Chapter 14-Benji
Pulling onto my father’s land always feels like stepping into something rotten.
Doesn’t matter how many years pass.
Doesn’t matter how far I get from this place, how much I build on my own.
The second those gates swing open?
It’s like the air changes.
Heavier.
Meaner.
Like the land itself remembers what kind of man owns it.
I hate it.
Always have.
But this time?
I’m not the same man who left here with nothing but anger and a chip on his shoulder.
This time, I’m walking in with purpose.
With something to prove.
Not to him.
To myself.
Because I’m done running.
Done letting that bastard’s shadow stretch over everything I build. Everything I am.
I tighten my grip on the wheel as we roll down the long gravel drive, barns rising up on either side like monuments to his ego.
Jersey Iron Ranch might be growing fast—but this place?
This is old money.
Old power.
The kind that thinks it’s untouchable.
But not anymore.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Because this isn’t just about business.
Yeah, he’s been trying to tank us.
Threatening clients.
Sending hired muscle after our runs like we’re just another nuisance he can swat down.
But this?
This goes deeper.
This is about every year I spent thinking I wasn’t enough.
Every time I let his name define me.
Every time I walked away instead of standing my ground.
That ends today.
Because I can’t ask Esme to believe in me—can’t ask her to trust me, to choose me—if I don’t believe in myself first.
And the thought that she might be carrying my child?
My jaw tightens.
That changes everything.
Makes this urgent.
Makes this necessary.
Beside me, Esme shifts, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Esme asks, and fuck, she’s just so damn beautiful, it steals the breath from my lungs.
I nod because I can’t talk.
Not yet.
“I mean, I get it. Your father is a dick,” she says, her tone climbing just enough to betray her nerves, “and you picked now to say hi?”
I suck in a careful breath, not taking my eyes off the narrow road.
“My dad’s controlled too much of my life,” I say flatly. “Considering he walked away from it before I was even born.”
She goes quiet.
“He was a bully then,” I continue, my voice hardening, “he’s a bully now. And I don’t fuck with bullies.”
I finally glance at her.
“I end them.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
But she doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t pull away.
If anything, she leans in just a fraction.
And that? That steadies something inside me.
I pull the truck up near the main barn, killing the engine.
“Stay with the truck,” I tell Alex.
He nods immediately. “Got it.”
Good kid.
Esme opens her door, stepping out into the dry South Dakota heat, her gaze sweeping over the property like she’s taking it all in.
I come around the front of the truck, every step toward the barn deliberate.
Measured.
Controlled.
And then I see him.
Ace Gunner.
Security must’ve alerted him to the Jersey Iron Ranch truck rolling in. And now, he’s standing just outside the main barn like he owns the damn world.
Which, in his mind?
He probably does.
Older now.
Grayer.
But still carrying himself like the same arrogant bastard who never had to answer for anything in his life.
His eyes land on me.
And he smiles.
Slow.
Mean.
“Well,” he drawls, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Look what the wind dragged in. Hello there, son.”
That word.
That one goddamn word.
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles pop.
“Save it,” I bite out, stopping just shy of him. “I’m not here for your bullshit.”
His mouth stretches into a slow, ugly grin. Same one I’ve seen in a hundred nightmares.
“Still got that mouth on you,” he says, looking me up and down like I’m something he scraped off his boot. “Thought the military might’ve knocked some sense into you.”
“It did,” I shoot back. “Just not the kind you were hoping for.”
His gaze slides past me.
Lands on her.
Esme.
Standing by the truck, watching, taking it all in. I feel her there without even turning—like a second pulse under my skin.
Exactly where I want her.
Exactly where I need her.
Something dark coils in my gut at the thought.
Mine.
“And you brought company,” he says, voice going sharp. “That supposed to impress me?”
“Nothing about you impresses me,” I say flat.
That wipes the smirk right off his face.
Good.
“That so?” he mutters, stepping closer, trying to crowd me like I’m still some kid he can push around.
I don’t move.
Don’t give him an inch.
“That’s so,” I say. “Now listen close, because I’m only saying this once. You stay the hell out of my business. Me and my partners built Jersey Iron from nothing. I’m not letting some washed-up old bastard like you sink it.”
His lip curls.
Makes him look even uglier than I remember.
