Chapter 24
twenty-four
Trouble
“Ain’t that your hat sittin’ pretty on Knox’s baby sister?”
My gaze drifts across the room to Sawyer.
She's gorgeous, the light catching in her blonde hair as she throws her head back in a laugh. And there it is, on her damn head, the hat I told her to keep. And there's no denying it—seeing her in my hat’s messing with my head. It ain’t just a look—it’s a problem. A possessive kind of problem.
One look, and I’m ready to fight off every set of eyes that ain’t mine. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me.
My brothers' heads swivel almost in unison, deadlocked on Sawyer.
So I lie like an idiot as I say, "Nah, not my hat."
They all snap back to me, those hawk-like gazes zeroing in on me. Charming's eyes narrow, a slight tilt to his mouth that doesn't quite reach amusement.
"Bro," he draws out the word, tiling his head. "That's definitely your hat."
"Like I said. Not mine."
Charming lets out a soft chuckle. "You never were good at poker, T."
"Thought you said she was off-limits," Rogue raises an eyebrow, his voice a mix of challenge and amusement.
"Off-limits for anyone except Trouble," Charming adds, smirking.
Trouble. It’s what I am. What I always seem to find or create, whether I try or not. And my brothers know it.
Rogue snickers, arms folded across his chest. "Can't wait to see how this one turns out. Knox is gonna beat your ass, and I'll have a front row seat."
"We done here?" Danger asks, probably in a rush to get back to Fisher. "We're here for a reason, so let's get to it."
Sometimes I just wish he’d loosen up a little, let himself have some fun. He’s not an old man. Mama loves every second she gets to spend with Fisher, but he’s too damn stubborn to see it.
Danger doesn’t wait for us. He makes his way toward the pool tables and we trail behind him.
"More shit has come up missing this week," Rogue whispers from beside me.
“Probably why they tried sneaking onto the property last night,” I mutter. Though, what I really mean is that they almost caught me with Sawyer. “Cameras would've picked it up if they walked onto the ranch.”
“I’m telling you,” Rogue shakes his head. “They got to someone who works for us—someone we see on the cameras all the time, and we’d never think they’re workin’ with them. Probably sneakin’ shit in and out.”
"Come on now," I say, hoping he’s wrong. "All our employees are loyal. No one would work with them."
The clack of billiard balls and the whispers get louder, like the whole bar’s tuned in and waiting for something to happen.
The Kennedy brothers are huddled together, cues in hand, laughing.
They don't see us at first, but then they feel it—the shift in the room.
Their heads turn all at once, eyes narrowing.
"Aw hell, what do ya'll want?" Wade Kennedy snaps, leaning on his pool stick.
"Heard you tried to pay us a little visit last night," Danger says before he casually leans against the pool table.
"Maybe we were just trying to party with ya'll," Clay responds, but he ain’t even trying to make it sound convincing.
"Quit the shit," I say, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer.
And the glare he throws me? It’s pure evil.
"Did you feel like a real man last night, Trouble?" Wade sneers, each syllable dripping with scorn. "I saw you holding that gun, pretending like you weren't scared to pull the trigger."
From the corner of my eye, I catch his brother laugh before he adds, "Sounds like a pussy to me."
I take a step forward, fist clenched and ready to knock him out—one clean hit, that’s all I need.
But before I can swing, Danger moves fast, stepping between us like he knew what was coming.
“You’ve got one week. Bring us back all the shit you stole from us. After that, we don’t play nice.”
Clay's knuckles dig into the worn green felt of the pool table. "We don't got your shit," he throws back.
Danger doesn't blink, doesn't flinch. I stand silent beside him. We all know this is about more than the shit they stole. It's about our history, about all the damage done on both sides of a feud that's grown roots deep into the soil of this town.
“We’re done with the games,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You bring back what’s ours and this rivalry ends for good—or one of you will be short a brother, and I won’t lose sleep over who.”
Clay and Wade exchange a look—the kind of silent conversation only brothers understand. But what’s most important is that they both got the message.
Danger tips his head once, then turns and walks out like he’s wasted too much of his night as is. The door swings shut behind him, and then the murmurs start up again.
