Ethan stepped out of Davis Bar, adjusting the belt of his navy-blue uniform, still clean and neatly pressed. The golden badge on his chest briefly glinted under the sun. He paused at the entrance, pulled a pair of black-framed Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses from his pocket—the classic model he always wore—and put them on with a calm gesture.
The midday sun hit him squarely in the face. He glanced down the road—where the asphalt shimmered under the heat as if about to melt. Then, after focusing, a translucent blue window appeared before him. Below it, glowing letters read:
Mission Complete
Reward Available: You've completed the mission "Defeat Chayton Littlestone in hand-to-hand combat."
Claim your reward now!
New Level: Intermediate Fighter
Description: He now moves with confidence, his strikes are faster and more precise. Coordination between footwork and hand technique has significantly improved. He anticipates enemy movements, uses surroundings to his advantage, and can hold his ground against trained opponents.
Ethan blinked and claimed the reward, quickly absorbing the message floating before him. A mix of relief and joy washed over him; he knew that every blow taken and every blow delivered had led him to that moment. He felt his body respond with greater agility, as if a new energy were coursing through him.
Confidence swelled inside him— the kind of certainty that only comes when you know you can face any opponent. A fleeting smile crossed his lips as he closed the blue window and resumed his path, ready for the challenges that awaited.
—Let's go —he muttered, barely audible under his breath.
Back in the car, the air conditioning was still running. Inside felt cold, in sharp contrast to the shimmering heat outside. Ethan sat in the driver's seat, silent. He started the engine and shifted gears. The old Crown Victoria began to roll slowly toward the exit. His hands gripped the steering wheel with familiarity. For a moment, he hesitated. A part of him wanted to stay put, not move forward. But he took a deep breath, steeled his heart, and pressed the accelerator. There were things that couldn't wait.
As he passed by the back entrance of Banshee Town Hospital, Ethan hit the brakes. A familiar Rolls-Royce was parked by the morgue's back door. The door opened, and two medical staff members pushed out a cart.
On it lay a long white body bag, and inside was the owner of the Rolls-Royce. He knew exactly who was in the bag. Under the sunlight, the bag looked blindingly white.
Rebecca followed the morgue staff with a blank expression. She wore a black dress and looked extremely somber.
When the patrol car passed slowly, Rebecca looked up and recognized Ethan behind the wheel. She gave him a faint nod. She didn't say anything, but her expression said it all.
Ethan saw in Rebecca's eyes a deep sorrow mixed with unshakable resolve. He knew that now that her uncle was dead, she would claim what was hers—including the drug business. Ethan had tried to convince her to leave all that behind, to live a different kind of life, but she craved power and respect, and she wasn't going to miss her chance now that Proctor was gone.
Whether she had the courage and strength to pull it off, only time would tell.
Then he looked at Burton, who was still following Rebecca closely—just like he used to follow Proctor—but now with an even darker demeanor and a clear warning in his eyes: "Stay away from her." Yet, when he looked at Rebecca, his eyes shimmered with tenderness.
Proctor was dead, and Burton hadn't been able to protect him. Wracked with guilt, he poured all of himself into watching over Rebecca. He had sworn to help her reclaim and hold onto everything Proctor left behind. It seemed like the only way to ease the torment he carried in his heart.
Ethan nodded at Rebecca, pressed the gas, and drove off. He had his own matters to attend to. She had made her decision, and it wasn't his place to change her mind—it wouldn't work anyway.
Back at the parking lot in front of the precinct, just as he parked, another patrol car pulled in. Ethan got out holding a large bag and slammed the door shut.
Upon entering, the first thing he saw was Bunker, who was going through some files. He asked:
—How are you settling in?
Bunker smiled and adjusted his dark blue uniform. Even though he was a few years younger than Ethan, he respected him more than anyone he'd ever met.
—So far, so good. I'm adapting quickly.
—Good. —Ethan patted Bunker on the shoulder—. Even if you've worked as a cop before, every place has its own vibe. Talk to Emmett—he was the one who showed me the ropes when I first got here.
—Of course —Bunker nodded—. Officer Yawners has been guiding me.
—Just call me Emmett —Emmett corrected him as he carefully stepped through the debris covering the main entrance. He wore a thick bandage on his shoulder that hid a noticeable lump under the uniform, plus a sling that kept his arm immobilized.
There was nothing to be done—nearly everyone at the station was nursing injuries, and true rest was impossible. They couldn't afford to have everyone off duty. Only Lotus was on bed rest due to fractured ribs.
After being closed for a day, the station reopened, although most of the staff were still in rough shape. Still, after the incident a few days ago, Banshee remained unusually quiet; the Police Department had earned a reputation as an unrelenting force, capable of bringing even the worst criminals to heel.
No one wanted trouble at that moment—especially knowing the hospital morgue was full of those who had gone up against these lawmen.
