25
TEX
I’d never been good with words. Never been good with feelings either. But watching Rowan fight me—watching her try to walk straight into the hands of men who wanted to end her to protect my club and my brothers—something inside me cracked wide open.
A chasm of grief and anxiety and of something else I couldn’t name.
And I felt it all in one sudden swoop, like a tidal wave that came in so suddenly that it swept your legs out from under you. It swallowed me whole and sucked me under, because once I admitted it—said the words out loud—I knew there was no taking it back. No going back. Those words would change everything.
“Tex?” she said, attempting to coax my truth from me.
“I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you,” I heard myself say, voice rougher than the gunfire around us had been. “But I am who I am.”
Her eyes went wide, stunned, like I’d hit her with something she didn’t see coming. The fight drained out of her limbs, andfor a second she just stared at me like she didn’t know how to breathe.
JD slid in beside us, crouched low. One of the prospects hovered behind him, looking like he’d been thrown into the deep end without warning. Probably had, truth be known. It wasn’t every day you got into a gunfight with the goddamned cartel.
I tore my gaze from Rowan long enough to grab the kid by the front of his cut, the soft leather clenched in my fist. “Take her,” I ordered. “Guard her life with your own. No matter what.”
He nodded, pale but steady, and pulled her behind him. She reached for me, fingers trembling.
“Tex,please?—”
That one word nearly undid me. I shook my head once, firm. “I’m right here. I’m not letting anything or anyone touch you.” I looked at the prospect again. “Protect her at all costs.”
“Of course,” he agreed with a firm nod of his head.
The cartel shouted again, mocking, counting down like this was all some sick game.
JD and I loaded our guns with the kind of calm that only comes from living too close to death for too long. Like staring into the sun and your eyes adjusting to its brilliance. Moose caught our gazes from across the room and gave a single nod. He turned his head and signaled to someone out of sight. The message passed through the Kings like a current. A silent agreement. A silent promise.
To protect each other.
To protect our club.
To protecther…Rowan. My woman, only she didn’t know it yet. But once this was all over, she would.
JD lifted his hand.
Three.
Two.
One.
We rose together, a solid force, and the Kings surged from behind every hiding place, pistols, shotguns, rifles all aimed and driving the cartel back in a coordinated storm as we let loose with everything we had. The air shook with violence, the ground vibrating beneath my leather boots as the prospect shielded Rowan behind him.
Men fell, clutching hands to the holes in their bodies—both ours and theirs, blood bursting from their foreheads like shockwaves. They fell almost as one, body after body after body, as we fired over and over, stepping forward toward them in a synergy of death.
When the dust settled, only one cartel man was left breathing, though only barely.
I stood over him, my chest heaving, my gun still raised. My muscles were tense and tight, straining against my restraint to blow the fucker’s brains out for having the audacity to come here to our house and shoot our people.
He looked up at me and let out a weak, broken laugh, blood splattering the side of his face as he coughed out blood. “More are coming,” he rasped. “Killing me is like pulling a weed. We won’t stop until the girl is dead. It’s not only about the land now, it’s about retribution and making a stand.”
My jaw tightened. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. Of knowing how his words affected me. I ended it cleanly.
Then I turned, scanning through the smoke and chaos.
