Page 125 of Breaking His Exile

“It’s terrifying. You’ve got it bad.”

X didn’t argue. He’d had it bad since the first time Mariah Duval had looked at him across the table in the kitchen at Nessie’s Place and decided, visibly, that he wasn’t worth her time. He’d spent months proving her wrong.

Tonight was supposed to be the thing that came after all that. Dinner. Conversation. No wedding reception, no missing sisters, no Sons of Sin hunting through the timber. Just a table and good food and Mariah’s hand maybe finding his, and X allowing himself to believe that some things in his life could be simple.

He grabbed his keys. Checked his wallet. Made sure the small velvet box in his jacket pocket hadn’t shifted—not a ring, Jesus Christ, he wasn’t that far gone, just earrings he’d found in Missoula, silver and understated, the kind of thing Mariah would pretend not to like and wear every day anyway.

“Keys,” River said, holding out his hand. “I’m driving. You’re in no state.”

“I can drive.”

“You drove into a ditch last week because Troubadour farted and you thought it was a gunshot.”

“Extenuating circumstances. The last few weeks have been stressful.”

“I’m your DD so hand them over, pendejo.”

“Aw, c’mon, you can’t call me that. You’re white-bread white. It doesn’t work.” X tossed the keys.

River caught them one-handed, still grinning, and followed X out into the yard.

Evening had settled over Valor Ridge cool and clear, the mountains going purple at the edges, the security lamps throwing long shadows across the dirt. Walker’s house glowed yellow through its windows. Boone’s cabin was dark—the man had finally surrendered to Bear’s medical tyranny and was sleeping off whatever painkillers had been shoved down his throat. Evander’s truck sat near the barn. He’d driven down from the mountain that morning, brought Rainey with him, and the two of them had disappeared into the main house for a long time.

X could only guess what they were talking to Walker about, but imagined they wanted to refurbish one of the guest cabins on the outskirts of the ranch just like Jax and Nessie, like Anson and Maggie.

Maybe in a few months, he and Mariah would be asking the same of Walker.

Kavik materialized from the shadows and planted himself in X’s path, ears up, tongue lolling, radiating the annoyance of a dog who had figured out his human was dressed up and therefore leaving.

“Not tonight, hermanito.” X scratched behind the husky’s ears. “You’ll eat the tablecloth. Again.”

Kavik whined. Dropped onto his haunches and assumed the expression of profound betrayal that had earned him two million TikTok views and a sponsorship from a dog treat company.

“Go find Goose. He’s sadder than you are.”

River was already in the driver’s seat of X’s truck, engine running.

X climbed in. The cab smelled like leather and the pine air freshener he’d hung from the mirror.

River pulled out of the yard, gravel popping under the tires, and aimed them down the long driveway toward the gate. “You nervous?”

“No.”

“You’re bouncing your knee.”

X stopped bouncing his knee. “I’m not nervous. I’m anticipatory.”

“Anticipatory.” River snorted. “Big word for a guy who once described tequila as ‘the good burny juice.’”

“Fuck off and drive.”

The headlights cut twin cones through the gathering dark. The gate stood at the end of the driveway, electronic, operated by a remote clipped to the sun visor. River slowed as they approached, reached for the remote.

The van had appeared from nowhere.

It screeched up to Valor Ridge’s entrance, its headlights off.

X’s skin prickled with warning, and he reached for his hip. No weapon. He’d left it in the bunkhouse. Date night. Civilian clothes. The one night he’d decided not to carry, and the universe, being the universe, had immediately arranged a test.