On the other hand, the station was nearly deserted. Most of the furniture had been removed along with the bullet-riddled remains after the shootout. Scaffolding and planks were set up everywhere, as if the whole precinct had become a never-ending construction site. Amid the dust and the echoing sound of hammers, a handful of workers moved non-stop, hauling materials and reinforcing damaged walls.
Some temporary desks had been set up again in what used to be the main office space. On top of them, stacks of documents, coffee mugs, and files were piled up in chaotic disorder. There was no alternative: working among rubble and half-repaired structures was now part of the routine.
Ethan didn't return to his desk but headed straight to the locker room inside. After a while, he came out in casual clothes.
It was still working hours, but Hood had put on casual clothes, the kind he wore when something was off. Emmett had a bad feeling and stood up immediately. Ethan had already told Siobhan everything the night before, so she just crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, watching him silently.
Siobhan held back a sigh. She knew she couldn't stop him or hold him back, so she took a deep breath, kept her arms crossed, and continued to watch him, trying to memorize every detail of his back as he walked away—in case he didn't return this time.
Bunker, confused, said nothing. He knew it wasn't his place.
Emmett stepped forward, opened his mouth in confusion, but in the end couldn't say a word. Ethan smiled at them and turned to enter the sheriff's office.
The wooden door full of bullet holes had been removed, replaced only by a hanging curtain. The disordered environment didn't faze the new sheriff in the slightest.
Most of the furniture and items in that office had been damaged during the shootout. The new sheriff, Brock, was sitting comfortably in the leather chair behind his American oak desk, sipping coffee with a satisfied grin.
He never imagined Hood would resign just two days after the deaths of Proctor and Chayton—it was like a cold slap in the face. He knew he should be the sheriff's natural successor. If they sent someone from above to take over, Brock wouldn't allow it, and he knew Siobhan and Emmett would oppose it just as strongly.
Brock remained seated in the sheriff's office, comfortably drinking his coffee.
When he saw Ethan walk in, he quickly raised his cup.
—Want a cup of coffee?
After Hood's departure, Mayor Gordon stopped blocking the funds meant for the police station. Brock, who had a good relationship with the mayor, seized the opportunity. The first thing he did after taking office was buy a high-end coffee maker—a small luxury that, according to him, was essential to boost morale.
Seeing him so pleased with his new toy, Ethan gave a half-smile and shook his head with a touch of irony. Without saying a word, he pulled up a chair and sat beside him, ready to hear whatever he had to say.
—Don't get too comfortable, Sheriff. You should work out from time to time—otherwise those pants won't fit you for much longer.
—Go to hell. I'm the new Sheriff now, at least have the decency to talk to me with respect. —Brock pouted and set the cup down.
Ethan said nothing else. He wanted to laugh, but the moment didn't allow it. In silence, he pulled the police badge from his pocket. He spun it between his fingers for a few seconds, then let it drop onto the desk and pushed it forward.
Brock frowned, staring at the silver badge with a blank look. The silence turned heavy, almost tangible. After a long while, he ran a hand across his forehead and asked with a voice full of helplessness:
—Are you sure?
To everyone's surprise, Ethan was leaving the precinct too, right after Hood's resignation. If not for Bunker's arrival, the station would've gone back to being run by just three people again.
Ethan shrugged and replied:
—Yeah.
—Why? —Brock asked, visibly upset—. Is it about the sheriff's position?
—No, it has nothing to do with the title. You're the most qualified person in town for the job. —Ethan made a quick gesture with his hand—. It's a personal decision. You'll understand later.
Upon hearing it was something personal, Brock didn't know what to say. Everyone had their own problems—it wasn't his place to question it.
He stood and extended his hand to Ethan.
—It was an honor working with you. Without you here, I don't think we would've pulled through the way we did. You'll always have a place at the Banshee County Police Department.
Ethan nodded firmly and shook his hand tightly.
—Thanks for everything, Brock. If you ever need me, you can always call.
Ethan picked up the duty bag at his feet and handed it to Brock. Inside were his gun and all his police equipment.
Brock patted the bag with resignation and sighed as he watched him walk out of the office. Ethan lifted the curtain of the door and, before stepping out, gave a tired smile when he saw Emmett still standing there—solid as a rock, but with his eyes lost in a place that no longer existed.
Ethan approached Emmett and smiled.
Thud!
Emmett couldn't find the words, and without thinking twice, he gave Ethan a hard punch in the chest with his only good arm.
—Auch! Hey, that hurt —Ethan protested, clutching his chest with a pained grimace.
—Really? I'm sorry —replied Emmett, frowning as he scratched his head, visibly confused.
Siobhan burst out laughing from her chair.
—Emmett, you're so naive. He's a bastard, he's just pretending. —she said, shaking her head.
