Page 113 of Silver Fox Mountain Daddies

“And the fencing?”

“Chain link in the woods. Easy enough to cut if we need to.”

Jonah grunts his agreement and marks something down on the map. Then he turns to me. “You ready for this?”

It takes me a second to answer. “I was ready the second I read that note.”

“We have trained teams coming in for the assist. I won’t put you in any more danger than I have to.”

We keep going like that for hours. The pile of info grows. We trace guard rotations, security blind spots, emergency exits. Boone lines up extraction routes. Jonah estimates breach timeand resistance. I gather gear, keeping my hands busy while my mind races.

It’s not enough. It’s never going to feel like enough until she’s back in my arms.

“She’s stronger than they know,” I say. “She survived her whole damn life behind those walls. She’ll survive this too.”

Boone’s gaze lifts to mine. For the first time all day, there’s something soft behind the fury. “We’re bringing her home,” he says.

That word hits me in the chest.

Home.

She’s ours. And if they think they can take her from us, they’ve got no idea what kind of war they just engaged in.

We’re getting our girl back.

Chapter 35

Ani

Iknew what I was coming back to when I left. I guess I just didn’t realize how suffocating it would feel once I got here. Now that I’ve had a taste of freedom, I don’t know how I’ll survive this.

But I will.

For them.

I’m not kept behind locked doors. There’s no need for locks because there are cameras hidden in the ceilings and attendants posted in the hallways. I am not free. I am not safe. And I’m not going anywhere.

The woman “assigned” to me never gave me her name. She never strays more than a few feet from my side, and constantly types notes into her phone. She doesn’t engage in real conversation. If I ask about anything too specific, she redirects. She doesn’t even pretend to offer me privacy. Bathroom? She waits outside the cracked door. Shower? She lays out the towel and clothes like I’m a child and waits for me to come out. Every part of my day is managed—what I wear, what I eat, where I go.

My mother drifts in and out like nothing is wrong, her perfume overpowering my nose. She brings swatches of silk and delicate lace, laying them on my bed or holding them up to thelight. “This is the shade Davit liked best,” she says. “It brings out the gold in your eyes.”

She never mentions the cabin or my men. She doesn’t ask how I’m doing. She only talks about the wedding. “So soon now,” she says. “Everything will be perfect.”

My father doesn’t speak to me at all. He watches. He oversees. I feel him more than I see him—like the edge of a knife held just out of view.

And then there’s Davit.

His eyes track every move I make. His comments let me know that he’s aware of just how much I changed when I was gone. And he’s not happy. I know I’ll pay for it all later, once I’m his wife.

Once I belong to him, no one will be able to stop him. He’s counting on it. He’s not asking for me to be willing. Just compliant.

They dress me in clothes I don’t choose—mostly heavy tapestries in subdued colors, and over-the-top jewelry that speaks of money. Everything feels suffocating. And the wedding dress is the worst of it. I fucking hate that thing.

I stood on the platform while the seamstress circled me with pins and clips, murmuring about alterations and drape and fit. Apparently I put on a little weight when I was actually eating foods I like. My mother clapped her hands when the veil was placed on my head. “You look like a dream,” she said.

I looked like a prisoner.

Now it hangs in the corner of my room, sealed in a protective bag. I’ve tried not to look at it. It makes me sick to my stomach.

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