“Okay,” I say, dropping my arms to my sides. I take a step toward her. “What the fuck did I do wrong?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at me, her chest heaving.
“I mean it,” I press. “I gave you the horse. I helped you with the dog. Rhett gave you the papers. I thought we were... I thought things were settling down. Why are you acting like this? Why are you burning down the yard?”
Her eyes flash. For a second, I think she’s going to scream at me. Instead, she lifts her chin, a look of pure, distilled arrogance on her face.
“Nothing, Alpha,” she says.
The word is like a slap. She doesn’t say it with respect. She says it like an insult. Like it’s a dirty word.
She turns on her heel and marches into the house, slamming the screen door so hard the glass rattles in the frame.
I stand there, staring at the closed door. The fire roars behind me, eating up the history of her family. The wind howls, tearing at my clothes.
Nothing? She burned half the yard, and dismissed me like a servant, and that’s her answer?
I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling in my gut. I don’t understand her. I don’t understand this game she’s playing.
Just then, the sound of an engine cuts through the wind.
Headlights sweep across the yard as Knox’s truck turns off the main road and swings into the driveway. It’s moving fast, sliding a little on the gravel before it comes to a stop near my cabin.
The tailgate is down.
I squint against the glare of the headlights. Strapped into the bed of the truck is a motorbike. A sleek, black, custom machine that looks like it belongs on a race track, not a ranch in Wyoming.
Knox jumps out of the driver’s side. He looks flushed, his hair wild, his eyes bright with a manic energy I haven’t seen in weeks. Rhett climbs out of the passenger side. He looks more composed, but there’s a set to his shoulders that suggests he’s been holding on for dear life.
They stand there for a second, looking at the house, looking at the massive bonfire, looking at me standing in the middle of the yard like I’ve just been hit by a truck.
Knox grins, throwing his hands up. “Check it out!”
I look at the bike. I look at the fire. I look at the dark, angry sky.
I look at them.
Has everyone on this ranch lost their goddamn mind?
“What the hell is that?” I ask, pointing at the machine strapped down in the truck bed. It looks like a black panther crouching to pounce, all sleek lines and chrome. It is completely out of place among the mud and the horse trailers.
Knox walks over to the bike, running his hand along the handlebar with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. “That’s a custom build. Eight-hundred ccs of pure adrenaline. We took it for a spin out on the highway.”
“It’s a death trap,” I say, staring at the thin tires and the exposed engine. “You ride bulls for a living. Why do you need to risk your neck on two wheels in your spare time?”
“Because it’s different,” Knox says, his grin wide and unhinged. “On a bull, you’re fighting the animal. On this, you’re fighting the road. It’s... cleansing.”
Rhett comes around the back of the truck, carrying two large paper bags. The smell of fried food and spices wafts toward me, cutting through the scent of woodsmoke and exhaust. My stomach gives an involuntary growl.
“We stopped by The Salt Lick on the way back,” Rhett says. “It’s closed, but Baby was there packing up to-go orders. She sold us these.”
He lifts one of the bags. “Burgers. Fries. Onion rings. We figured you might be hungry.”
I am. I haven’t eaten anything since a stale granola bar at dawn. But my appetite wars with my irritation.
“You bought a motorbike and burgers while I’ve been out here working?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“We’ve had a day,” Knox says, losing some of his enthusiasm. He rubs the back of his neck, looking toward the darkening sky. “Gary called. Lane is thinking about postponing the whole circuit.”
