Page 49 of Her Redeemed Protector

I clear my throat and continue, “Fabian was right. They were only hired men. As far as I know, the gang had been disbanded after West Sun crumbled with its owner’s fall.” If only that meant reclaiming the Mitchell Ranch was possible… But that lament remains mine alone.

Hux’s eyes narrow as he confronts Fabian, “Tell me what you know about them.”

“Lakefall Valley—that’s where they operated. Hired by West Sun to intimidate Savannah and her father,” Fabian’s voice wavers. “They were known as ‘masters of the night’—but the attack at the Mitchell Ranch was an exception. I guess they had the backing of a billionaire, so they believed they could do whatever.

“When West Sun took over Mitchell Ranch, I owned half of the estate. They somehow interfered with my company, too, and my finances nearly collapsed. Rumors were the Brutes turned rogue, assassinating their employer. Found him shot dead and strung up at the ranch.”

Huxley’s suspicion casts a long shadow. “Maybe they set up shop in Bozeman and scored a new boss in that ex-business partner of yours? What’s his name?”

“Redford.”

Huxley orders, “Call him.”

The call goes unanswered, prompting him to devise a plan. “Chase and I will canvas the neighborhood, then if the trail leads to Lakefall, that’s our next stop.”

“I should join you,” I volunteer, desperate to be part of the search. “I knew a lot about these guys. I did all the research I could when I was still fighting to get our ranch back.”

“No, it’s not on the table,” he replies, giving no room for argument.

Frustration churns within. “What can I do, then?”

“Text me everything you know about them. And make sure Fabian sends the house’s CCTV footage to Red Mark. Would you be all right if Fabian drives you home?” he asks, his gaze holding mine, seeking agreement.

Splitting up seems the logical step, though it does nothing to ease the tug of reluctance. I nod to Huxley, my focus sharpened on the single goal that unites us—the safe return of Kayla.

Fabian dials Redford once more, but the call is still unmet with a response.

Hux instructs, “Go and see him, then. If there’s even the slightest sign he has Kayla, call me, but don’t let him out of your sight!”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll find him,” Fabian’s agreement is a shaky vow.

“Sav, take my car,” Huxley hands his keys to me, changing his mind about Fabian driving me home. “I’ll ride with Chase.”

As I prepare to leave, a last-minute thought strikes me. “Wait, Hux,” I halt him. “I’ll go and find Redford before Fabian talks to him so I can gauge what’s going on.”

Huxley gives a slight nod. “If you’re sure, that’ll be a good idea.” Then he turns to Fabian. “He doesn’t know about Savannah, does he?”

“No,” Fabian answers decisively.

“Good. Don’t mess this up. And don’t you dare put Savannah in danger.” Hux’s face tightens into a look I know all too well. It’s the same fierce expression he had right before he unleashed hell on Fabian. It is protectiveness amplified, mixed with a raw possessiveness that says he’ll tolerate nothing and no one threatening his boundaries.

“I won’t,” Fabian assures me.

I fix my ex a look that brooks no argument. “Act your partwell. Any mistake that risks us or Kayla, I’ll kick your balls, and that’ll be a point of no return for your possessions.”

Fabian moves with a restless shuffle, his impatience evident.

“And I’d sort out that nose of yours if I were you,” Hux points out, putting my ex in his place.

18

HUXLEY

Conversations with Fabian’s neighbors yield nothing more than speculation—a vehicle tearing through the neighborhood in the early hours of the morning. With nothing but a hunch, Chase and I roll out to regroup at his place. The tires of his SUV eat the miles with a purpose as we cover the handy twenty-minute stretch from Fabian’s home.

As we settle at the dining room table, arranging our weapons and gear, Savannah’s message blazes on my phone.

Two faces, each a known heavy hitter of the Blackwater Brutes. The first is their leader, known as ‘The Hog.’ His image fills the frame with the immensity of a monolith carved in human form. He appears to be in his forties, his weather-beaten features set in a permanent scowl that suggests years of ruthlessness and command.

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