Being claimed by Ryder felt like coming home.
They spent the evening setting up security—cameras, alarms, weapons positioned strategically throughout the house. Ryder was thorough, paranoid in the best way. If Adrian came for them here, he'd have to go through every defensive measure Ryder could devise.
That night, they made love again. Slower this time, learning each other thoroughly, building something that transcended protection and danger. This was real. Complicated and impossible and absolutely real.
Afterward, wrapped in his arms, Isla finally asked the question that had been burning. 'What happens when this is over? When Adrian's caught and I'm safe?'
Ryder was quiet for a long time. 'I don't know. My contract with your father ends when the threat is neutralized. Technically, I should walk away, move on to the next client.'
'And will you?' Her heart hammered, terrified of his answer.
'Walking away from you would be the hardest thing I've ever done.' His arms tightened. 'But I'm a bodyguard. You're an heiress. Our worlds don't exactly align.'
'What if I don't care about aligned worlds?'
'You might feel different when you're back in your penthouse, running your company, living your actual life instead of hiding with a broken soldier.'
'You're not broken.' She turned to face him. 'You're the strongest person I know. And I don't want you to walk away when this is over. I want—'
Glass shattered downstairs. Multiple windows simultaneously. Ryder was moving before Isla finished processing, weapon in hand, body between her and the door.
'Stay here. Lock the door. If anyone comes through that isn't me, shoot first.' He thrust a gun into her hands.
'Ryder—'
'I love you.' He said it fierce and fast, like a confession torn from his soul. 'Remember that. Whatever happens next, remember I love you.'
Then he was gone, disappearing into the dark hallway. Isla locked the door with shaking hands, weapon raised, listening to the sounds of violence exploding downstairs.
Gunfire. Shouting. Bodies hitting walls. Ryder's voice, lethal and controlled, identifying targets, neutralizing threats.
Then a different voice. Familiar. Sick. Adrian.
'Where is she, soldier? Give her to me and I'll make your death quick.'
More fighting. A body crashing through furniture. Silence. Terrible, endless silence.
Isla's hands shook so hard she nearly dropped the gun. She should stay hidden. Should trust Ryder to protect her like he'd promised. But the silence was wrong. Too complete. Too final.
She unlocked the door, weapon raised, and stepped into the hallway.
The scene below would haunt her forever. Ryder on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, three bodies around him—Adrian's men, all dead. And Adrian standing over him, gun pointed at Ryder's head, smiling.
'There she is,' Adrian said, his eyes fever-bright with madness and obsession. 'My beautiful Isla. Come down, darling. Come say goodbye to your bodyguard. Then you're coming home with me. Where you belong. Where you've always belonged.'
Isla raised her weapon, hands steadier than her voice. 'Step away from him.'
Adrian laughed. 'You won't shoot me. You can't. We're family, Isla. You love me. You just don't remember yet.'
She pulled the trigger.