Bunker, watching the scene, stood still for a second when he saw Ethan's smile. Then he let out a brief laugh, relaxed the hand holding his duty belt, and nodded silently, caught up in the moment.
Emmett breathed a sigh of relief and frowned again.
—It's just a joke —Ethan said with a smile as he rummaged through his nearly destroyed desk. He pulled out a small gift box and handed it to Emmett.
—This is a gift for your son's birth. Took me a while to find it.
—Thanks —Emmett replied, taking it carefully and placing it on the table beside him—. Are you sure you want to leave?
—Yeah —Ethan nodded, his gaze steady.
Emmett didn't ask why. To him, Ethan was a good friend, and he would support him no matter what decision he made. He simply took two steps forward, ignoring the pain in his arms, raised them, and gave him a firm hug.
His large palms gave Ethan a few heavy pats on the back, and Ethan grimaced at Siobhan. Those slaps hurt way more than the punch earlier.
—Don't you want to see the gift I got you?
—Can I open it now? —Emmett asked, picking up the box.
—Of course. I want to see your reaction.
He had given the gift just to see Emmett's surprised face, so why not let him open it right then and there? Emmett grabbed the scissors Bunker handed him and opened the box in two or three swift cuts.
He reached into the bag and pulled out an American football encased in a clear plastic box. He stared at it for a few seconds, then his eyes widened: he recognized it immediately. It was an official NFL game ball, a special edition used during the Super Bowl—very expensive.
—Thanks, I really appreciate it, Ethan, but I can't keep it. It's too valuable. You should hold onto it. —Emmett said, quickly trying to hand the gift back.
Ethan reached out and pushed it back toward him.
—That doesn't matter, Emmett. Look at it more closely.
Still confused, Emmett lifted the ball in his hands—and then he saw the signature, written in silver ink: Vince Papale. A former professional football player who had spent three seasons with the Philadelphia Eagles. His expression changed completely. He blinked several times, stunned, unable to fully grasp what he was holding.
Seeing him like that, Ethan smiled with satisfaction.
Emmett was a die-hard Philadelphia Eagles fan, so there was no doubt he'd love the gift. Job had helped Ethan track down that collector's item, and just seeing Emmett's expression made every dollar spent worth it.
—"Glory comes from perseverance. Perseverance is a man's greatest quality," —Emmett murmured quietly, eyes beginning to mist.
Now it was Ethan who looked confused and quickly said:
—Man, what's up with you?
Emmett looked up and smiled.
—That's what my father always said. Vince Papale was his favorite player, and thanks to him, my dad got through the hardest time in his life. That's why I became an Eagles fan as a kid. When I played football in high school, my dream was to go pro and play for them.
—I'm glad you like it —Ethan said, relieved. He hadn't expected it to connect with Emmett's father.
Emmett hesitated for a moment, looking at the ball as if it weighed a ton, but even so, he tried to hand it back firmly.
—This is too valuable. I can't accept it.
—Please —Ethan replied, giving him a soft punch to the chest—. I searched for it for a long time. And now, it's not just yours—it's something you'll be able to pass on to your son someday, to teach him everything, just like your father did with you.
—Just take it —added Siobhan, standing up—. You know Ethan doesn't care about money.
—Alright, I'll give it to my son one day. —Emmett nodded firmly, holding the box with determination—. By the way, you better be here for the baptism in a couple of months. If not, Meg is going to be really pissed if the godfather doesn't show up.
Ethan smiled slightly.
He looked to the side just as Bunker straightened his posture, his face serious and steady.
—Don't let your past define who you are now. They'll look after you, and I hope you'll do the same for them.
—I know.
Even though they had only known each other a few days, Bunker was impressed by Ethan and couldn't help but feel deep regret—he had wanted to work alongside someone like him.
—Alright, that's enough emotional talk. Let's go. —Siobhan said, grabbing the keys to the patrol car Ethan had arrived in.
After saying goodbye to Alma, Ethan left the precinct. The sun cast a warm glow. When he looked back, several officers stood in the doorway, watching him like it was the last time they'd see him.
Ethan smiled and waved.
—Come on, guys, I just quit. It's not like I'm leaving Banshee forever.
Brock wiped his shiny forehead and ushered everyone back inside. After one last glance at the bold four letters "CADI" on the red brick exterior wall, Ethan opened the car door. Siobhan would be driving him home.
When they arrived, both got out and walked together to the porch of Ethan's cabin. They stopped, face to face, their gazes locked in a heavy silence.
Ethan slowly reached out, tracing Siobhan's face with trembling fingers, sliding down her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin. Their eyes met—deep and full of longing.
Without pulling away, Ethan leaned in and pressed his lips to hers with restrained urgency. The kiss began soft and tentative, but quickly turned intense and lustful. His hands slid down her back, pulling her close, his fingers exploring every curve with reverence and desire.
