“Well,” he drawls, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Look what the wind dragged in. Hello there, son.”
That word.
That one goddamn word.
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles pop.
“Save it,” I bite out, stopping just shy of him. “I’m not here for your bullshit.”
His mouth stretches into a slow, ugly grin. Same one I’ve seen in a hundred nightmares.
“Still got that mouth on you,” he says, looking me up and down like I’m something he scraped off his boot. “Thought the military might’ve knocked some sense into you.”
“It did,” I shoot back. “Just not the kind you were hoping for.”
His gaze slides past me.
Lands on her.
Esme.
Standing by the truck, watching, taking it all in. I feel her there without even turning—like a second pulse under my skin.
Exactly where I want her.
Exactly where I need her.
Something dark coils in my gut at the thought.
Mine.
“And you brought company,” he says, voice going sharp. “That supposed to impress me?”
“Nothing about you impresses me,” I say flat.
That wipes the smirk right off his face.
Good.
“That so?” he mutters, stepping closer, trying to crowd me like I’m still some kid he can push around.
I don’t move.
Don’t give him an inch.
“That’s so,” I say. “Now listen close, because I’m only saying this once. You stay the hell out of my business. Me and my partners built Jersey Iron from nothing. I’m not letting some washed-up old bastard like you sink it.”
His lip curls.
Makes him look even uglier than I remember.
“You think you can come onto my land and talk to me like that?” he sneers. “Boy, do you know who I am?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice low and deadly. “I know exactly who you are.”
I step in closer.
Close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath.
