“Nothing.”
Tank wandered over, still in his cut but with the tie loosened, looking every bit the happy bastard he was. “Dude. It’s my wedding. Why the fuck do you look like it’s a funeral instead?”
I took another pull off the cigar, let the smoke curl out slow. “To me it kinda is. Since like… running into my ex this week.Okay? I’m happy for you, brother. Really. But weddings and exes just… fuck it. I need some air.”
I grabbed my glass and the cigar and shoved out the side flap before either of them could say another word. The night air hit cooler out here, the garden path winding between manicured hedges and fairy lights Regan had insisted on. I took a long swallow of scotch, the ice clinking, and rounded the corner.
There she was.
Sienna, standing alone under a trellis thick with white roses, phone pressed to her ear, voice low like she didn’t want anyone to hear. That green dress still looked illegal on her.
“If it isn’t the little gold-digger whore,” I growled before I could stop myself.
Her head snapped up. Eyes wide, then narrowing fast. “Mason. You drunk?”
“So what the fuck if I am?” The words came out rougher than I meant. My mouth was running ahead of my brain, but the bourbon and the jealousy had the wheel now.
“Mason.” Her voice cracked, hurt flashing across her face like I’d backhanded her. “Why are you speaking to me like this?”
“I’m the one whose pissed at you, remember?” I stepped closer, cigar smoke drifting between us. “Over a freaking cat who never wanted to be with you anyway.”
I knew it was wrong the second it left my mouth. Knew I sounded like a bitter asshole. But the image of her in Rick’s lap, her friend all over Eddie, the way they’d looked so comfortable with men old enough to be their fathers—it burned hotter than the scotch. I couldn’t shut it off.
Her friend appeared from the shadows of the path, stepping up beside Sienna like she’d been listening the whole time. Pretty. Polished. Same pissed-off glint in her eyes.
“Oh, gold-digger number two, huh?” I laughed, low and ugly. “Should’ve pegged you. I knew something wasn’t right when youshowed up at that bar worming your way in. Their little Airbnb weekend. You and that beat-down truck. I felt bad for you. Getting you that furniture, thinking you were an honest working woman. Maybe on your back, huh? Is that why you?—”
The slap cracked across my face so hard my head snapped sideways. The cigar almost dropped. Heat bloomed across my cheek, sharp and stinging.
The friend glared up at me, chest heaving. “You want to finish that sentence, Mace? Is that why what?” Her voice was ice. “We never slept together.”
I worked my jaw, tasting blood where my lip had caught my teeth. “So you’re gonna fuck the old man tonight?”
Sienna’s eyes flashed. She licked her lips slow, deliberate, like she was tasting the words before she threw them. “Maybe. He speaks to me a hell of a lot better than you just did.”
Her friend stared at me then, eyes going wide like she was seeing me for the first time. “You’re… Mason?”
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “What? Expecting something different?”
“Yeah,” she said, voice flat and disappointed. “Yes, I was.”
Eddie and Rick stepped out of the shadows of the garden path right then, cigars glowing in one hand, heavy tumblers of scotch in the other. They took one look at the scene—me with my jaw still stinging from the slap, Sienna and her friend standing there like they’d just watched a train wreck—and their faces hardened into that protective papa-bear mode these old bastards did so well. Rick’s eyes narrowed on me first, then flicked to Sienna. He didn’t even hesitate. Just slid a big arm around her waist andpulled her snug against his side like she was something fragile he needed to shield.
“Everything alright, sugar?” he rumbled, voice low and calm, the kind of tone that said he’d bury a body for her if she asked nice.
Something in me snapped clean in two.
I wanted to crack him. Right there. One punch, straight to that silver-fox jaw, watch the scotch go flying. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Rick and Eddie had been friends with the club longer than I’d had my patch—back when I was still a snot-nosed prospect learning how to keep my mouth shut. My beef wasn’t with him. It was with her. With the way she’d let him pull her close like it was nothing. With the way I’d let myself think she was different. With the stupid fucking plan I’d been turning over in my head all week—inviting her out to the forty acres I’d just closed on, build a fire, crack open some overpriced wine and cheese I didn’t even like, lay under the stars and talk about shit that didn’t involve clubs or exes or poisoned water. What the hell kind of date was a campout anyway? Jesus Christ. Fucking women.
I growled it under my breath—“Fucking women”—and stepped forward instead.
Rick’s eyes met mine. We held it for a beat, two old dogs sizing each other up. He didn’t flinch. Neither did I. But I knew he saw it—the drunk, the jealousy, the whole ugly mess—and he didn’t push. Good thing. I wasn’t sure I could stop myself a second time.
I snatched the scotch right out of his hand, tipped it back in one long swallow, and let the burn chase the taste of blood in my mouth. “Thanks, brother,” I said, cocky as hell, flashing him that shit-eating smirk I knew pissed people off. “I needed that.”
I undid my tie with one hand, let it hang loose around my neck like a noose I was done wearing, and shouldered past themall. The garden path felt too narrow, the fairy lights too bright, the whole goddamn night too loud.
Behind me I heard Sienna’s voice, soft and quick. “No, don’t—he’s just drunk. He ran into his ex this week. As if…”
