Chapter 5-Benji
The first night Esme sleeps in my bed—in the house I built from conversations we’d had long before I could make it a reality—I don’t sleep.
I stay up walking the perimeter and texting Micah to dig into her accounts and track down whatever sick bastard’s been following her.
Yeah. Not exactly how I pictured my life twenty-four hours ago.
But here I am.
Boots crunching gravel in the dark, the ranch quiet except for the low shift of cattle and the steady hum of insects that never seem to sleep in this summer heat.
I make another pass along the fence line closest to the house, flashlight cutting across posts, wire, shadows.
Everything looks solid.
No breaks.
No tampering.
No sign anyone’s been stupid enough to test us tonight.
Still doesn’t mean they won’t.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down. It’s a text from Micah.
Micah
Pulling what I can. She’s got a legit following. Big. Monetized. Clean revenue streams. No obvious red flags yet.
I stare at the message for a second.
Then type back.
Me
Find the messages. The stalker. I want a name.
Three dots pop up. Disappear. Pop up again.
Micah
Working it. Whoever it is, they’re careful. Masking IPs, using burners. But not perfect.
Not perfect is all I need.
Me
Good.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and keep walking.
The sky starts to lighten slow, that early dawn gray bleeding into pale blue across the horizon. The kind of morning that usually feels like a fresh start.
Today?
It just feels heavy.
Because inside that house—alone, in my bed—is the woman I married.
The woman I thought betrayed me.
The one I thought I divorced.
The same damn woman I haven’t stopped thinking about for three goddamn years.
I drag a hand down my face.
“Get your head on straight, you dumb fuck,” I mutter.
Because standing out here thinking about her hair spread across my pillow, her body under my sheets, her breathing slow and even while I pace like a guard dog outside?
That’s not helping anything.
I make one last sweep, then head toward the barn.
Work.
Work I can do.
Work I understand.
The barn doors creak as I push them open, the familiar scent hitting me—hay, feed, animal heat, and something colder from the storage side.
The bulls we brought in last week are already stirring, sensing movement. Big bastards.
Good lines.
Strong frames.
Money.
Future.
Everything we’re building.
I move down the row, checking each stall, eyes scanning automatically for signs of stress, illness, agitation.
These animals are investments.
Genetics like this don’t come cheap.
“Easy,” I murmur, running a hand along one thick neck as one of them huffs and shifts.
Satisfied, I move toward the back section where the cryogenic storage is set up.
That’s where the real money is.
Liquid nitrogen tanks hum softly, the vapor curling faintly at the top as I check the gauges.
Temperature steady.
Pressure good.
Semen straws from our top bulls stored, and cataloged.
That’s the business model.
That’s how Jersey Iron Ranch scales without needing ten thousand acres like my father.
Efficiency.
Precision.
Control.
Who the hell knew bull jizz would be worth this much?
I huff a humorless laugh under my breath.
“World’s a weird place,” I mutter.
My phone buzzes again.
Micah.
I pull it out, scanning the next message.
Micah
Your girl’s got grit, Benji. I pulled some financials. She’s legit, man. Income streams from sponsors, ad rev, merch. She built this from scratch.
I go still.
Micah (cont.):
Also, she was telling the truth. Esme never touched the joint account. Not a cent after you split. And neither did you, you fucking idiot. There’s just under twelve grand just sitting there.
My stomach drops.
I lean back against the cool metal of the tank, staring at the message like it might change if I look at it long enough.
She didn’t touch it.
Almost twelve thousand dollars.
Sitting there.
While she lived in her van.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper.
Guilt hits hard.
Harder than anything else so far.
Because I left that money there, thinking she’d use it. That she’d get to where she needed to go, and that would be that.
I mean, she already had someone else.
Someone she wanted—right?
Fuck.
My jaw clenches.
Is that who she is?
The woman I married?
The one who walked away from money and stability to sleep in a van if it meant not taking what she didn’t feel was hers?
Or is she the woman Paul described?
The one who laughed behind my back and climbed into his bed the second I shipped out?
It doesn’t make sense.
None of it does.
We met.
We fell hard.
Fast.
Married before either of us could think twice about it.
And I didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t question it.
The second I saw her, I knew.
She was it.
The one.
The only woman I’ve ever loved.