Siobhan responded with equal fervor, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their bodies drew closer and closer until they melted into a moment where nothing else existed—only them and the sparks between their skin.
The world vanished as Ethan explored every inch of her, letting passion guide every movement, every breath, every shared heartbeat.
After several minutes, Siobhan pulled away, her face flushed, her breath uneven.
—If we keep going, I won't be able to leave. I'll quit just to follow you wherever the hell you go —she said, not daring to meet his eyes—. Just come back soon. And if you can, in one piece, cowboy. And don't forget to bring me something nice from wherever you end up.
—I promise.
She turned around and climbed into her patrol car without another word.
Ethan watched the car drive off and, in a moment of release, tossed his keys to the ground. The remaining paperwork for his resignation had been entrusted to Siobhan, so he was now officially free of responsibilities.
Used to the daily grind, for a moment he didn't know what to do. He stayed on the porch for a while, then went back to his room, collapsed onto the bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
The sound of the alarm pulled him from his dreams. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window, getting ready for what was to come.
Darkness had already wrapped the night, and the wind whispered through the treetops, swaying them gently. He still had something important to do that night.
He showered calmly and put on the suit Nola had bought him during her last visit. Tonight was a formal gala event he couldn't miss. After dressing, he went to the bathroom and used hair wax to shape his short black hair, styling each strand with care. In front of the mirror, Ethan gave a satisfied smile.
He grabbed the keys to his 1970 black Dodge Challenger, an imposing classic, and after revving the engine twice, its roar echoed powerfully as he drove toward Nola's estate on the reservation.
As he approached, he saw a long line of luxury cars slowly making their way toward the grand, brightly lit villa. That night was the welcome reception for the new chief of the Kinaho tribe, and many prominent county figures had gathered for the event.
Ethan pulled up to the front of the villa. The valet hurried over, took the keys, received a generous tip, and drove off. After adjusting his suit, Ethan climbed the steps with a confident stride.
This was the villa Benjamin Longshadow, Nola's father, had left behind. After assuming her role as chief, Nola returned to live on the property. For Ethan, it was his first time setting foot there.
Though they called it a "villa," it was really a luxurious residence made up of two or three smaller buildings built from brick and stone, each with an elegant, sturdy design that reflected the family's history and prestige.
Compared to this place, Proctor's estate paled completely. No wonder Nola didn't like living there—it was too large for her. Now, with only her sister-in-law and nephews remaining, the house felt empty and hollow.
But tonight, the villa was full of people. A small string quartet played softly in the foyer, the melodious sound of the violin echoing through the house, filling every corner with harmony.
People walked around in elegant attire, forming small groups of three or four to chat. Some wore tuxedos and gowns like Ethan, while others wore traditional Native American clothing, creating a striking and historically rich contrast.
Seeing a waiter walk by with a tray, Ethan grabbed a glass of champagne and followed him upstairs.
On the second-floor terrace, Thompson was chatting animatedly with several guests. When he noticed Ethan's arrival, he politely excused himself and walked over, leaning casually on the railing beside Ethan.
—Mr. Morgan —Ethan said, taking a sip of champagne.
—Where's Nola?
—They're waiting for you in the conference room —Thompson said, preparing to lead the way—. She's been expecting you for some time now.
—Hold on —Ethan interrupted, stopping him with a firm gesture.
He gently set the glass down on the table and ran a hand over his stomach, which had started to rumble with hunger.
—I'm starving. Could someone fry me a proper steak?
The request was blunt, nearly rude—but Ethan didn't care.
Thompson, far from offended, smiled in understanding. In high society, many people faked manners they didn't feel. But Ethan was different. He had that natural demeanor that commanded respect and trust.
With a sharp snap of his fingers, Thompson called the event coordinator.
After exchanging a few words in a low voice, he led Ethan down the long hallway on the second floor, its walls adorned with ancestral portraits and embroidered tapestries that told the story of the Kinaho tribe.
They soon arrived at the meeting room, guarded at the entrance by two imposing security men. Each stood firm and unmoving.
The guard on the left caught Ethan's attention. He recognized him instantly: during the raid on the Kinaho Moon Casino, that man had pretended to be dead to avoid trouble with Ethan and his team. He was a coward—someone Ethan didn't trust to be protecting Nola.
Nola was seated behind an imposing black mahogany desk, polished to reflect the chandelier light hanging from the high ceiling. Her fingers moved confidently as she signed several documents carefully stacked before her. The concentration on her face was intense, but when she looked up and saw Ethan enter, her expression completely changed.
—Chief —Thompson said, stepping forward and whispering—. Mr. Morgan is here.
—Morgan?
She looked up, her eyes widening with genuine surprise. In an instant, a broad, warm smile lit up her face, filling the room with an unexpected brightness. It was a rare, almost unseen smile that left everyone who witnessed it stunned—no one had ever seen her like that.
