Page 28 of Montana Memory

I swore under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair. Leaving her behind was the safer call. This Copper guy was an unknown and, without a doubt, dangerous.

But I knew what it felt like to be helpless, to have people make decisions for you while you sat there, drowning in your own skin.

I looked at her for a long second, then exhaled sharply. “Fine. Your clothes are actually pretty decent, but braid your hair so it’s not loose.”

She nodded, disappearing into the bathroom. I checked my watch, rolling my shoulders as I tried to ignore the tension tightening my gut.

This was a bad idea. But I guess I was doing it anyway. I ignored the part of me that felt right having her with me. A few minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, hair in a tidy French braid as requested.

I gave her a Glock 19 of her own, showing her the safety feature. Her accuracy likely wouldn’t be worth shit, but sometimes it was just the threat of a weapon that changed the tide in a fight. As we got in my truck, I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Our drive was mostly silent.

Jada stared out the window, her posture tense but not uncertain. Focused. I kept my own eyes moving—checking the mirrors, scanning the streets, keeping an ear tuned for anything out of place.

Denver blurred past in shades of gray and rust, the city shifting as we cut deeper into the forgotten parts. The places people only ended up if they had nowhere else to go or nothing left to lose.

I pulled the truck to a stop two blocks from our destination, engine rumbling low before I killed it. Jada turned to me, waiting.

“This place isn’t safe,” I said, voice steady. “You stay close. You do exactly what I say. No hesitation.”

She gave a single nod. No argument. Good.

We stepped out onto the cracked pavement. The air smelled like piss and burned chemicals. A rusted-out sedan sat abandoned a few feet from us, its windows busted, the interior stripped down to nothing.

As we moved farther, the city decayed more around us. Buildings that used to mean something stood as hollowed-out shells, tagged with graffiti, windows shattered, doors kicked in. The farther we walked, the heavier the weight of eyes on us.

Jada kept close, mirroring my pace. I adjusted my stride, putting myself slightly ahead of her, making it clear she was under my protection.

A group of guys loitered near a convenience store, cigarettes dangling from loose fingers, their attention locking on us like sharks scenting blood. A strung-out woman rocked on her heels near a broken pay phone, muttering to herself. A pair of homeless men hunched over a shopping cart full of junk, but the look one of them sent us wasn’t just desperation—it was calculation.

The air was thick with the kind of tension most people didn’t notice until it was too late.

But I wasn’t most people.

This was the kind of place I understood. Where the rules were different. The danger clearer. The mission sharper.

My pulse didn’t spike. My hands didn’t shake. The PTSD darkness that usually clawed at me in a safe but crowded group wasn’t here now.

Here, I had purpose, and I’d get us through this.

Chapter 10

Hunter

The second I saw him move, I knew he was coming for us.

Late teens, maybe early twenties. Shaved head, jacket too big for his frame, but the piece in his hand was solid—a Ruger Security-9, held just loose enough to tell me he wasn’t as seasoned as he wanted to look.

He stopped a few feet in front of us, blocking the way forward with an easy smirk. “You lost?”

Jada stiffened beside me, but I didn’t stop moving. Slow, deliberate steps, like I wasn’t a threat. Like I hadn’t already mapped out exactly how to take him apart.

“We’re looking for someone,” I said. “Not looking for trouble.”

His smirk widened. “Yeah? Then why don’t you tell me why you’re walkin’ through my block like you own it?”

The gun lifted—just an inch, just enough for me to see the confidence creeping in. A mistake.

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