Chapter 8 MAKING A POINT
JADE
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THWACK.
I stare at the pointed part of my arrow embedded in Hart’s flannel shirt.
Everything around me slows, and my mind goes blank, like it forgets how to work.
I shot Hart Wilde with a dart.
Then panic takes over, and my thoughts crash into each other all at once.
This is not good. I threw that sucker with all the venom I could muster, but not intentionally at him.
Not that he’d believe me.
Not that anyone would believe me.
I hate him, I do, but blood? That’s crossing a line, even in Rocky Ridge Creek, where lines are crossed more than not.
But is it crossing a line?
Last year, my daddy shot Levi in the torso, so maybe I take after him. Although, that was before the feud had been resolved. Town-folks see things differently between our families now, so yeah, I crossed a line.
Shit.
Only no one notices.
Bucky and his worker are busy tending to everyone who piled in after the town meeting. Hart’s brothers are distracted, throwing elbows to notice my dart-induced assault. And my sisters have long since stopped watching me, instead playing competitive Cornhole while analyzing the pages of my book.
Hart notices.
Of course, he does.
He looks at the smoky gray plastic dart, blending into the muted tones of his plaid shirt. Then his head tilts. His hat tips just enough to show the long, stern scathing gaze he casts my way. Then his lips twitch like he’s on the edge of saying something.
I deserve it.
But he swallows it down, his jaw tight, and turns, stalking through the main room.
His boots thud heavily on the floor in sync with my beating heart.
I can’t pull away from watching his solid, muscled back moving through the crowd like the people are barely an obstacle.
In a few heartbeats, he disappears down the hallway.
Good.
Good riddance to him. He deserves more than a dart piercing his skin and the itsy-bitsy lil’ infection it might bring.
An infection that could spread through his blood, slowly killing him.
Because the germs on the tip of that dart, handled by ranchers, bikers, and everyone in between, could be deadly.
Actually deadly.
Well, tie me to an anthill and smear me with honey.
The general manager in me ramps up, realizing he needs to clean the wound, disinfect it, and wrap it up.
My legs move, even though I don’t want them to. Because, as much as I hate Hart, I don’t want him dead on my watch.
But the bleeding is fine.
Maybe I’ll even slap the wound.
“Oh no, you don’t.” The deep voice behind me makes me jump, and an arm slides around my waist.
It’s Vin, the big, burly biker I was having a good time with until Hart barged into my thoughts.
And truthfully, as much as I want to pretend otherwise, I’m just not the kind of woman who sleeps with a guy just because he’s hot—which Vin is. Even knowing he’d make it rough in all the right ways.
“Come over here.” He’s already well into drunk territory and leaning close like the outcomes have already been decided.
I shift. “Uh, I’ve got to—”
His fingers dig into my hip, a little too tight, and a little too controlling.
“Where you going, sweetheart?” The way he says it makes my pulse spike, and not in a good way.
His blonde sidekick, Trish, rubs against my other side, and I jump again.
Where did she come from?
“The night’s young,” she purrs in my ear before moving to Vin’s other side.
I’m not getting tangled up in whatever this is.
I slip out of his grasp. “I’ve gotta go.”
He looks disappointed, raking his gaze over my body. “C’mon, don’t be like that.” He scoops Trish against his side. “We could have a good time.”
I take a step back, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m flattered, but I’m going to sit this one out.”
I try to keep my cool as I turn on my boot heel and bolt. I secretly pray he doesn’t follow and forgets about me altogether. It’s easy, ask Hart. He forgot about me faster than the blink of an eye.
In the back hallway, I spot the first aid kit still hanging between the ladies’ and men’s bathrooms, which means Hart isn’t cleaning the puncture.
Figures. What a macho idiot cowboy.
My fingers brush the cold metal box as I pry it from the wall and step inside the men’s.
I immediately regret not taking a moment to think this through.
The cramped space carries the sharp tang of sweat and a sour note of beer left to spoil. The faint scent of bleach struggles to mask the lingering musk of countless forgotten nights.
I wince the moment I see him, shirt off, the harsh light catching every line and curve of his vast shoulders.
His tanned skin is rough from days in the sun, stretching over taut muscles that flex with every move as he inspects the dart wound on his shoulder.
There’s a slow, controlled tension in his jaw, like he’s holding back a storm. Even hurt, he carries himself solid, steady, and impossible to ignore.
The door clicks closed behind me. Now I’m committed, or at the least, busted.
