Page 3 of Montana Memory

A crack rang out as the newcomer wrenched the gunman’s head back and slammed him against the floor.

The fight was over.

Everything went still except the sound of my own gasping breaths as the new man pushed off the unconscious body and slowly turned to me. My stomach twisted into knots.

He was big. Broad shoulders, solid muscle, dark clothes clinging to a frame built for damage. Black hair. Intense green eyes that locked on me with something unreadable. Dangerous. Capable. A man who knew exactly what he was doing.

I curled into myself instinctively, trying to disappear.

Then he spoke. Low. Steady. Not quite gentle, but not terrifying.

“I’m Hunter Everett.” He kept his hands loose at his sides, as if he knew sudden movements would send me into a full-blown panic. “I’m here with Lucas and the Resting Warrior Ranch team.”

The words meant nothing.Lucas? Resting Warrior Ranch?Blank.

But I forced myself to nod anyway, to act like I knew what the hell he was talking about.

He didn’t move, just studied me with quiet intensity, his expression shifting like he was putting pieces together in his head.

I swallowed hard, heart still slamming against my ribs. I should feel relief, but I didn’t. He watched me too closely.

His sharp green eyes tracked the way my breath hitched and my fingers curled into the floor as if I could anchor myself there. He saw it—the confusion, the panic I was trying to swallow down.

I forced myself to hold his gaze, to fake some kind of control, but my skin felt too tight, my thoughts a swirling mess of nothing.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” My voice came out uneven, barely above a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

Something flickered across his face. Not shock. Not even surprise. Just a small shift, the slightest tightening of his jaw, like he was mentally filing the information away.

“What do you mean?”

I swallowed and touched my head. “Everything is gone. I don’t know where I am or who—” My throat squeezed. “I don’t even know my own name.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “Jada Banks.”

Jada Banks.

The name sat between us, empty and unfamiliar. I tried to grab on to it, hoping it would feel like mine, but there was nothing. No recognition. No sense of self. Just a void where my past should be.

I wet my lips. “Do we know each other?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate, certain. I didn’t know why that unsettled me.

“Then why are you here?”

His eyes flicked to the unconscious man on the floor before sliding back to me. “I’m helping my cousin. Lucas Everett.”

I waited for him to explain. To tell me why, provide details as to what was going on, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked around the cabin before going still.

Not the normal kind of still—predatorstill. The kind that sent a warning skittering down my spine.

His gaze flicked to the window, shoulders tightening.

“What?” My voice barely broke the silence.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crouched, his movements careful, deliberate. He closed his fingers around something near the overturned table, and when he straightened, I saw it—a syringe.

---