And I mean it.
With every damn piece of me.
Chapter 22-Bit
Idon’t remember walking out of the tent—just the way Sawyer’s hand wrapped around mine, firm and unyielding, guiding me through the press of people and noise until we hit the open air.
The sunlight’s fading fast, a haze of pink and gold blurring into night, and I’m shaking so hard I can barely breathe.
Micah and Benji flank us, one ahead, one behind.I catch the gleam of something metallic at Benji’s hip when the wind shifts, and that alone tells me exactly how serious this is.
No one’s saying a word.
Not until we reach the truck parked on the far end of the fairgrounds.
Sawyer opens the passenger door and helps me in, his touch steady even though his jaw is tight enough to crack granite.
“Stay here,” he says, voice rough.“Doors locked.Don’t open for anyone but me.”
I nod, and he shuts the door, tapping the roof twice before striding away with the others.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see the tension in their bodies—the clipped gestures, the quick, silent coordination that comes from men who’ve done this before.
By the time we make it back to Jersey Iron Ranch, the sky’s gone full dark.
Sawyer doesn’t speak.Neither do I.
The only sounds are the rumble of trucks and the thudding beat of my heart that won’t slow down no matter how deep I breathe.
When we pull onto the gravel drive, Sawyer cuts the engine and sits there for a second, hands still on the wheel.
Then he turns to me, his expression softer but still lined with that dangerous edge that makes me both nervous and safe at the same time.
“You okay?”he asks.
I nod.“Yeah.I just, I wasn’t expecting to see him again.”
His jaw flexes.“I should’ve finished it that night.”
“What night?”
Then he tells me.He tells me about the attack on the truck and that it was that biker—Roach—who Sawyer pummeled but ultimately let go to stop another asshole from breaking into the trailer and ruining the delivery.
He apologizes for what he calls an unforgiveable fuck up.
“You didn’t know who he was,” I tell him, wanting to comfort him somehow.
“It’s not a good enough excuse.I should’ve ended the threat.I won’t make that mistake again,” he tells me.
A chill races down my spine, and I know he means it.Every word.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” he says, opening his door.“You need to rest.”
I don’t argue.
I just follow him inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around me like a blanket I don’t deserve.
The guys filter in behind us—Micah, Benji, Alex—and head straight for the living room.
