Chapter 13
For three days, the cabin in the redwoods felt like a fragile, stolen paradise. Isolated from the violence of Los Angeles, Silas and Harper existed in a bubble of quiet domesticity that neither had experienced before. Silas chopped firewood, the physical labor bleeding off his residual tension, while Harper cooked meals in the small, rustic kitchen. Bane roamed the perimeter, his instincts sharp, acting as a secondary alarm system to the armed guards stationed in the woods.
During the quiet evenings by the fire, Silas finally opened up about his past. He told Harper how his father had built the Thorne syndicate through blood and extortion, handing Silas the reigns when he was just twenty-two. He told her about Elena—a civilian, a florist who didn't know his true identity until they were already married.
"She hated the violence," Silas murmured, staring into the flames, holding Harper tightly against his chest. "She begged me to go legitimate. I was trying to transition the business into real estate when Volkov realized we were vulnerable. They hit the estate to send a message. Elena caught a stray bullet."
"It wasn't your fault," Harper whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"It was," Silas said, without anger, just a heavy acceptance. "My world killed her. And I won't let it kill you."
The peace was shattered on the fourth morning.
Silas was on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, when Vance emerged from the tree line. The massive security chief looked grim. He handed Silas a decrypted satellite phone.
"It's Volkov," Vance said, his voice low. "He bypassed the encrypted servers. He’s broadcasting on an open frequency."
Silas took the phone, his jaw locking tight. "Volkov."
"Silas Thorne," a heavily accented, chilling voice purred through the speaker. "You hide well in the trees, like a frightened animal. But animals must eat, yes? And they must protect their young."
"If you have something to say, say it before I rip your throat out," Silas growled.
Volkov laughed. "I have your accountant. I have your port managers. But more importantly, I have a man named Marcus Vance sitting in my warehouse."
Harper, standing in the doorway, froze.
"Your little stray left quite a trail in Seattle," Volkov sneered. "Marcus was very eager to sell me the details of her habits, her weaknesses. He wants her back. I told him he could have her, once I am finished with you. Surrender the port territories by midnight, Silas, or I send Marcus to the redwoods with an army."
May you like
Silas didn't hesitate. He crushed the satellite phone in his hand, shattering the plastic and glass into pieces.
"Vance," Silas barked, his eyes turning to absolute ice. "Prepare the armory. We're going hunting."