“You think you can come onto my land and talk to me like that?” he sneers. “Boy, do you know who I am?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice low and deadly. “I know exactly who you are.”
I step in closer.
Close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath.
“And it means nothing.”
His eyes flash.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” I go on. “You don’t get to loom over me like you matter. You don’t.”
“I’m your father—”
“Don’t.”
The word comes out like a warning.
But he keeps going.
“I said, I’m your father. That’s my blood in your veins—”
Big mistake.
“Don’t call yourself that,” I growl, stepping right into him now. “You wanna talk facts? Let’s talk facts. You knocked up a teenage girl working your ranch, then you walked away like she was nothing. Left her alone. Pregnant. Struggling.”
My chest is heaving now, years of this shit boiling up and over.
“You might be my sperm donor,” I snap, “but you sure as hell aren’t my father.”
Silence hits.
Heavy.
Charged.
Then he laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Careful, boy,” he says, shaking his head. “You and your little operation might think you’ve got something going, but my connections are bigger. My reach is longer. You’re gonna want my help.”
I bark out a harsh laugh.
“Your help?” I shake my head slow. “Are you fucking delusional? I didn’t want anything from you when I was a kid, and I sure as hell don’t want anything from you now.”
I jab a finger toward his chest.
“You don’t get a say in my life, Ace. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
His jaw tightens.
Good.
Let him feel it.
“I get it,” he says after a beat, voice turning patronizing. “You’re trying to impress that little lady over there. Puff your chest out, play the tough guy. But you don’t understand how this world works—”
“No,” I cut him off, stepping in again, voice dropping low and lethal. “You don’t understand.”
Something in my tone makes him pause.
Good.
“Interfering with my business?” I continue. “That’s bad for your health, old man.”
He snorts.
Still playing it cool.
Still pretending he’s untouchable.
“How exactly did I interfere?” he asks, like this is all a game to him.
“Threatening my clients,” I fire back. “Leaning on them. Sending your little pets to do your dirty work.”
There it is.
That flicker.
Gone quick.
But I saw it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, too smooth.
“Bullshit.”
The word cracks between us like a shot fired.
“You think I don’t know about the Hellbound Heathens?” I press, stepping closer, voice rising now. “About Josh Cunnings running his mouth and taking orders?”
Right on cue—the man himself steps forward.
Josh.
That smug, rat-faced prick.
Smirking and swaggering like he’s got something to prove.
“You got a lot of nerve, boy,” he sneers.
I turn my head just enough to look at him.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I smile.
But there’s no humor in it.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I get that a lot.”
I turn back to Ace. Josh takes a step closer, but I track it.
And I don’t take my eyes off my father.
“You’re done,” I tell him. “Your days of controlling anything in my life are over.”
He laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Is that right?” he says. “You think you’ve built something out there that I can’t touch?”
“I know I have.”
His gaze sharpens.
Cold.
Calculating.
“You’re still my son,” he says. “Everything you build traces back to me.”
“No,” I snap. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
My chest feels like it’s going to split open.
But I don’t back down.
Not this time.
“I don’t need you,” I tell him, each word deliberate. “I never have.”
Something flickers in his eyes.
There.
Gone.
“And that’s what’s always killed you about me, isn’t it?” I add, stepping closer. “The fact that I walked away and still made something of myself without you.”
Silence stretches.
Thick.
Tense.
“Get off my land,” he finally spits.
“Yeah,” Josh adds with a nasty grin, “and take your fat whore with you.”
Everything goes red.
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I let go of Esme’s hand—hell, I didn’t even realize she’d come up beside me until now—and I take two steps forward.
The idiot doesn’t step back like he should’ve.
Next, my fist connects with his jaw.
Hard.
The crack echoes across the yard as he goes down in a heap, swearing.
I stand over him for half a second.
Breathing hard.
Then I turn.
Walk back to her.
Take her hand again.
Like I never let go.
I lift it, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, my voice dropping low.
“Sorry I let go for a second, Sweetheart,” I murmur. “Had to take out the trash.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
Not pulling away.
Not hesitating.
And that?
That feels better than the punch.
I don’t look back.
Don’t give that place—or that man—another second of my attention.
Because I’m done.
Done letting him take anything else from me.
I lead her back to the truck.
And this time?
When I get in?
I don’t feel like I’m leaving something behind.
I feel like I just took something back.