"Knox, you've known me my whole life. You won't win this battle."
He doesn’t respond right away, just narrows his eyes like he’s daring me to back down first. When I don’t, silence stretches, and then his shoulders sag before he finally speaks again.
"Fine," he grumbles. "But I don't know what's going on. If I check it out and say that we need to get you out of there, then I mean it, Sawyer."
"Okay," I agree, just as the truck's tires crunch over gravel and we approach the scene. My throat tightens when the outline of a truck emerges from the night. Its barely standing,melted. Firefighters swarm around it, water streaming against the burnt shell.
PJ is there. Her robe is cinched tight around her near the backdrop of flashing red and blue lights. Concern pinches the corners of her eyes, and Knox and I leap out of the vehicle before it fully stops.
"What happened?" he calls out, demanding answers without tipping into panic.
"I was getting ready for bed," PJ says, shaking her head. "And then... this loud noise. I looked out the window and—my truck was on fire."
"Thank goodness you were inside," I manage, questions flooding my thoughts as I shift uncomfortably on my feet.
"Crazy part is," she murmurs, wrapping her robe tighter around her body. "I had bingo tonight, but it got cancelled."
Knox stands beside me, his eyes scan the surroundings, searching for something—or someone—out of place.
"Where the boys at?" he asks, the drawl in his voice does little to mask the edge of concern.
"Really, don't go getting them all worried," PJ insists. "I'm fine."
The ranch feels alive with secrets, and I can't shake the feeling that the darkness hides more than just the remnants of the fire. We stay with PJ until the firefighters are finished.
Then it hits—a deep, throat-rattling growl that cuts through the dark like a warning. Headlights slice across the night, burning through the darkness as engines snarl closer. The trucks roll in slow, like wolves circling a kill. Tires crunch gravel. The first to arrive? Danger and Charming. Still. Silent. Deadly. Even just pulling up, they radiate adon’t fuck with usenergy.
Then Trouble steps out of his truck. Not the smirking, cocky flirt I rolled my eyes at earlier—he’s bare-knuckled, blood-smeared, and unbothered. This version? He’s wrecked—and dangerous.
His shirt’s ripped, his cheek split open, and there’s a wildness in his eyes that says someone messed with the wrong person. And yet he moves like he’s untouchable—shoulders loose, jaw set, eyes burning straight through me. He’s heat and violence and something primal wrapped in denim and muscle. And all I can think is: God help the man who tried to start something with this family because Trouble must have just finished it.
And now he’s here. Looking at me, almost like he might handle me next. It makes every part of me soften for him.
Firefighters move past us, the world still spinning, but all I can see is him—standing there like violence and destruction had a baby and named it Trouble.
Then he rushes to his mom.No hesitation. No swagger. Just presses a kiss to her cheek like the blood on his hands means nothing if it kept her safe.
And we all know I’m not his biggest fan.
But seeing that?
Knowing whatever he did—however brutal it was—was for her?
Yeah.
It hits me somewhere I don’t want it to.
thirteen
Trouble
I guide Mama up the porch steps, my hand steady on her back. The wood creaks beneath our boots, but my pulse is louder—still hammering from what just went down. The blood on my knuckles is drying, but the anger in my chest? Still fucking raging.
They could’ve killed her.
The thought alone makes me livid, and it takes everything I’ve got not to let it show. Gotta stay calm. Gotta stay strong. For her.
"I'm sorry this happened, Mama. I'll take care of it. We’ll get you a new truck come morning."
