Page 116 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL
Iron Hollow.
Logan.
Logan.
His name aches in my chest like shrapnel I can't remove. The memory of his hands, gentle on my skin even when his words were steel.
The way he looked at me last night—like he saw past every wall I built, every lie I told myself about staying safe.
The forest swallows me step by step, branches heavy with snow creating tunnels of white and shadow.
I don't know exactly where Granger is, but I know he's watching. He always is. That's what men like him do—they wait for the perfect moment, the clean shot, the exposed throat.
Well, here I am. Alone in his killing ground. The perfect target.
My father's words echo as I walk deeper into the trees:Sometimes the truth doesn't set you free. Sometimes it puts a target on your back.
But he was wrong about one thing: Sometimes that target is exactly what you need.
The cold bites through my jacket, numbing my fingers and clouding my breath. I've lost track of how far I've walked.
Miles, probably.
The cabin is long gone, swallowed by distance and falling snow. Part of me hopes Logan sleeps through my absence—that hedoesn't wake to empty sheets and silence until I'm too far gone to find.
But I know better.
He'll come for me. It's who he is. A protector. A guardian. A man who doesn't know how to let go of what matters.
That's why I have to end this before he can.
Movement catches my eye—a flash of red against white.
There.
The laser sight settles over my heart, steady as a promise.
I raise both hands, palms empty, showing surrender. My voice carries in the stillness: "I'm here to see you, Granger."
He emerges like a ghost—tactical gear blending with shadow and snow, rifle trained on my chest with casual precision.
His smile is worse than any threat.
"You should've come earlier," he says, voice smooth as mercury. "Otherwise, innocent children wouldn't get hurt."
Rage flares hot in my gut at the mention of Lucia. My hands want to curl into fists, but I keep them raised.
Steady, Sloane. Don't let him have the upper hand.
"I'm here to negotiate." The words come out calmer than I feel, even with death painted on my sternum.
Granger's head tilts, considering. "Do you think you're in any position to negotiate?"
"I do."
Slowly, telegraphing every movement, I reach into my coat pocket. The thumb drive feels small against my fingers—such a tiny thing to hold so much power.
"This drive is what you're after," I say. "Evidence of Echo-13 and its fallout."
