Chapter 4
4
ROXIE
R oxie kicked the door shut behind her and winced—sudden, sharp movements were not her friend—the faint echo of the latch reverberated in the quiet apartment. She dropped her bag onto the wobbly kitchen table and leaned against the peeling wall, her chest heaving with breath as she tried to settle her nerves and acclimate herself.
The dingy room greeted her with its usual indifference: the faint scent of mildew clinging to the air, a flickering lightbulb in the corner, and the persistent drip from the kitchen faucet. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. At least until the next rent notice slid under the door.
Sliding down the wall, Roxie rested her elbows on her knees and stared at the scuffed floor. The day had been a blur of chaos and unwanted attention, and now, in the stillness, the weight of it all began to press down as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away angrily, but it did no good, they continued to leak from her eyes. It had all been too much.
The fall. The hospital. Gavin.
Gavin.
Her cheeks flushed, unbidden memories of his sharp dark eyes and commanding presence flashing in her mind. He had this way of looking at her, like he could see straight through her, past all the walls, all of her defenses, everything. It was as if he could see straight through to her soul. And that infuriating mix of confidence and protectiveness? It was equal parts maddening and… distracting.
“Nope. Not going there,” she muttered to herself, pushing off the floor.
The notebook caught her eye from where it sat on the edge of the table where she’d left it the night before, its battered cover a familiar comfort. Roxie grabbed it, flipping through pages filled with her messy scrawl. Stories. Dreams. Pieces of a life she wasn’t sure she’d ever have.
Settling into the chair by the window, she turned to a fresh page, the cool breeze sneaking in through a crack in the window frame brushing against her skin. The rhythmic drip of the faucet became her metronome as she let the world outside her apartment fade away.
Her pen moved, slow at first, then faster as an idea took shape. A heroine. A woman who’d been through hell but refused to give up. A man with a shadowed past but a fierce, unshakable loyalty.
She could see them so clearly—their push and pull, the way their worlds collided in a fiery mess of passion and danger. The hero was tall, rugged, and far too self-assured for his own good. His crooked smile could make the heroine’s knees weak, even as she swore to resist him.
Roxie paused, chewing on the end of her pen as her mind wandered back to Gavin. He wasn’t the hero in her notebook—not exactly—but he wasn’t far from it either.
“Get a grip, Rox,” she said aloud, shaking her head.
Her phone buzzed on the table, and she snatched it up, expecting a notification about another overdue bill. Instead, a text from an unknown number lit up the screen.
This is Gavin. Just checking in. You okay?
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She could picture him—leaning back in his truck, that infuriatingly calm expression on his face as he waited for her response.
Fine
she typed back.
The reply came almost instantly.
You don’t sound fine.
Her lips twitched despite herself. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?
What do you want, Gavin?
Another buzz.
To make sure you’re not in over your head. If you need anything, you have my number.
Planning to ride in and save me?
You’ve had worse ideas.
Roxie stared at the message, her jaw tightening. She tossed the phone onto the table and flipped the notebook shut, her mood soured. Who was he to barge into her life and act like she needed saving?
But even as she tried to push the thought of him away, her pulse quickened, her body remembering the way he’d looked at her earlier—serious, intent, like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, her pen still clutched tightly in her hand. Maybe she’d write Gavin into her story after all—not as the hero, but as the storm her heroine had to face. Because storms didn’t save you. They tested whether you could survive.
And Roxie Albright was nothing if not a survivor.
GAVIN
The hum of Gavin’s truck faded as he turned off the highway and onto the dirt road leading to his ranch just outside of San Antonio. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting long shadows across the sprawling fields. As he approached the ranch house, the familiar sight of the barn, paddocks, and pastures brought a faint sense of peace to his otherwise restless mind.
Gavin parked near the barn and stepped out. The warm evening air carried the faint scent of hay, leather, and horses—comforting reminders of a life that felt far simpler than the chaos he’d been dealing with.
The barn doors stood open, and inside, Gavin saw Danny, his foreman, brushing down one of the yearlings. The older man looked up, his weathered face breaking into a grin beneath his cowboy hat.
