1
Eli “Trigger” Jennings
Iscanned The Last Stand Tavern, the noise rolling through me in waves. A live band meant a packed house—boots stomping, laughter spilling, couples dancing like tomorrow wasn’t waiting.
Everyone in Eagle River loved country music.
I was learning to tolerate it. I still preferred rock and roll.
Havoc stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He looked like a man itching for trouble, but he wasn’t. That look just came naturally to him. No one tried anything stupid when Havoc was on bouncer duty.
Rylie Tate was getting married in four days.
The thought hit my chest like a fist.
I didn’t understand why it bothered me so much. It wasn’t like we’d ever been together. A year ago, we’d rolled into Eagle River and taken over the tavern, turning it into a front for what we really did—rescue, protection, second chances.
Eagle River Rangers.
I’d been gone for a few months, guarding a woman the cartel wanted dead. When I came back, there was a wedding invitation waiting for me—Rylie’s wedding—I’d stared at it like it was written in another language.
I had no claim on her.
But I’d always had the sense she felt something too. Or maybe I just wanted her to feel something.
She didn’t even live here anymore. The city had her now—her law practice, her future. Still, I couldn’t remember hearing she was dating anyone. Let alone engaged.
“You going to keep sulking in the corner all night?” Saint asked.
“I’m not sulking,” I muttered. “I’m surprised. No one told me Rylie Tate had a serious boyfriend.”
“We didn’t know either,” Saint said. “He works in her building. Top floor.”
“A lawyer?” I scoffed. “She’ll be bored in a week.”
“She was here last month,” Saint added. “Asked where you were.”
That tightened something deep in my chest.
“I’m not going to her wedding,” I said. “I’d want to punch the guy.”
“Who are you punching?” Havoc asked, stepping closer.
“Rylie’s fiancé,” Saint said.
I exhaled slowly. “I said I’m not going. Now drop it. Don’t you two have work to do?”
2
Rylie
How did I let myself get this far?
Thomas Thorn thought fear was enough to force me into marriage.
I’d played along—just long enough to find a way out. I told myself I’d escape before it became real.
Now I had two days left.