My stomach twists.
He glares at me in the mirror’s reflection. His Stetson sits on the counter, so I get a real good look at his thick, wavy hair.
“Well, look at that. You’re still alive.” The first aid kit weighs a thousand pounds in my hands. “I came to make sure you weren’t bleeding to death.”
“How noble. You’re a real hero.” Each word is clipped, like he’s on the edge of losing it. “Pretty sure a little dart isn’t gonna do me in.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it out. You could’ve made it worse.”
He turns to study his shoulder. The sharp edge of the injury stands out against the smooth, hardened planes of his skin.
“Thanks, Doc. But I don’t need you playing nurse.” He raises a single eyebrow at me, once more in the reflection. “Just because you hit me doesn’t mean you get to patch me up.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I take a step forward, trying to keep my voice even. “I just don’t want to have to explain to everyone why there’s a bloodbath in the men’s bathroom.”
A wry, sort of pissed off smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re just saving your ass ‘cause you tried to take out my eye.”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“You’re lucky I don’t press charges for assault.” There’s a glint in his eye like he might actually do it.
And I don’t doubt it.
Who calls the sheriff more than the Foxes and Wildes? The answer is no one.
I scoff. “Please. Get over yourself.” I unscrew the cap.
“I already said I don’t need a nurse.” His voice growls deep from his chest.
He grabs the first aid kit out of my hand.
I jump but keep my calm. “You’re welcome.”
“This is your fucking fault!”
“Next time, I’ll make sure to throw a dart that actually does some damage.”
He watches me for a second, his eyes narrowing, and then he lets out a low, amused chuckle. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I’m something else?” My hand presses against my chest, my nails digging into my flesh. “You’ve got a funny way of forgetting the solid year you invested in pretending and playing angles to get what you wanted from me.”
This is the closest I’ve ever come to confronting him. He ghosted me after that night—the night he took my virginity in our secret place, and said it’d be us against the feud, against the town—against our parents. That night he kissed me like we were meant to be together forever.
But every word had been a lie.
I wasn’t his future. I was a notch on his belt—just the Fox girl he ruined for sport.
“What I want from you is to get the fuck out.”
“You know what, you’re something else.” I drive my fist into his shoulder, right where the dart had been. “Asshole.”
Outside the bathroom, I don’t get a chance to relish in his stunned expression, or the jolt of satisfaction I didn’t know I’d been craving.
Down the hallway, Vin leans against the wall, his arms crossed, watching me with a bemused smirk.
No. Just, no.
“Well, well,” he drawls, his tone teasing, “Look who’s sneaking out of the men’s bathroom like she just had a good fuck.”
For real?
And people wonder why I like to stay home.
“It’s a shame you didn’t wait for me.”
My body tightens, but I mask it with a scoff, shaking my head. He has no idea how wrong he is.
I try to move past him.
Vin pushes off the wall with a confident smirk and steps into my path, blocking my way out.
His giant frame makes me feel smaller by the second, and not in the same way Hart did.
I might loathe Hart, but he’d never corner me in this threatening way like he’s about to take me. No consent. No hesitation. Just take.
“Or, maybe I’m right on time?”
My patience is already fraying, but I try to remain calm. “Move out of my way.”
He steps further into my space, leaning in just enough that I can smell the bitter sting of beer and stale cigarettes on his breath. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy. I’m not gonna bite.”
I don’t take a step back. I refuse to let him see that his proximity makes my skin crawl.
Instead, I straighten, cross my arms, and stare him down. “Do you need help understanding what no means? Cause there’s a bar full of men who can catch you up.”
His bushy eyebrows dive into a deep V, leaning in a little more. “You’re tempting me by wearing this.” He flicks my sash, and for a split second, I want to blame my sister: I’m a Wild One.
But hell no.
He’s a grown man, and sash or not, that doesn’t give him the right to decide I’m his.
“So don’t act surprised when I get loud,” he rumbles.
I give him a look that could freeze fire, and then I sidestep him. But he’s quick, his bulk blocking me like a wall.
“You one of those ‘tough girls,’ huh? Always looking for a fight. Well, I’m game if you are.” He lets out a low, threatening laugh. “I like to play rough and wild.”
I exhale sharply, feeling the heat rising in my chest. “If you think I’m playing, you’re dead wrong.”
His smirk is sharper, colder. His gaze drops slightly as he steps even closer. Too close.
He slides a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I’m never wrong, sweetheart. And you’re playing all the right moves.”