“’Bout time you showed up,” Danny called, his voice gruff but good-natured. “Thought you might’ve forgotten you owned the place.”
Gavin chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped into the barn. “Been busy,” he said simply, running a hand along the smooth wood of a stall door.
Danny nodded, his sharp eyes studying Gavin. “You look like hell, boss. That trouble you’ve been tangling with still got its claws in you?”
Gavin shrugged. “Wrapped up most of it, but it’s not out of my head yet.”
“Well, you’re in the right place for clearing your mind,” Danny said, giving the yearling a final pat. “Figured you might want to take Cisco out for a ride. He’s been pacing the paddock like he’s got something to prove.”
A faint smile tugged at Gavin’s lips. “Cisco could never stand still for long.”
“He’s saddled and waiting,” Danny said, nodding toward the paddock gate.
A few minutes later, Gavin stood by the gate, the big cherry sorrel waiting for him. Cisco was a striking animal, his deep red coat gleaming in the evening light, his flaxen mane and tail catching the golden rays of the setting sun. He was taller than most cutting horses, too tall for the kind of work Gavin had once envisioned for him. But Cisco had a heart as big as his frame, and Gavin wouldn’t trade him for anything.
“You ready, boy?” Gavin murmured, running a hand along the horse’s neck. Cisco nickered softly, nudging Gavin’s chest with his broad nose.
With practiced ease, Gavin swung into the saddle, settling into the familiar rhythm as Cisco shifted beneath him. He guided the horse out of the paddock and toward the open fields, the sound of hoofbeats steady against the soft earth.
As they rode, the ranch stretched out before them, the golden fields rolling like waves under the fading light. The world seemed to slow, the weight in Gavin’s chest easing with each stride. Cisco’s ears twitched forward, his powerful muscles rippling as he picked up a gentle jog trot, carrying Gavin effortlessly across the land.
Gavin let the reins rest loosely in his hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky burned with vibrant streaks of orange and pink, the last light of the day casting everything in a warm glow. This was what he needed—the open air, the quiet, the connection with his horse.
For a while, he let his mind drift, the steady rhythm of Cisco’s gait a soothing counterpoint to the chaos he’d left behind. Thoughts of Roxie crept in—her strength, her fire, the way she’d looked at him when she finally let her guard down.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. She was something else, and no matter how complicated things got, he couldn’t deny how much she’d come to mean to him in just a day. His groin tightened at the thought of her.
Cisco slowed as they reached a small hill overlooking the ranch. Gavin pulled him to a stop, the two of them silhouetted against the fading light. He leaned forward, resting a hand on the horse’s neck as the breeze ruffled Cisco’s flaxen mane.
“You’re a good listener,” Gavin said quietly, his voice carrying only as far as Cisco’s twitching ears. “Don’t say much, but you always know when to be there.”
Cisco snorted softly, shifting his weight as if in agreement.
Gavin stayed there a while longer, letting the last rays of sunlight wash over him. As the stars began to emerge, he turned Cisco back toward the barn, the sound of hoofbeats fading into the night.
It wasn’t a perfect solution, but for tonight, it would have to be enough.
Gavin sat at his kitchen table, the glow of his laptop screen illuminating the darkened room. A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside him, long forgotten as he scrolled through public records and scrawled notes on a yellow legal pad. The more he dug, the more the pieces started to form an ugly picture.
“Jeremiah Albright,” Gavin muttered under his breath, clicking through yet another search result. Roxie’s late husband had left a trail of bad decisions and worse company.
The screen filled with court filings—lawsuits, judgments, and a few police reports tied to gambling debts. Jeremiah hadn’t just dabbled in the dark side; he’d swum in it. Names like Carter Dugan and Vincent Calloway popped up, men who weren’t just bookies but sharks who’d ruin lives and break bones without breaking a sweat.
Gavin leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw as he let the information sink in. “Hell of a mess you left her in, Albright.”