Several of her men blinked in disbelief. To them, Nola was a cold and beautiful woman, always stern and distant, someone who never showed a softer side. But upon seeing the man Thompson had brought in, that icy beauty bloomed like a flower in her smile.
The room was full of hushed whispers and curious glances. Most of those present were leaders and prominent figures within the Kinaho tribe, dressed in either elegant formal wear or traditional embroidered garments reflecting centuries of history and pride. To them, Ethan was still "just a small-town cop," a handsome outsider.
Ethan returned her smile with a mix of respect and warmth, stepping into the room with Thompson by his side.
She had only been chief for a few days, yet already had a mountain of issues to handle—even on a night as important as this. Several people sat silently in front of her, attentive and obedient.
As a young girl, Nola spent most of her time in her father's office, unconsciously absorbing the rhythm and discipline the role required. She had always been incredibly intelligent and diligent, yet also a free spirit who never worried much about work.
With Thompson's help, she had used coercion and persuasion, quickly gathering a small team and securing control of the tribe's central power in her hands.
—If you want, I can come back later —if you're too busy? —Ethan asked.
Nola rolled her eyes, dropped the pen on the desk, and stretched lazily. She wore a long feather crown that only the tribal chief was allowed to wear, along with a colorful traditional outfit that Ethan found quite charming.
—Everyone, please leave us alone —Nola requested in a firm voice, not too loud, but making it clear that it was not a suggestion.
The few remaining attendees exchanged quick glances before bowing their heads slightly and filing out one by one, gently closing the door behind them.
Ethan ignored the departures but glanced sideways at Thompson.
—Is the security staff outside transferred from the Kinaho Moon?
—Yes —Thompson also sat down and nodded—. Security is very important tonight. Some personnel were reassigned from the casino.
—Why do you ask? —Nola inquired, lowering her arms and picking up a crystal glass to pour herself some water.
—The guard on the left at the door—he can't be trusted. —Ethan said, sitting down comfortably in one of the leather chairs in the room.
Nola set down her cup and asked with interest:
—Why?
—He's a coward. I don't think you want him protecting you. —Ethan replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering a brief remark.
Nola looked at Thompson. Thompson nodded; by morning, that man would be unemployed. As a top executive, the thing he feared most was untrustworthy security personnel.
Ethan had no reason to lie to them, and Nola was too lazy to ask him for the full story—she trusted him, and he had no reason to deceive her.
Nola picked up the phone and dialed calmly. Minutes later, the door opened to reveal a man dressed in a sharp suit with gold-rimmed glasses. He was the lawyer handling the casino's legal affairs and the one Nola had tasked with drafting the share transfer agreement for Ethan.
After a brief polite greeting, the lawyer opened his leather briefcase and carefully removed a bulky document. He placed it delicately on the mahogany table, aligning it perfectly.
Nola took the opportunity to brief Thompson, who was watching with a serious expression. As a member of the Kinaho tribe's permanent council, there were matters he needed to know firsthand.
When his eyes landed on the thick agreement, Thompson felt a slight tightness in his chest. He knew exactly what that contract represented: not just power, but enormous benefits that could shift the balance within the tribe.
Nola pulled out an elegant pen and, without hesitation, began signing the pages marked with her name.
When she finished, she slid the agreement and pen over to Ethan. He didn't pretend to be careless or blindly trusting. He took the document, opened it calmly, and reviewed it page by page, line by line. Though he knew Nola wouldn't trick him, he wasn't naive enough to sign without checking first.
He counted every page, reviewed each clause, and ensured the terms matched exactly what they had discussed. Satisfied that there were no hidden clauses or unexpected changes, he took the pen and signed carefully, his signature clear and steady next to hers.
Once things settled, Thompson clapped softly.
Nola also stood and extended her hand to Ethan:
—You fulfilled your promise —Nola said, holding his gaze with a mix of gratitude and resolve—. You didn't just help me secure my position as chief—you also avenged my family. —Even though she had given up part of her shares, she didn't feel the slightest regret—. For better or worse, the fate of the tribe is now tied to you.
Now that Kinaho Moon was linked to Ethan's interests, there was no risk he would stand aside if something went wrong at the casino. She knew what the man she had fallen for was capable of—the one she had entrusted her future to. That security was worth far more to her than any percentage of shares.
—I'll always be here for you.
Ethan smiled and shook Nola's hand.
Thompson joined in the celebration too.
—Congratulations, Mr. Morgan. The entire council believes you'll be a valuable ally to the Kinaho tribe.
Everyone had heard how Ethan had gone toe-to-toe with Chayton… and come out victorious. He was a man who inspired both fear and respect. Now that it was clear he would defend the Kinaho tribe, few would dare cross them.
—Thank you.
Ethan grinned from ear to ear and shook Thompson's hand.
