"Dad, no, no, no—" My hands shake as I try to roll him over to look. He’s heavy, dead weight, and I can’t budge him. “Can you move, Dad?”
His eyes open, and he looks up at me. There's no fear in his gaze, no regret—just peace. "Sorry, Harper. I did it for you."
He starts to cough, and blood wells up out of his mouth.
Shit, shit, shit. I need to put pressure on his wounds. I try to push him over again. “Dad, you're going to be okay. You're going to be fine."
He reaches up with a shaking hand and touches my face, his fingers leaving a smear of blood on my cheek. "Love you, Harper. Always have. I just made the wrong choices. Too many wrong choices."
"You're going to be okay," I say again, willing him to believe it. "Just hold on. Please, Dad, just hold on."
He manages a small, sad smile. "No, I'm not. But I'm okay with that. Because I finally did something right."
"Dad—"
"Proud of you." His voice grows faint. "So proud. You're everything I should have been. Everything I wasn't."
"Don't," I beg, my hands still pressed uselessly against his chest. "Please, Dad."
"Love you, Harper," he whispers again.
His eyes close, and his hand falls away from my face.
69
LUKE
Sheriff Garrett’s body is barely cold when the next wave hits—three more vehicles screaming up the drive, automatic weapons already firing before they even stop moving.
"Contact, north perimeter," Mason's voice crackles over comms. "Multiple shooters, AR platforms, moving to flank."
I'm already repositioning, my rifle up, scanning for targets through the shattered window. I glance at Harper. She’s still on the floor with her father's body. "Harper, get to cover."
She doesn't move.
Fuck.
I drop two shooters advancing on the barn, then pivot and put three rounds through the windshield of an approaching truck. The driver slumps, and the vehicle veers off into a fence post.
"Luke, they're pushing hard on the south side," Jake calls out. "At least eight shooters, coordinated movement. These aren't amateurs."
No shit. Turner sent professionals this time—ex-military, probably mercs. This is night and day compared to the novices he sent to attack the Circle H.
"Mason, status?" I call into comms.
"Holding the stable, but they're trying to flank through the equipment shed. I need support on the west side."
"Copy. Jake, you got the east?"
"Yeah. Go."
I grab Harper’s shoulder before I go. "Harper, I need you functional. Now."
Her head snaps up, and I see it—the grief, the devastation, and the rage. But beneath all that, there's determination.
Good enough. I motion for her to follow me. I move fast, staying low, reloading as I cross the kitchen and go down the hallway. Glass crunches under my boots, and I hear Harper’s footsteps behind me.
The next wave hits before we reach the living room.