Wade grumbles something I can’t make out to Clay, and we turn our backs. I scan the room checking for Sawyer. She’s still at the bar and seems unbothered by the minor commotion, which is so very Sawyer—unmoved by what she probably assumes is petty cowboy drama.
I slide up next to her at the bar, close enough that her perfume curls into my lungs—warm and far too distracting. I lean in, my voice low and lazy. “Meet me at the sign.”
She knows exactly where the sign is.
At the far end of the bar, past the old jukebox that hasn’t worked since high school, there’s a crooked "Staff Only" sign hanging off a squeaky saloon door. It used to be an area employees could go for a break but now it's just storage. Most people don’t even notice it. And the ones who do don’t care enough to push through.
I slip back there alone—into the tight, dimly-lit space filled with stacked crates, broken stools, and the faint smell of lemon cleaner.
A single bulb flickers overhead. It’s nothing special.
Except it’s quiet, hidden, and far enough out of sight that none of my brothers or anyone else in this nosy town would think to look.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, listening to the music and laughter from the bar fading behind the door.
A second later, it creaks open.
She steps inside, gives me a once-over, and smirks.
“Well, if this is where you bring all your secrets, I’d say you need to step it up a notch.”
I smirk and ignore that.
“Where’s your brother been hiding lately?”
She doesn’t flinch. Just tilts her chin up and tugs the brim of the cowboy hat she’s wearing—my hat—just enough to peek at me beneath it.
“Apparently he’s off getting cozy with someone named Hazel. And that’s a hell of a way to say hello,” she teases, and I catch her gaze lingering on my mouth.
My gaze lifts to the hat, then back to her mouth.
“And that’s a hell of an accessory. Not exactly low-key, darlin’.”
“Maybe I’m making a statement,” she breathes, fingers tracing the rim.
I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper as my breath teases her ear. “Yeah? And what kind of statement would that be?”
She turns, close enough our mouths nearly meet. “One that says I like making you squirm.”
My pulse kicks. That hat sitting bold as hell on her head is a risk. She knows it. Knows damn well one of my brothers could spot it in a second. But her brother’s not here, and she’s betting on that—betting on me being the only one squirming.
And she’s right.
“Keep wearing that hat, darlin’, and people are gonna start thinking you're mine.”
She lifts a brow, all fire and temptation. “Even this town knows I don’t belong to anyone.”
My smile is slow. “Not yet.”
The words taste cocky, casual, but it’s more than that. I keep tellin’ myself this ain’t supposed to be more than what it is—just the pull I’ve been fightin’ since the second she landed here. That she’ll be back in Chicago soon, and all I’m hooked on is the thrill of chasin’ what I can’t have.
But that argument’s weak, and I’m sure she sees right through it. Damn girl’s got a way of gettin’ under my skin without even tryin’. Every smart remark, every glance she gives me tugs another thread loose, and I can feel my control unravelin’, strand by strand.
And it ain’t just the big things—it’s the way she laughs when she can’t breathe, the goose like sound she makes that I didn’t even know I was waitin’ to hear until I unlocked it.
It’s how she can’t just call a color purple—no, she’s gotta call it plum or lilac, makin’ the whole world sound prettier on her tongue.
It’s those blue eyes of hers, never the same shade twice.
And the feelings I’m feelin’ with her? I ain’t never felt ‘em before.
Her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She shifts, pulls it out without thinking, but the second she reads the screen, she gasps.
“Shit.”
The one word puts me on high alert. My body straightens. Every part of me goes still.
She covers her mouth with one hand, eyes locked on the message like it might explode. “I can’t believe him,” she hisses, more to herself than to me.
Then she’s moving—pushing through the swinging door, straight back into the bar like she forgot I was even there.
I follow, confused, on edge.
And that’s when I see him.
Some man who looks like he took a wrong turn off Wall Street. Crisp suit, expensive shoes, the kind of haircut you don’t get around here unless you drive two hours and tip a few hundred. Whole bar is looking his way—he’s out of place, overdressed, and way too deep into cowboy country.