As a member of the permanent council, it was necessary to give Ethan the prestige he deserved. After all, they were now all in the same boat—for better or worse.
The lawyer carefully closed the thick agreement and tucked it back into his leather briefcase, casting a slightly envious glance at Ethan. After all, he had drafted every clause himself and knew exactly what that document meant.
A young man in his twenties had just become a millionaire.
After making sure everything was in order, the lawyer said goodbye and left the room. He still had work to do: he needed to register the transfer and complete the final paperwork to seal the new fate of Kinaho Moon.
Soon, there was a knock at the door.
The waiter entered with a silver tray, covered by a stainless steel lid that released a slight hot steam. After finishing the last details, Ethan took the tray and calmly walked over to the conference table. Now that everything was settled, the hunger he had postponed for hours finally made itself known.
He sat down and, with appetite, lifted the lid to reveal a perfectly cooked steak, still steaming. He cut the first piece delicately and savored each bite, oblivious for a moment to the formality of the place.
Nola watched him from her desk, amused, unable to hide a soft smile as she saw him eat so calmly, as if he owned the room. Among papers and signatures, she couldn't help but imagine, for a moment, that she could live like that with this man forever… and the idea didn't seem unpleasant at all.
Near the end of the hour, with the help of her assistant, Nola checked her makeup one last time. Ethan drank the table wine in one gulp, pulled the white napkin from around his neck, and wiped his mouth.
—Is it time? —Ethan asked, as Nola nodded slightly.
—Alright —he continued, flashing a smile—. You're the queen tonight, so let's show those bastards who's in charge here.
—Of course —Nola replied, raising her chin proudly with a defiant spark in her eyes.
—Let's go —said Ethan, standing beside her.
Ethan stepped back and positioned himself behind Nola.
The group exited the conference room and walked to the railing on the second floor. Just then, the band playing in the lobby on the first floor stopped their music, as if they had rehearsed that perfect pause.
Below, the cocktail guests began to gather, looking up with anticipation. Murmurs and whispers spread through the wide reception hall: everyone wanted a closer look at the new chief of the Kinaho tribe and the man now standing at her side.
—Good evening, everyone. —Nola raised her voice clearly, her eyes scanning the gathered guests—. Thank you for joining us on this important occasion for our Kinaho tribe.
—Today marks a new beginning, —she paused briefly, letting her words sink in—, a stage where strength, unity, and respect will be the foundation of our path. Being chosen as chief is not just an honor, —she continued in a firm and calm tone—, but a responsibility I accept with all humility and determination.
As Nola gave her speech with a strong and confident voice, Ethan calmly observed the crowd gathered in front of them. Each guest had gone through strict security checks upon entering; the possibility that someone carried a hidden weapon with intent to kill was practically zero. He only pretended to be tense.
The firm action of the tribal council had been enough to convince the opposition. Everyone understood that this was not the time to cause trouble or challenge authority.
Ethan's wandering gaze suddenly stopped and he smiled faintly. Among the crowd, he spotted Brock, standing tall and firm, dressed in a sharp navy-blue uniform. The sheriff's badge gleamed on his chest under the ballroom lights.
Brock stared directly at him without blinking, while Ethan stood behind the chief, dressed in a tailored suit. He was so focused that he didn't even notice the champagne glass he held tilting dangerously, almost spilling.
He shifted his gaze and saw another familiar face.
Aimee King had also arrived, wearing the khaki uniform of the Kinaho Police Department. She also wore a sheriff's badge, though she didn't seem very comfortable at that type of event, her gestures somewhat restrained.
When she saw Ethan, her eyes were slightly dazed too.
Nola's welcome speech ended quickly, and the guests began to slowly disperse, whispering among themselves with a mix of respect and curiosity.
Next, under Thompson's guidance, Nola continued exchanging polite greetings with the guests who attended the cocktail. This was also an important way of networking.
Ethan walked through the lobby until he ran into Brock in the hallway on the second floor. Brock had come to congratulate Nola and couldn't help but notice Ethan following her like a shadow.
Ethan couldn't help but laugh and stepped aside.
—Is this why you quit? —Brock leaned on the railing.— I guess being a bodyguard isn't bad. It's a lot safer than being a cop and pays better too.
He didn't know how Ethan got involved with the new chief, but Brock was still happy for him.
After saying that, Brock gave Ethan a pat on the chest.
—If you had told me you got this job, I wouldn't have tried to talk you out of quitting. I'm glad things are looking up for you.
—You don't get it —Ethan replied with a shrug—. I'm not a bodyguard.
—Mr. Morgan now holds shares in the Kinaho Moon Casino and is also a partner of our Kinaho Tribe —Thompson arrived just in time, explaining the situation naturally.
Brock gave Ethan a slight nod before turning to face him directly.
—Mr. Morgan, as a minor partner, it's not necessary for you to follow the entire protocol. You can relax.