Still fucking love if I’m man enough to admit it.
My chest tightens at that.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
Because that broken muscle in my chest?
It never gave up on her.
Not once.
Not even when I tried to kill it.
Not even when I convinced myself she wasn’t worth it.
Even when I thought she was a lying cheat, I loved her.
And now—now there’s doubt.
Now, there’re questions.
Now, there’s the very real possibility that Paul—fuck, Paul.
“Goddamn it,” I snap, shoving off the tank.
Did he lie?
Did he set her up?
Did I just believe him?
The thought makes me feel sick.
Actually sick.
Because if that’s true?
If I threw away my marriage based on a lie—I don’t know how to come back from that.
I don’t know how to fix that.
I don’t even know if she’d let me try.
Footsteps echo behind me.
I turn to see Sawyer walking in, already dressed for the day, coffee in hand.
“Been up all night?” he asks, taking in the way I’m leaning against the tank like I need it to stay upright.
“Something like that.”
He nods once, not pushing.
That’s Sawyer.
He steps up beside me, glancing over the gauges out of habit.
“All good?” he asks.
“Yeah. Systems are holding.”
Silence settles for a second.
Then—he exhales and turns to me.
“About last night,” he says.
I stiffen.
“Don’t,” I mutter.
He ignores that too.
“I didn’t mean to make it sound like you were on your own,” he says, voice steady.
I glance at him.
He meets my eyes.
“If Esme’s yours,” he continues, slow and deliberate, “then she belongs to the ranch.”
My chest tightens again.
“And we protect what’s ours,” he finishes.
Something in me shifts at that.
Not relief.
Not exactly.
But something close.
“You sure about that?” I ask, because I need to hear it.
Because this isn’t just about me.
This is about everything we’ve built.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”
Then, after a beat, he adds, “You’re not alone in this, Benji.”
The words land.
Deep.
Because I didn’t expect them.
Didn’t ask for them.
But I damn sure needed to hear them.
I nod once, slow.
“Appreciate it.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, then smirks just a little.
“Besides,” he adds, “Lil Bit’s already decided she likes her.”
I huff out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I noticed.”
“Which means,” he goes on, “soon as you get your head out of your ass, that woman’s not going anywhere.”
That settles it.
Not really a choice.
Not anymore.
I push off the tank and roll my shoulders.
“Good,” I say, even though nothing about this feels simple.
Because the truth is I think I still need her.
I need her to stay here. At least, for a little while.
I need answers.
Need the truth.
And I’m not letting her walk away again without getting it.
Not this time.
I glance toward the house, the early morning light just starting to hit the roofline.
She’s in there.
Sleeping under my roof, in my bed.
For the first time in three years, she’s within reach.
“So, are you gonna tell her?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I mutter in reply. “We’re gonna talk.”
One way or another—Esme and me?
We’re gonna hash this thing out.
I don’t think we have a choice.
I scrub a hand over my face and push off the tank, forcing my thoughts back where they belong.
Work.
Forward motion.
That’s how I’ve survived everything so far.
We’ve got another run coming up in a few days.
Big one.
Clean route, good client, solid payout.
Only this time?
I’d already planned a little detour.
A stop I’ve been putting off longer than I should’ve. To see my old man.
Motherfucking Ace Gunner.
Just thinking his name makes something dark twist low in my gut.
The bastard’s still out there, running his mouth, trying to drag Jersey Iron Ranch through the mud like he didn’t already do enough damage when I was growing up under his roof.
Threatening clients.
Leaning on old connections.
Playing dirty like he always does.
The men he hired to hit Sawyer’s early deliveries?
They’ve gone quiet.
Either they backed off or somebody else made them back off.
Destiny’s Enforcers MC, maybe.
Good guys.
Or maybe it’s someone higher up the food chain who didn’t like where Ace was sticking his nose.
Doesn’t matter.
Point is—they’re not a problem right now.
But Ace?
Ace is always a problem.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders as I move back out into the barn aisle.
We’ve got our own connections now.
Our own weight.
Sammy Ramirez—yeah the Volkov Industries heir and guru—just went public with his investment in Jersey Iron Ranch, and that?
That’s not just money.
That’s a statement.
A billionaire like him doesn’t throw his name behind something unless he plans to protect it.