He flipped to a second tab, this one tied to Roxie’s in-laws. William and Margaret Albright were pillars of Dallas society—wealthy, connected, and viciously vindictive. The legal filings made it clear they hadn’t just blamed Roxie for Jeremiah’s death; they’d gone out of their way to destroy her.
“They dragged her through the mud,” Gavin muttered, skimming the documents. Property disputes, attempts to seize her assets, even a smear campaign in local media to discredit her. The Albrights weren’t content to grieve their son; they wanted a scapegoat.
A final thread led Gavin to the lawyer who had handled Jeremiah’s estate, a man named Alan Kessler. On paper, Kessler looked clean, but Gavin had dealt with enough men like him to recognize red flags. Roxie should have inherited something—anything—but there was no record of her receiving a dime.
Kessler’s name, combined with the Albrights’ ruthless tactics and Jeremiah’s debts, painted a dangerous picture.
Someone had a reason to silence Roxie.
Several days later, Gavin sat inside the lounge of the Iron Spur, the pulsing bass from the sound system inside vibrating through the club and beneath his boots. He’d set himself up in the lounge in his favorite dark corner—a corner where on more than one occasion, he’d had a sub between his legs with her mouth wrapped around his cock.
She wasn’t supposed to be working, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. They’d compromised—she was seated at the cash register ringing people’s tabs and making small talk. Keely had appointed herself watchdog and was seated at the end of the bar closest to Roxie. He watched as she efficiently performed her tasks. Her energy was different tonight—tense, restrained. She still smiled at the customers, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
When the lounge finally closed, she stood stretching her curvy frame and heading into the locker room. A part of Gavin wished she wasn’t working, the night was still young, and he wished she was headed into the submissive’s lounge to change into a corset and bootie shorts to join him on the dungeon floor. So many things he’d like to do to and with her—for one thing he’d like to put a ball gag in that sassy mouth and watch her try to plead for relief as he played with her. Gavin wondered if she had any idea of all the lovely, nasty things he’d begun imagining—or maybe planning—to do with her.
When she finally emerged from the employee locker room, pulling her jacket tight against the cool evening air, Gavin intercepted her.
“Busy night?” he asked casually, falling into step beside her.
Roxie startled, clutching her bag tighter before glaring up at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m one of the owners of the club. Right now, I’m just making sure you don’t get run over,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Gavin,” she shot back, her heels crunching in the gravel as she quickened her pace.
“Didn’t say you did.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Call it curiosity.”
She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “I don’t have time for this. I have two jobs, a concussion, and a lot of bills to pay. I’m fine. I’ve been fine.”
“Yeah? Fine enough to dodge in-laws who hate your guts? Or lawyers who might’ve stolen from you? Or the people your husband owed money to?”
Roxie blinked, her lips parting in surprise as she whirled around to face him. “What are you talking about?”
Gavin crossed his arms, his broad shoulders blocking the faint glow of the streetlight. “I’ve been doing some digging, Roxie. Jeremiah left you in a hell of a mess. And someone out there has a reason to keep you quiet.”
Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fists clenching at her sides. “You don’t know anything about my life.”
“Not everything,” Gavin admitted. “But I know enough to see you’re up against more than you think.”
Her voice wavered when she spoke again, though she tried to sound defiant. “I’ve been dealing with it. On my own.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to her trembling hands before returning to her face. “But you don’t have to anymore.”
Roxie’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the vulnerability in her eyes tugged at something deep inside him. But just as quickly, her walls slammed back into place.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” she said, stepping back.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t need it,” Gavin replied, his voice steady.
Their gazes locked, the connection between them electric. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her—the mix of fire and fragility that made her impossible to ignore. And yet, he knew better than to push too hard.
Roxie shook her head, turning away. “Good night, Gavin.”
He let her go but stayed rooted to the spot, watching as she disappeared into her beat up sedan. His gut twisted with a mix of frustration and determination, but he nodded as two of his guys came out and looked at him. Roxie might not think she needed help, but until he agreed with her, she was going to get it.
Whether she wanted him to or not, Gavin wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he got to the bottom of who was after her—and why.