—Understood, thank you —Ethan replied, flashing a smile while sipping his champagne.
After so long following Nola and keeping up appearances with strangers, he could finally allow himself a moment of peace.
Thompson, who was nearby, quickly turned around and rushed to catch up with Nola.
Brock frowned, clearly annoyed. The champagne he was holding lost all its flavor, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
—What the hell is this? Shares, partnerships? —he thought—. That son of a bitch is rich now and owns a casino. A lucky bastard.
Seeing the expression on Brock's face, Ethan laughed.
—Come on, what's bothering you?
Brock clenched his teeth, envy burning in his voice:
—You lucky son of a bitch, and I was here worrying about you. Now you're strutting around like some rich kid next to that gorgeous native chief.
He didn't even bother asking where the shares came from. He just knew Ethan was swimming in money now, and envy gleamed clearly in his eyes. Even his sheriff's badge seemed to lose some shine.
Brock let out a long breath, calmed himself, and patted Ethan's shoulder.
—Doesn't matter how much, I'm happy for you.
—Thanks, but don't tell anyone. I want to keep a low profile —Ethan said with a sly smile.
—Go to hell! —Brock grumbled as he turned around—. I'm telling everyone tomorrow, because next time we go drinking, you're picking up the tab… for the rest of our lives. So cut the humble act and fuck off.
After Brock left, Ethan walked calmly toward the back of the villa. He went down through the lobby and moved to the backyard, where people chatted and laughed cheerfully. That night, Nola's house was full of life and energy. By the large pool, a cold buffet offered a variety of delicacies, and occasionally a guest would step up to serve themselves.
Ethan looked up at the starry sky and let out a sigh of relief. Of all the buzz in the house, this was by far the quietest spot. Just as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, he heard footsteps approaching behind him and a clear, feminine voice stopped him:
—Got another cigarette?
—Sure.
Ethan turned around and offered her the pack along with his lighter.
—Sheriff King, that badge looks good on you.
Aimee smiled, gracefully tucking her long black hair behind her ears as her fingers touched her earlobes.
With ease, she grabbed the pack and lit the cigarette.
—Thanks, I heard from Thompson that you were the one who recommended me to the new Chief —Aimee returned the pack, and a puff of grayish-white smoke escaped from her beautiful red lips. She raised her hand and pressed the sheriff badge against her chest.
—It's nothing. You're the best for the job, and you know it. That idiot Yazzie didn't deserve the position, he's just a damn lazy coward.
It was nearly midnight, and the cocktail had ended. At Nola's request, the party staff quickly cleaned up and left. Although she didn't want the house to feel too empty, she also didn't want a crowded situation like earlier.
Nola stretched her arms as she spotted the Dodge Challenger parked in the front yard. She grabbed two open bottles of red wine and walked toward the backyard.
Just as she expected, Ethan was in the large outdoor jacuzzi next to the pool. The tub's internal jets shot out strong streams of water, making it bubble and splash everywhere.
Ethan heard the steps and opened his eyes:
—Party's over?
—Yeah, everyone's gone. Just you and me now. Well… and my bodyguards. —Nola stepped aside, set down the bottles, and then removed her feather crown. Under Ethan's gaze, she slowly began to untie her traditional Kinaho outfit, proudly revealing her figure. Her guards took the clothes and left quietly.
Ethan glanced at the security guards in the distance, then grabbed the nearby whiskey and took a sip.
Nola approached with two bottles of red wine; one rested near her lips, which clamped around it sensually. The other she held up with elegance, gripping it by the neck.
She stopped in front of him. A stream of wine slipped from the corner of her lips, trickling down her chin and soaking her black bikini, as if she'd done it on purpose.
With a sigh of relief, she stepped into the tub, straddling him. The water jets hit her body, washing away her fatigue.
—Are you sure you don't want to come work at the casino with me? —Nola set the bottle behind Ethan.
Ethan smiled, shook his head, and reached for her waist:
—No, there are some things I want to do. My friend Job's been pushing me to join him in Los Angeles, so I'm going with him. As for work... I'm happy if you support me in the future —he said with a grin—. I could be a kept man, with a beautiful, rich wife.
Nola knew he was joking. She bit his shoulder in playful rage and asked:
—When are you leaving?
—Tomorrow.
Ethan set the whiskey glass aside and pulled her in by the waist. Their lips met, first softly, then with more hunger.
Nola wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned down to kiss his throat, slowly savoring him. Ethan slid his hands along her wet back and unfastened her top.
He then leaned in to kiss her neck. Smiling half-playfully, Nola grabbed the wine bottle and poured it slowly over her chest for Ethan to drink. The red liquid soon began staining the water in the tub.
The sounds of the world faded, as if only the two of them existed—wrapped in a warm night, under a starry sky and a desire that needed no words.
