“My dad’s controlled too much of my life,” I say flatly. “Considering he walked away from it before I was even born.”
She goes quiet.
“He was a bully then,” I continue, my voice hardening, “he’s a bully now. And I don’t fuck with bullies.”
I finally glance at her.
“I end them.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
But she doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t pull away.
If anything, she leans in just a fraction.
And that? That steadies something inside me.
I pull the truck up near the main barn, killing the engine.
“Stay with the truck,” I tell Alex.
He nods immediately. “Got it.”
Good kid.
Esme opens her door, stepping out into the dry South Dakota heat, her gaze sweeping over the property like she’s taking it all in.
I come around the front of the truck, every step toward the barn deliberate.
Measured.
Controlled.
And then I see him.
Ace Gunner.
Security must’ve alerted him to the Jersey Iron Ranch truck rolling in. And now, he’s standing just outside the main barn like he owns the damn world.
Which, in his mind?
He probably does.
Older now.
Grayer.
But still carrying himself like the same arrogant bastard who never had to answer for anything in his life.
His eyes land on me.
And he smiles.
Slow.
Mean.
