Gunner glanced over. “Bachelor party?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Tank dead yet?”
“Not according to the evidence.”
He huffed smoke through his nose, almost a laugh. “Give it time.”
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and looked toward the fire again. Women’s laughter spilled across the patio, warm and loud. Regan’s voice carried above the rest, bossy as hell. Amber said something that made the table erupt. Skye had that softer laugh, the kind that hit late but meant it. Savannah’s was sharper, like a blade catching light.
Then there was the new one.
Sienna.
Regan had dragged her in like she’d found a stray dog limping beside the highway.
Except Sienna came with a damn cat.
At first glance, she looked harmless enough. Dusty truck. Beat-up boots. Road grit on her skin. Exhaustion sitting under her eyes like bruises she hadn’t earned with sleep. She had that look people got when they’d been holding themselves together too long out of pure spite. Not broken. Not weak. Just stretched thin over something stubborn.
Then her cat nearly took my hand off.
I looked down at the scratches across my knuckles. Little bastard had claws like fishhooks and a personality built for prison. Tried helping. Got rewarded.
Story of my life.
Gunner looked at my hand. “Cat got you.”
“Shut up.”
He smirked around his cigarette.
The women were loud around the fire now, passing drinks, wrapped in blankets, leaning into each other like the world wasn’t full of teeth. They were safe here. Relaxed. Laughing with their guards outside and their men close enough to come if called. That should’ve settled something in me.
It didn’t.
Something sat wrong.
Random woman. Middle of nowhere. No backup. Dead phone. Bad truck. Feral cat. Pretty face. Smart mouth. Regan saw a wounded thing and brought it home every damn time, but the world had taught me what happened when good people mistook bait for a rescue.
I cornered Regan by the side patio while the others were busy with drinks. Kept my voice low because the last thing I needed was half the women at that fire turning on me as a group. I’d faced down armed men with less fear than I had of Regan and Amber pissed at the same time.
“Tell me you ran her.”
Regan’s face tightened. “Leave it.”
“You don’t know her.”
“She’s tired.”
“She’s a stranger.”
“She’s harmless.”
I looked toward the truck sitting crooked under the mesquite, steam still faint around the hood. “That cat isn’t.”
“Mason.”
