The sight of it makes my stomach turn.
“Angie—”
She shakes her head once.Firm.Final.
“No time.You get your purse.The one with the gun Sawyer made you keep loaded.”
I don’t argue.There’s no room for pride right now, no time to pretend I’m not scared out of my mind.
Alex and Diego are still somewhere on the ranch, but even if we call them now—it’ll take them at least ten minutes to get here.
Ten minutes is a lifetime when monsters are already outside.
Still, I see Angie grab the landline, pressing a button, her lips moving fast.Probably calling Diego.Maybe Alex.
Maybe Sawyer.
The sound outside grows louder—engines revving, tires skidding on gravel, the low growl of men laughing where no laughter belongs.
My heart climbs into my throat.
I grab my purse off the chair by the door, unzip it just enough to feel the cold metal of the gun inside.
My fingers are slick with sweat.
Then comes the sound that freezes the blood right in my veins—the crunch of boots.
Someone’s on the porch.
Angie presses a trembling finger to her lips.
We start to move toward the back door, slow and silent—BANG!
The front door slams open so hard the frame cracks.
“Afternoon, ladies,” a voice drawls.
I know that voice.
It’s him.
Roach.
The Hellbound Heathen who sent me running.
The piece of shit who called me his “old lady” like I was a trophy instead of a person.
He steps into the house like he owns it, a cigarette dangling from his lips and that same greasy smirk twisting his scarred face.
His cut catches the fading sunlight—black leather, red stitching, the words Hellbound Heathens MC.
Two more bikers follow him, their boots heavy on the hardwood, tracking dust and menace with every step.
“Where’s the cowboy?”Roach asks, sweeping his gaze around the kitchen like he’s casing the joint.“He around?Or did he finally get smart and leave his toys unattended?”
My heart’s pounding so loud I can barely think.
“Get out,” Angie says.