They took each other without asking, with that rough urgency that comes from desire held back too long. The boiling jacuzzi water was no match for the heat exploding between their bodies. Ethan gripped her tightly by the waist as Nola clung to his shoulders, digging in her nails, riding him without shame, driven by a hunger that didn't seek tenderness, only release.
Their moans were drowned out by the bubbling water, but their bodies spoke clearly: they wanted to dominate each other, to mark, to feel every thrust like it was the last. There was no sweetness, only fire, grunts, slippery skin, and the sound of splashing echoing against the edge of the tub.
When it ended, breathless and exhausted, their bodies still trembling, Nola collapsed against Ethan's chest, her panting breath crashing against his wet skin. Neither said a word. There was no need. The water still swirled around them, as if the echo of their encounter was still burning there, floating in the steam and the darkness.
The next morning, Ethan woke up early as usual. He turned over, got out of bed, showered, and packed his gear—guns and ammunition, all checked—and then threw it into the trunk.
The place he was headed this time shouldn't be as unfortunate as the last, but it was better to be prepared. He rummaged through the fridge and only found half a dozen eggs and some bacon. Without thinking too much, he began tossing the strips onto the cast iron skillet. The sizzling had just begun when the entry monitor went off.
He walked over to the security screen. It was Job. He pressed the switch that opened the main gate and, minutes later, heard the car engine entering the property.
Instead of parking in front of the porch like he usually did, Job drove straight into the garage and parked next to the Dodge Challenger. The vehicle's roof lifted immediately.
I placed the finished food on the dining table and opened the door.
At that moment, Job also stepped out of the garage with a small backpack. He wore exaggerated sunglasses, wide shorts, and a striped vest. He looked like a tourist.
—You're finally ready to leave this awful place —Job said, with his usual sharp tongue, rolling his eyes—. You're not going to the West Coast with me dressed like that, are you?
—What's the problem?
Ethan shrugged, still in the same jeans and black T-shirt.
—Forget it, I'm too lazy to explain. You'll get it when we arrive.
After breakfast, Ethan locked all the doors and windows and took an Uber with Job to the airport. After more than six hours of travel, the plane was finally nearing its destination.
Ethan looked out the narrow window and could vaguely see the waves. It was the real blue sea and blue sky. He hadn't left Banshee in a long time, and it had been even longer since he'd seen a view like that.
This time, it didn't feel like work. To him, it was more like a vacation. But seeing the ruins scattered by the sea, he couldn't help but swallow hard as memories of his last trip to San Francisco came rushing back.
The last earthquake had mainly hit San Francisco, but Los Angeles had felt the impact too. From the plane, it was clear that many areas still looked the same as they had after the disaster struck.
Despite the astronomical losses, little by little, the city was starting to recover its original shape after all this time.
Soon, the plane landed at San Diego International Airport. That still wasn't their final stop. Job rented a blue convertible Jeep from a car rental company and drove toward their final destination.
—Shit! —Ethan cursed the moment they stepped out of the airport.
Now that Job had sped out of the terminal, the heat wave hit him full force. Within seconds, sweat was dripping down his forehead. He took off his jacket without hesitation and stuffed it into his backpack.
The car cruised along the road at a steady pace, a long coastal strip stretching beside them. The beach was full of tourists—some lounging in the sun, others surfing skillfully on the waves. The air had a salty, warm scent, different from what he was used to.
Ethan couldn't help but smile as he watched the women walking along the beach in bikinis so small they barely covered anything. Their sun-kissed bodies moved with effortless sensuality, strolling along the shore like time didn't matter.
Ethan lifted his sunglasses.
—Job, now you can tell me what kind of job we're doing here. Not that I'm complaining, but you haven't given me the details.
—Yeah, well… the one who contacted me was an old acquaintance —Job replied with a half-smile, the ocean breeze ruffling his hair as he held the wheel with one hand—. Janine Cody, though everyone calls her "Smurf." She and her sons are into robbery. They're good at what they do… a little too good sometimes.
—So they're a criminal family?
—Exactly. But we're not here for a simple heist —Job said—. She needs muscle to go up against a group of Mexican drug traffickers. I don't have all the details yet, but first, we need to talk to her.
—Alright, this is going to be fun.
The jeep rolled slowly down the avenue, the sun heating Ethan's skin as the wind played with the open flaps of the vehicle. When they stopped at a red light, a motorcycle pulled up beside them.
The girl riding it wore a turquoise bikini, her long, loose hair gleaming under the sun. She lowered the helmet visor and threw Ethan a flirty smile.
—Who would've thought a guy like you could look so good waiting at a red light in a Jeep? —she said, her voice seductive.
Ethan grinned with a hint of mischief and replied:
—Looks like this traffic light is bringing me some luck today.
She laughed and winked before speeding off when the light turned green, leaving Ethan with a smile and the memory of that bright, playful gaze.