Page 188 of Knotting the Cowboys

They're coming. I know this like I know my own heartbeat.

But fire doesn't wait for rescue.

The nail finds purchase in the lock mechanism, and I feel rather than hear the tiny click of progress. My fingers are slick with sweat despite the cold, making the work harder. Smoke creeps under the barn door now, visible tendrils that speak of time running out.

If I can't get free—if the lock won't give—I have options. Terrible ones that make my stomach clench, but options nonetheless. The chain is short but not that short. I could reach Luna, could shield her with my body, create a pocket of air like firefighters teach. Could buy precious minutes for rescue.

Or.

My left thumb finds the joint where it meets my hand. Dislocating it would hurt like hell, might damage nerves permanently, but a thumb is narrower than a wrist. With enough force, enough determination to push through the pain...

"Please," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking to the lock, the universe, or the men I trust to find us. "Please, please, please."

The lock clicks again, mechanism shifting. I can feel it giving way, just need another moment, another tiny adjustment. But the smoke is thicker now, and Luna's starting to make those pre-cry sounds that mean she's swimming up from sleep.

I think of Celeste, dying in fire while trying to protect her daughter. Think of Luna growing up without her mother's voice, her mother's hands, her mother's fierce love made manifest in daily care. Think of four alphas who've already buried one omega they couldn't save.

"Not again," I growl, channeling every ounce of stubborn survival that got me through three years with Blake. "Not fucking again."

The nail twists, the lock protests, and then—freedom. The shackle falls away with a clatter that seems impossibly loud. I'm moving before it hits the ground, scooping Luna from her cot as smoke begins to fill the barn in earnest.

She wakes with a startled cry, but I'm already pressing her against my chest, using my shirt to cover her nose and mouth. "Shh, star girl. Mama's got you. We're getting out of here."

I assess exits with Mavi-trained precision. Main door—too obvious, probably where the fire started. Gaps in the walls—too small. But there, in the back corner where the smoke hasn't reached yet—a feed room door, barely visible in the shadows.

"Cole's coming," I tell Luna as we move, staying low where the air is clearer. She whimpers against my shirt, tiny body trembling with confusion and fear. "Your daddies are coming, and they're going to be so mad at the bad man who took us. But first, we're going to save ourselves, okay? Because that's what strong girls do."

The feed room door is locked from the outside—of course it is—but the wood is even older here, weathered by decades of Montana seasons. I turn my shoulder to it, remember Cole teaching me that sometimes the best solution is the direct one.

"Hold on, baby," I whisper to Luna, then throw my full weight against the door.

Once. Twice. On the third hit, I feel it give.

We're not victims anymore.

We're survivors.

And we're getting out of here.

Victorious Righteousness In The Depths Of Smoke

~COLE~

The siren screams through my skull like a living thing, each wail another second Willa and Luna have been gone, another moment they might be—no.

I grip the truck's grab bar hard enough to crack bone, forcing my mind into the practiced calm that's saved lives before. But this isn't just any life. This is everything.

"Two minutes out," River's voice crackles through the radio from the truck behind us. He's got Austin with him while Mavi rides shotgun beside me, already checking his gear with methodical precision. We'd grabbed the emergency equipment from the ranch—kept it maintained even after I left the department because old habits die hard. Thank Christ for paranoia.

The speedometer pushes past ninety on the empty rural road, engine roaring protest that I ignore. Every instinct screams to go faster, but rolling the truck won't save anyone. The thin linebetween speed and control—another lesson learned in blood and failure.

"Visual on smoke," Mavi reports, voice steady despite the death grip he's got on his helmet. Through the windshield, an orange glow paints the horizon like false dawn. Too much fire. Too fast. "Structure's fully involved."

My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. Fully involved means the whole building's burning. Means oxygen is being consumed at a rate that?—

"She's smart," Mavi says, reading my spiral. "And she's a fighter. She'll protect Luna."

The words are meant to comfort, but they twist the knife deeper. Because I know exactly how Willa will protect Luna. The same way she held her body between Blake's fists and anything breakable. The same way she nearly died in that house fire rather than leave without checking every room. Self-sacrifice as instinct, protection at any cost.

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