Page 114 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

But I didn’t laugh. I was still looking at Gabby.

She hadn’t moved or spoken, still crouched low in the brush, clutching her weapon like it was the only thing anchoring her tothe moment. Her eyes stayed locked on Barris—just like mine. She was here. She was safe. And as long as there was breath in my lungs, I was going to make damn sure she stayed that way.

Barris was finally down. Swinging limply from the snare, unconscious and disarmed, he wasn’t a threat anymore—at least, not in this moment. All that was left was to collect the pieces and hand them over to the ones with badges and court orders.

I turned to the others, my voice sharp and clear after the chaos. “Round up the rest of his men. Check for injuries—ours and theirs—and get a call out to the sheriff’s office. We’re going to need paramedics, too.”

The others nodded, already moving into action, some disappearing into the trees to locate the ones still groaning from bear spray or yelling from poorly placed gunfire. Jesse passed me, the dog still cradled gently in his arms, his eyes fierce with protectiveness. Remy started making the necessary calls, his voice low but firm as he relayed our location and the situation.

I looked back up at Barris. He was just a man now, not a monster. Not the looming shadow that had haunted Gabby’s steps for months. Just a man who was battered, bruised, and swinging in the wind like the trash he’d always been.

But the tension in my chest didn’t ease because as much as I wanted to believe it was over, I knew better. The damage he’d done ran deep. The reach of men like him didn’t always stop when the cuffs went on. And there were others—investors, allies, people who’d turned a blind eye or stood too close to the fire for too long.

No, this wasn’t the end. Barris and Maddox were down, but the war wasn’t over.

Jesse yelled that he was leaving, and the dog pressed tight to his chest like a baby. She was whining, her body trembling with pain. Still, he moved fast, murmuring to her, already headed toward one of the waiting vehicles to get her to a vet.

Remy was on his phone, voice low but quick as he continued to brief law enforcement on precisely what they’d find when they arrived—unconscious or tied-up mercenaries, one bleeding-out bastard, and Barris himself, wrapped in a snare and swinging like he was trying out for a damn carnival ride.

I watched it all happen, and for the first time since this started, I felt something unfamiliar: relief. Finally, it wasn’t our war anymore. At least not physically.

The fighting, the traps, the planning, the chaos—those days were over. Now it was in the hands of the authorities, the courts, and the state. The law would handle the rest. They’d investigate, prosecute, expose the corrupt and the cowardly, and eventually—hopefully—bury every single bastard involved in this mess under years of federal charges.

All I had to do now was make sure Gabby was safe.

As the men moved to lower Barris from the tree, with Jackson standing by holding heavy-duty cable ties and a look on his face that promised zero mercy, a familiar voice rang out across the clearing.

“Is everyone okay?”

I turned toward the cabin, where the light was starting to reach the porch, in response to Gabby's question. I couldn’t see her, but the sound of her voice—tired, hoarse, but alive sent something through me I couldn’t even name.

“We’re good!” I yelled back. “Are you?”

A beat passed, and then her hand emerged from the edge of the porch with a thumb-up. “Still upright,” she called out. “Mostly. How’s the dog?”

"Jesse's taking her to the vet now!”

“Got the bleeder!” Wes shouted from off to the side. “It's a thigh wound. I need help stabilizing him.”

“I’ll help once I get Gabby sorted out!” Ira’s voice rang out, and seconds later, I saw him wheel the battered, empty chair from the porch across the uneven ground. He helped Gabby into it, his movements gentle yet firm, as if he were handling something sacred. The wheelchair rolled smoothly across the dirt, somehow untouched by everything that had just gone down around it.

Gabby glanced around as if struggling to believe it was really over. Her hands trembled, and her mouth quivered despite her efforts to keep it steady. She wasn’t crying—but she looked like she was right on the edge. And honestly, who could blame her?

Minutes slipped by as the sky deepened into a rich navy blue, the sharp edges of night softened by the sweep of moonlight and the flashlights. One by one, we rounded up Barris’s men, disarmed them, and lined them up in the clearing with their wrists secured. The injured men received what care we could manage while we waited for the ambulance to arrive.

They sat there—seven of them now, not counting the one who’d been hit by friendly fire—faces hard, blank, or bitter. But none of them fought. It was over, and they knew it.

“This isn’t done,” Remy warned, leaning against a tree, arms crossed. “Not until we deal with the ones backing all of this.Maddox might be down, but he had investors. They’ll try to keep themselves safe.”

“She can’t keep going through this,” Wes said bluntly. “None of us can, but especially her.”

Marcus stepped forward, his arms crossed and his expression grim. “The only option now is WITSEC.”

The words landed harder than I’d expected—Witness Protection.It wasn’t said lightly, and it carried no hint of comfort. The phrase dropped into the conversation like a grenade—silent on impact but guaranteed to send shockwaves rippling through everything we knew. It meant federal relocation, a new name, and a new identity. A clean slate bought at the cost of erasure. No calls. No messages. No mistakes. No more us.

That was the part that stuck in my chest like a blade—no us.

No waking up next to her. No stupid bickering. No porch mornings with coffee and silence. Just a hollow space where she used to be, replaced by some memory of what we almost had.

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