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She was talking nonsense about her leaving the ranch. If I was smart, I would have let her go. But her words ignited something in me, like a stolen moment that was near to slipping through my fingers. I can’t explain it.

Her kiss was honey and whiskey. Heaven and hell. Owning me with one soft sweep of the stroke of her pouty lips.

Delilah’s nothing like I expected and everything I should stay away from. And yet, all I can think about is when I’ll see her again.

Shaking off all thoughts of Delilah, I stomp through the tasting room and into the back office where I slide open a hidden wall that leads down into the copper tunnels that connect to the ranch. Back in the 1880s, copper was king in Tempest. There are over ten thousand miles of abandoned tunnels underneath the town, including Copper Run Ranch, which sits at the base of the mine. Tunnels once used to smuggle moonshine now keep us off-the-grid and let us evade Mayor Hale when we need to. Our fortress in the night.

The air turns colder as I descend several feet, then empty into the mouth of a large room. The sounds of machinery and drills are loud in the vacant space. Two large industrial lights hang from the rock ceiling.

Syd’s crew, clad in leather motorcycle jackets, is already there assembling our whiskey pallets. Syd slips out from between two of his guys and heads my way. The stomp of his boots echoes around us.

“Cole.” Skull rings on his fingers glinting in the bright lights, Syd extends a hand. “How you doing?”

I shake his hand. “Been better.”

I’ve known Syd Nicoletti since we were kids. Always liked him. He’s River’s best friend. Hates Rogan Hale almost as much as we do. As president of our local motorcycle club, Sons of Tempest, he also owns the Mountain Mechanic autobody shop on Main Street and considers himself the unofficial mayor of Tempest. Like us, S.O.T. holds sway over Tempest with its political and business dealings. Syd is who you call when you need a favor and maybe someone to conduct a little criminal activity on the side.

I tilt my chin at the noises happening in the corner. “We on schedule?”

“We are.” Syd scans his crew. “They’ll be finished assembling the pallets tonight. Then we’ll load up the goods, and when we get word from our contact, they’ll be shipped off to places you needn’t worry yourself with.”

I cast a withering glare at the pallets. I don’t like the illegal activity. I don’t like the Weston name attached. I don’t like jumping when some faceless, nameless connection of Syd’s says boo. All I want is out. To be done. To run our ranch and distillery and focus on my family.

But we have no choice.

I’ve already lost one brother; I’m not losing another.

For the last two years, we’ve been using our distribution service to run guns out of Weston Whiskey and send them to Syd’s suppliers. A deal I struck with Syd when River went to prison. Protect River. We’ll owe you.

It’s the way favors work in Tempest.

You give to get something and hope it doesn’t own your soul.

A decision I’d never regret. Syd’s men kept River alive in prison. He came out without a fucking scrape or a scar on him. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that would stop me from keeping my brothers safe.

“You have an ETA on this run?” I ask.

“Why? You in a hurry, Cole?” Syd claps my shoulder. “Don’t look so pissed off, brother. You have one more run, then you’re out.”

I chuckle. Ever since I moved back to Tempest, it feels like the devil’s hanging over my shoulder, ready for whatever ride I take him on next. “Let’s not make this a habit.”

Syd flashes me that mischievous smile I know from our youth and innocently lifts his hands. “Hey, man, I’m in the favor game—you ask, I provide.”

“You’re still a little shit,” I grumble.

The wall slides open to reveal River and Ezra. They both stride our way. River and Syd shake hands, embracing.

Ezra looks resigned as he crosses the floor to stand beside me.

“You don’t have to be here,” I tell him.

“No. I do.” A muscle tics in his cheek. He’s thinking of Evangeline. “It’s all our asses on the line if we get caught.”

Fuck that. If anyone goes away, it’s me. No one else.

I rub a hand down my jaw, searching for something to reassure him. “War texted me earlier. Craddock and all his cronies are at the bar. They’re not looking for us. Not tonight.”

Ezra relaxes. Slightly.