It means reach.
Influence.
Muscle.
Not that we’re lacking in that department.
But it never hurts to have someone bigger watching your back.
Still, this thing with Ace?
That’s mine. It’s personal.
Always has been.
And now—now there’s something else layered into it.
Someone else.
Esme.
My jaw tightens.
If she’s got someone stalking her?
If someone’s already escalated to breaking into her place?
Then this isn’t just coincidence.
This isn’t just bad timing.
This is a real threat.
And I don’t like threats I don’t understand.
Especially not ones that circle around something—someone—I care about.
The thought hits me clean and sharp.
Care about.
Yeah.
That hasn’t changed.
No matter how much I tried to kill it.
Something clicks into place in my head.
It’s not clean and simple, but it’s solid enough to build on.
A plan.
Because I know two things for damn sure. First, I need to figure out the truth about Esme.
And I need to keep her safe while I do it.
And second, I have to stop my asshole sperm donor from targeting Jersey Iron Ranch just because I rejected his feeble attempts at parenting me when I was a teenager.
And I think, well, maybe I can do both at the same time.
While my thoughts are spinning, the day is moving. Sawyer’s already gone outside and I walk out to find him.
I step out into the morning light, spotting Sawyer leaning against the fence, talking with Diego about feed rotation.
He glances up when I approach, reading something in my face instantly.
“Talk to me,” he says, pushing off the post.
I don’t hesitate.
“Okay, look,” I start, voice steady now, decision already made. “I’m taking the next delivery.”
His brows pull together.
“That was the plan anyway,” he says. “What’s changed?”
I meet his gaze head-on.
“Well, you know how it’s going to the Big C, Chase Baron’s ranch. South Dakota.”
Recognition flashes.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Big contract.”
I nod once.
“And I’m making a stop while I’m there.”
Now his eyes narrow.
“Where?”
He fucking knows already, and I don’t bother to sugarcoat it.
“To see Ace.”
Silence stretches for a beat.
Diego mutters something low and walks off, giving us space without being told.
Sawyer studies me hard.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But it’s necessary.”
His jaw tightens.
“That man’s bad news, Benji.”
“I know exactly what he is,” I snap, then rein it in with a slow breath. “And I’m done letting him take shots at us from a distance.”
Sawyer watches me for another second, then nods once.
“Alright,” he says. “Then we do it smart.”
We.
That word again.
It settles something in me.
“I’ll have Micah keep digging on Esme’s situation,” he continues. “And we’ll tighten security here while you’re gone.”
I nod.
But there’s one more piece.
The one I haven’t said out loud yet.
“That’s fine. But I’m taking her with me. Alex will come as my backup. About time he learns the road,” I say, mentioning Diego’s nephew who also works on the ranch.
Sawyer goes still.
Completely still.
“That’s not happening,” he says flatly.
“It is,” I counter just as fast.
“Benji—”
“She’s safer with me than sitting here waiting for someone to make a move,” I cut in. “You said it yourself—if there’s danger attached to her, it’s attached to us.”
“That doesn’t mean you drag her into more of it,” he shoots back.
“I’m not dragging her anywhere,” I growl. “I’m keeping her close. Where I can protect her.”
“And what happens when you walk her right into Ace Gunner’s line of fire?” he demands.
I hold his gaze.
“Then I handle it.”
Something dark flickers in his eyes.
Because he knows me well enough to know I mean that.
“Lil Bit’s not gonna like that,” he mutters.
“She doesn’t get a vote on this one,” I say, even though I already know that’s a fight waiting to happen.
He huffs out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You really are going to confront every damn problem in your life all at once, aren’t you?”
I let out a humorless laugh.
“Figure if I’m gonna face one dragon,” I say, voice low, steady, “I might as well face them all.”
Sawyer studies me for a long second.
Then he nods.
“Alright,” he says finally. “Then we plan for it.”
Because that’s what we do.
We don’t run.
We don’t hide.
We handle our shit.
I glance back toward the house, where I know she’s still inside.
Sleeping.
Breathing.
Close.
And for the first time since she showed up—I don’t feel like I’m drowning in it.
I feel focused.
Locked in.
Because now?
I’ve got a direction.
A purpose.
And a woman I intend to figure the hell out—whether she likes it or not.