And waiting for the man who made me feel all of that.
Chapter 28-Sawyer
The road to Arizona stretches out in front of me like it never ends.
It’s miles of cracked asphalt, bleached road signs, and the shimmer of heat mirages twisting the horizon into something that feels more like a dream than a highway.
Out here, it’s just me, the guys, the hum of the rig’s engine, and the ghost of that unease that’s been riding shotgun since we left Dry Creek.
The air hums with quiet tension, the kind you can’t quite name but sure as hell canfeel.
Every bump in the road feels sharper, every shadow on the shoulder feels wrong.
And even though this run’s been clean so far, I can’t shake it.
That feeling.
The one that starts deep—right at the base of my spine—and crawls up slow, whispering that something’s off.
Micah says it’s just the soldier in me that doesn’t know how to rest.
Benji says I’m turning into an old man who worries too damn much.
But neither of them saw what I saw that night when the Heathens hit us.
Neither of them held that bastard’s gaze and felt the kind of hate that doesn’t burn out easy.
That kind of hate waits.
Plots.
Festers.
And the thought of it finding its way back to my ranch—toher—has my jaw locked tight and my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make the leather creak.
“Yo, Sawyer, you good?Need a break, man?”Benji’s voice cuts through the low growl of the engine.
“Nah, I’m tight,” I reply, scanning the road ahead.
He nods, leaning back in the passenger seat, his eyes hidden behind aviators.
Micah’s in the back, laptop open, tapping away, running checks on our satellite tracker and updating our internal logs—doing whatever the hell it is he does that keeps us one step ahead of the assholes trying to sink us.
We make good time, but the miles stretch, long and dry and endless.
Every so often, I catch a glimpse of something in the side mirror—a dust trail, a flash of chrome—but it’s always nothing.Just heat and nerves.
Still, the tension never lets up.
A few more deliveries, and we’ll be back in the black.
Fucking Ace Gunner, that piece of shit, and his hired gang of low lives cost us plenty.
Every hit set us back a half a mil easy—lost contracts, damaged product, equipment repairs, security upgrades.
We were lucky no one got killed.
But we’re rebuilding.
