10. Danger
CHAPTER TEN
danger
I follow Rogue to the main bar and see Honey squinting at the security monitors. She quickly yells out, "Kennedy's out front. They got a damn golf club. Doesn’t look good.”
Fuck me. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have listened to Mama and should have kept my ass at home.
I fling the back door open. There’s three—two Kennedys and one new guy I haven’t seen before—clustered around Rogue’s truck, moonlight shining off the back window where my fist accidentally cracked it last month.
Rogue tries to slip in front of me, but I pin him back with one arm. My brother has a death wish, always been that way. I catch the new guy’s eye.
He’s got the golf club propped on his shoulder, and he points it at Trouble, who hangs behind us with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a toothpick floating between his teeth. “You tryin’ to have another go? Heard that one’s still healing.”
The bullet Trouble took has taken its toll on him, but he’d die before showing it.
“And who the fuck are you?”
“I’m their new ranch hand,” he says, puffing up like he’s somebody. “They call me Copper. Replaced the last one that… passed away after you Stetsons got messy.”
The Kennedys glance at their ranch hand like they aren’t sure that was a smart thing to say. He’s out of his lane, but they haven’t said shit because they know better. This new one, I take it he doesn’t.
Little does he know that ranch hand shot Trouble, so I put him in the ground.
“You must be Danger. Can’t figure out why they call you that. You look more like a pretty boy than a problem.”
I tilt my head. “They didn’t tell you? Funny thing about the guy you replaced—you know, the one we ‘got messy’ with? He shot my brother. I shot back. Only difference is”—I tap my chest with two fingers—“I didn’t miss the artery I was aiming for.”
His smile slips.
“Since you’re filling his spot and all,” I add quietly, “learn from his mistake. Last time one of ya’ll didn’t walk away. And all it cost me was a few bullets. You really wanna see what I’m willing to spend now?”
Copper nods, sizing me up. The other two look at him like they’re waiting around to help him get his dick out of his pants. “Someone from your crew paid the Kennedy’s a little visit last night. We wanna know why. We wanna know who.”
I stare him down. “We wouldn’t waste a minute of our time on your piece of shit ranch.”
He doesn’t like that. He raises the club, points it at the truck again. “Wrong answer. You come near us, our shit, we break yours. Eye for an eye.”
Now I know with certainty the Kennedy’s didn’t let this man know who I am. Did him a real disservice.
I step closer. “You smash that headlight, I’ll break every bone that holds your dumbass together.”
He grins like he has no idea I don’t fuck around. It’s all games in his eyes, and then he swings the club. It connects with the headlight in a crash of broken plastic and glass. I don’t look at the wreckage or at him. I just see red.
I glance at Trouble and Rogue. “Just to be clear: I did warn him, right?”
They both nod.
The second he shifts his weight, I step in, grab the club—he tries to keep hold, but he’s not strong enough.
I ram the handle straight into his stomach.
A gasp barely escapes him. I yank the club free and drive it into his ribs.
He drops immediately. I don’t let up. The Kennedy’s move, but Trouble and Rogue hold them off.
He’s back on his feet faster than I expect.
Then he swings a punch, and it lands on my cheekbone, splitting my skin.
I flip the club and press the shaft against his throat as I walk him backwards.
We hit Rogue’s truck. He’s choking, grumbling, but his eyes are angry. I lean in so he can smell the whiskey.
“Men get brave thinkin’ nobody’s gonna swing back. You’re the second person today to forget who the fuck I am.”
First was Rylee.
His voice comes out garbled. “Just tell us who came to the ranch.”
“Didn’t we already go over this?”
My voice is low, but fury vibrates through it. I shove him harder against the hood of the truck, the club locked tight across his throat. His face darkens—red first, then a sickly shade of white as he claws at my arm.
One of the Kennedy's yells, voice cracking with panic, “We saw the Stetson Ranch logo on the truck that left. Only one home was our sister, and she didn’t see nothin’.”
I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about—not yet. But that’s a problem for ten minutes from now, not while I’m choking the life out of a grown man in a bar parking lot.
I lean in, voice quiet enough so only the man I’m strangling can hear how serious I am.
“Leave now… or stay and leave in a bag. Your call.”
He shoves weakly at me, desperate for air. I let up just enough for him to gasp and stagger back, coughing. His eyes meet mine. They’re filled with something between rage and terror—because now he knows exactly why they call me Danger.
“We’ll find out what ya’ll were up to and which one of you it was,” Copper spits, chest heaving. “And when we do, I’ll end whoever it is.”
“Put it on the calendar.”
Then, before he can take another step, I swing the club low and fast. It cracks against his kneecap with a sound that probably just turned a few stomachs.
He collapses, screaming. The Kennedy’s rush him, half-dragging, half-carrying him toward their truck.
“Fuck you, Stetsons!” one of them shouts as they slam the doors.
The engine peels out, tires spitting gravel as they tear off into the dark, leaving nothing but dust, and knowin’ round two has to be coming. There’s always something coming next with them.
They’re gone in a minute, burning rubber down Main Street. I let my head tip back, my cheek pulsing with every heartbeat.
The crowd from inside the bar has filtered out, everybody full of the blatant curiosity of people who want to see violence but not feel responsible for it.
Sawyer’s at the front of the pack, clutching her phone in a death grip, looking around for Trouble.
Winnie’s behind her, eyes locked on me like I’m some animal she’s never seen up close.
I don’t move to wipe the blood from my face. I want them all to see it. Want them all to remember. Know me for who I really am.
Because once, I stood in a doorway—too small to fill it—while my old man dragged my mother past me by the wrist, her bare feet skidding on the floor.
He was barely able to walk a straight line.
I remember the sound her head made when it hit the wall.
Dull. Final. Like a door closing inside my chest.
Growing up, I didn’t have a voice. My old man made sure of that—until I learned that the only way to be heard was to fight back.
Now it’s all I know. I’m the monster this town needs. The one everyone runs to when they need someone to do the dirty work they’re too afraid to do. Some people are famous for their talents. I’m infamous for my bruises.
I catch Winnie’s eye again. Can’t tell if she’s scared or rememberin’ who I really am. Doesn’t matter. This is better. Cleaner. We have an arrangement—that’s all it is. Maybe this’ll remind her of that.
I wipe the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand, then step in close and slide an arm around her shoulders. She goes a little stiff, surprised, but she doesn’t pull away.
“I’ll take you home,” I say.
She glances up at me, something uncertain flickering across her face. But she nods. “Okay.”
Across the lot, Rylee and her friends stand with their arms crossed, judgment written all over their faces. I thought Rylee left. Guess she'd only made it as far as the parking lot.
“You see?” Rylee calls to Winnie. “You two don’t mix.”
Winnie surprises me.
“I think we fit just fine,” she says, lifting her chin.
I grin, open the truck door for her, and wait until she climbs in before shutting it behind her.
When I turn back, Rylee’s still standing there. Only now she looks… lost. Like she can't figure out why I won't care, won't cave, won't be the version of me she remembers.
Maybe I am angry.
Maybe this is how I make my peace.
Maybe I’ll always be the villain. But at least everyone's watching the show, and it's all mine.