No.
My grip tightens until the leather creaks.
And if he ever looked at Sable—if he evertried—
The thought burns straight through me, sharp enough to taste. Red washes over my vision. I see her under him, crying out, and the image alone nearly blinds me. I wouldn’t just kill him. I’d make it slow. I’d carve pain into his spine so deep he’d forget his own name before he forgot her face. I’d make his death art.
I breathe through my nose. In. Out.
I’m not afraid of what I’d do.
I’m afraid of how easy it would be.
And I wouldn’t regret it. Not for a second. Not even if it cost me everything.
Everything buther.
I glance over, wrath wrapping around my chest.
Silver light grazes her skin. She’s asleep. Head tipped toward the window with one hand curled loosely in her lap. Her mouth parted, breathless and beautiful, suspended in everything we are becoming.
She came with me. No hesitation.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, jaw locked as the dark highway eats up mile after mile.
She has no idea how far I’d go for her. No idea what kind of man she’s in bed with now.
And God help the bastard who gives her a reason to find out.
I’d burn the whole fucking town of Stillwater Bend to the ground for this woman.
And if Stauder so much as breathes near her, I’ll show him exactly what kind of monster he helped make.
Thirty-two minutes.
I keep one hand on the wheel and one eye on the clock the entire damn drive. I pull into the back alley of Ruin's End. Sable still asleep in the passenger seat, the second the truck eases to a stop, she jostles awake.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, stretching lightly. “My body’s not used to staying up this late. Or”—she pauses with a sly grin—“that many orgasms in one night.”
That pulls a smirk out of me. I reach over and squeeze her knee. “You can go up to the loft and crash in my bed if you’d rather not deal with this right now.”
She shakes her head as she unbuckles. “I want to see JT… if that’s all right.”
It’s more than all right. I nod and we get out, boots on pavement, night air thick with the noise of cicadas buzzing around us.
Inside, the bar is quiet. Patrons have all left. Only the hum of fridges and the faint clatter behind the bar echoes across thespace. Macy’s going through closeout, cleaning down the taps. It’s barely been two weeks and her first full weekend, but she moves like this is her hundredth night here. Will’s influence, no doubt. He favors tight, clean systems and has zero tolerance for laziness.
She glances up, nods once at me, then does a double-take when she spots Sable behind me. There’s curiosity there, but no time. I lead Sable through the hallway toward the office, already bracing for what she’s about to see.
A sick bloody trail smears along the floor, telling a story I don’t want to read.
I glance back at her, expecting to see her falter.
She doesn’t. Not even a flicker.
I first notice Will through the office window, jaw tight. I open the door and look to my younger brother. JT’s propped up on the beat-up couch, shirt off, torso wrapped with a bar towel, face swollen and bruised to hell. There’s dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. One eye already purpling shut. His knuckles are split open, and there is a patchwork of cuts across his upper body.
My fist connects with the drywall before I can stop myself. The crack ricochets through the room, sharp enough to rattle bone. I feel the skin tear and know the familiar bruise I’ll feel later.
