Page 44 of Ranger's Honor
"You think this is a goddamn spy movie or one of your romantic suspense subplots?" Gideon snaps. "You’ll be dead before the ink dries."
I step in front of her. "We are not watching you die, Kari."
Her eyes lock on mine, and what I see there steals the breath from my lungs. They’re not wide with fear or dulled by shock. They’re clear—piercing—lit from within by something fierce and unshakable. Purpose is etched into the lines around her mouth, her jaw tight with resolution. A pulse hammers in her throat, but she doesn’t waver.
The weight of her stare hits like a punch to the chest, heavy with everything she’s already decided and all the danger she’s about to walk into. I see the woman I’ve been trying to protect—and realize she’s the one stepping into the fire, fully aware of the burn. Not recklessness. Not defiance. Purpose. Clarity.
"Then help me make it worth the risk," she repeats softly.
The silence that follows is sharp enough to bleed. No one speaks. Even Gideon looks rattled.
Rush nods slowly. "She’s not wrong. This might be the only move they don’t see coming."
I don’t look away from her. My fists clench so hard the bones strain against my skin, a low growl rattling in my chest as I fight the primal urge to haul her behind me and take this whole goddamn plan off the table.
Because I know now—I can’t stop her from being brave. I can only make damn sure she doesn’t do it alone. Even if it rips me in half to watch her step into hell with her chin high, her spine locked in defiant alignment, every inch of her radiating a quiet fury that dares the universe to try her. Even if every cell in mybody screams to drag her back. Because if I fail her now—if I lose her—there’s no coming back from that. Not for me.
My job now isn’t to block the fire—it’s to walk through it beside her, claws out, ready to tear down the world if it means she gets to walk out the other side.
CHAPTER 17
KARI
The moment I step through the door, I see her—curled up on the beat-up leather couch like she belongs here, eyes lighting up as soon as they land on me.
"Kari!" Maggie launches herself across the room, arms wrapping tight around my shoulders.
Her scent—baked apples and cinnamon, always homey and grounding—fills my lungs, sparking a rush of memory so sharp it nearly stops me cold. Sunday mornings in the tiny duplex we shared after college, the air thick with laughter and cinnamon rolls she insisted on baking from scratch. The warmth of it slices through the tension knotting my shoulders, a reminder of safety, of belonging—of something that still feels whole in a world that’s about to fall apart.
The smell burrows in and settles low in my chest, tugging something tender and fierce from a place I’d locked down tight., loosening something tight in my chest. My shoulders drop an inch, breath slowing like I’ve surfaced from holding it too long, and for a second, I feel like I can breathe.
I laugh into her hair. "God, it’s good to see you."
She leans back, gives me a once-over, her smile already forming—then freezes. Her gaze snaps to my throat, and I see the exact second recognition dawns in her widening eyes.
"Oh, holy shit," she whispers, and then starts laughing.
"Shut up."
She laughs harder. "You got marked. And let me guess, Gideon is...”
"Losing his damn mind? Absolutely."
She throws her head back, cackling—a sharp, echoing sound that bounces off the walls and lands like a thunderclap in the center of my chest. It’s pure Maggie, big and unfiltered, and somehow it manages to ease the knot of tension burrowed in my spine.
I can practically see Gideon’s scowl in my mind’s eye, jaw locked, fists clenched, as he stalks toward Dalton like a wolf spoiling for blood. The image makes me laugh, too—because it's not just funny, it's grounding. It’s real.
"I wish I’d seen it. Bet he looked ready to strangle Dalton with his own belt, if Rush hadn’t stepped in..."
I shrug. "He tried, didn't work. I had to step between them. Gideon froze when he saw the mark—but then he went tight all over. You could see it happen, like a wire pulled too far. If Dalton had so much as blinked wrong, Gideon would’ve lost it."
Her laughter fades into something softer as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering just long enough to make my throat catch. The touch is intimate in a way only Maggie can manage—gentle, grounding, and full of history. I remember the first time she did that, back when I thought I had the world figured out and she knew I didn’t.
It feels the same now—like she's reminding me I’m not alone. "You okay? Really?"
My throat tightens. I nod. "Getting there."
She nods, understanding all the things I’m not saying.
