Danger doesn't blink, doesn't flinch. I stand silent beside him. We all know this is about more than the shit they stole. It's about our history, about all the damage done on bothsides of a feud that's grown roots deep into the soil of this town.
“We’re done with the games,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You bring back what’s ours and this rivalry ends for good—or one of you will be short a brother, and I won’t lose sleep over who.”
Clay and Wade exchange a look—the kind of silent conversation only brothers understand. But what’s most important is that they both got the message.
Danger tips his head once, then turns and walks out like he’s wasted too much of his night as is. The door swings shut behind him, and then the murmurs start up again.
Wade grumbles something I can’t make out to Clay, and we turn our backs. I scan the room checking for Sawyer. She’s still at the bar and seems unbothered by the minor commotion, which is so very Sawyer—unmoved by what she probably assumes is petty cowboy drama.
I slide up next to her at the bar, close enough that her perfume curls into my lungs—warm and far too distracting. I lean in, my voice low and lazy. “Meet me at the sign.”
She knows exactly where the sign is.
At the far end of the bar, past the old jukebox that hasn’t worked since high school, there’s a crooked "Staff Only" sign hanging off a squeaky saloon door. It used to be an area employees could go for a break but now it's just storage. Most people don’t even notice it. And the ones who do don’t care enough to push through.
I slip back there alone—into the tight, dimly-lit space filled with stacked crates, broken stools, and the faint smell of lemon cleaner. A single bulb flickers overhead. It’s nothing special. Except it’s quiet, hidden, and far enough out of sight that none of my brothers or anyone else in this nosy town would think to look.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, listening to the music and laughter from the bar fading behind the door.
A second later, it creaks open.
She steps inside, gives me a once-over, and smirks.
“Well, if this is where you bring all your secrets, I’d say you need to step it up a notch.”
I smirk and ignore that.
“Where’s your brother been hiding lately?”
She doesn’t flinch. Just tilts her chin up and tugs the brim of the cowboy hat she’s wearing—myhat—just enough to peek at me beneath it.
“Apparently he’s off getting cozy with someone named Hazel. And that’s a hell of a way to say hello,” she teases, and I catch her gaze lingering on my mouth.
My gaze lifts to the hat, then back to her mouth.
“And that’s a hell of an accessory. Not exactly low-key, darlin’.”
“Maybe I’m making a statement,” she breathes, fingers tracing the rim.
I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper as my breath teases her ear. “Yeah? And what kind of statement would that be?”
She turns, close enough our mouths nearly meet. “One that says I like making you squirm.”
My pulse kicks. That hat sitting bold as hell on her head is a risk. She knows it. Knows damn well one of my brothers could spot it in a second. But her brother’s not here, and she’s betting on that—betting on me being the only one squirming.
And she’s right.
“Keep wearing that hat, darlin’, and people are gonna start thinking you're mine.”
She lifts a brow, all fire and temptation. “Even this town knows I don’t belong to anyone.”
My smile is slow. “Not yet.”
The words taste cocky, casual, but it’s more than that. I keep tellin’ myself this ain’t supposed to be more than what it is—just the pull I’ve been fightin’ since the second she landed here. That she’ll be back in Chicago soon, and all I’m hooked on is the thrill of chasin’ what I can’t have.
But that argument’s weak, and I’m sure she sees right through it. Damn girl’s got a way of gettin’ under my skin without even tryin’. Every smart remark, every glance she gives me tugs another thread loose, and I can feel my control unravelin’, strand by strand.
And it ain’t just the big things—it’s the way she laughs when she can’t breathe, the goose like sound she makes that I didn’t even know I was waitin’ to hear until I unlocked it. It’s how she can’t just call a color purple—no, she’s gotta call it plum or lilac, makin’ the whole world sound prettier on her tongue. It’s those blue eyes of hers, never the same shade twice.
