Chapter 3 #4
My body noticed first, which was rude. A quick tightening low in my stomach. Pure instinct. My brain corrected immediately.
Absolutely not.
He stopped near Regan, his gaze moving over me with a slow, unreadable sweep that felt invasive without being obvious. “What’d you drag home now?”
The women laughed.
I frowned.
Regan rolled her eyes. “Behave.”
His attention landed on the crate. Bandit hissed like a psychopath.
Then those green eyes lifted back to mine. “Which one’s the stray?”
More laughter.
I stared at him. “That line work often?”
One side of his mouth moved, not quite a smile. “Wasn’t trying to impress you.”
Dick.
Regan stepped between us, waving a hand. “Sienna, this is Mason.”
Mason gave me a nod like acknowledging my existence fulfilled his courtesy quota for the evening.
I shifted the crate, adjusting Bandit’s weight. “This the security you all keep talking about?”
Savannah coughed behind me, trying not to laugh.
Mason’s eyes dropped to the truck, steam still curling from under the hood. “That heap yours?”
I looked over my shoulder. “Don’t insult her. She’s doing her best.”
“She won’t make another hundred miles.”
I hated that he was probably right. “Good thing I’m stopping.”
He stepped closer and reached for the crate before I could object. His hand brushed mine. Hot. Rough. Solid. His calloused palm scraped lightly over my knuckles, and something stupid jumped through me, sharp and immediate.
Heat.
Annoying.
I let go too fast.
He took the crate like it weighed nothing, even with Bandit losing his mind inside it. “That cat hate everybody?”
“Mostly me.”
His eyes flicked to the scratch on my hand. “That’ll get infected.”
“I’m aware.”
He looked at me again, longer this time, and my skin felt too tight. There was something in his face—hard, closed-off, mean around the edges—but underneath it, tension. Restlessness. Like he carried a storm in his bones and resented everyone who noticed the weather.
Dangerous men always had that look, or maybe I had read too many studies on pattern recognition and trauma response. Either way, my body responded before my judgment could file a complaint.
Not attraction.
Recognition.
Chemistry was biological. That was all.
Regan grabbed my overnight bag. “Inside.”
He turned toward the house, carrying my homicidal cat like he’d been assigned the job and found complaining inefficient. I watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. Controlled. Heavy. Economical.
Savannah bumped my arm. “You’re staring.”
I looked away. “I’m assessing.”
She laughed. “Sure.”
I followed them toward the house, irritated at myself.
Fresh start. New life. No men. That had been the deal.
Less than twenty-four hours into New Mexico, I was following a broad-backed biker carrying my feral cat into an Airbnb while a group of women who may or may not have been a desert mafia adopted me against my will.
It wasn’t normal.
Neither was the heat still lingering on my hand where he had touched me.
Later, I sat by the fire with a drink in my hand while the women settled around me like this was something they had done a hundred times before.
Logs stacked, lighter flicked, flames climbing high and hot, crackling into the desert night like they owned it.
Music drifted faintly from inside, but out here it was fire, laughter, and open sky stretched wide above us.
Regan dropped into one of the low chairs, kicked her boots up, and accepted a drink without asking what it was. Amber followed, already halfway through a story I’d somehow missed the beginning of. Skye passed me a blanket like she’d known me longer than two hours. Tina started smoking Cubans.
“Gets cold fast out here.”
I wrapped it around my shoulders. “Thanks.”
Out past the firelight, two shadows lingered near the edge of the property. Mason was one of them. I knew that without wanting to know it. The other man was broader through the chest and stood with his hands loose at his sides, calm in a way that suggested calm was a choice, not a temperament.
I leaned slightly toward Amber. “Your protection detail?”
She didn’t even turn her head. “It’s annoying, but you get used to it.”
I glanced at the huge ring on her hand. “Did you marry a mob guy or something?”
Her mouth curved. “Or something.”
“They always look like that?”
Regan snorted into her drink. “Like what?”
“Like they’re deciding who to bury.”
Amber grinned. “That is them relaxed.”
I blinked. “Good to know.”
The fire popped loudly, sparks shooting up into the dark. Drinks got passed around. Someone turned up the music just enough for it to hum under the conversation, and then Regan leaned forward, eyes lighting up.
“Oh my God. Tell her about Spain.”
Amber immediately sat up. “No, you tell it. You started it.”
Skye groaned. “Here we go.”
Regan pointed at me. “You’re going to love this.”
I tucked my legs beneath me, curious despite every survival instinct I possessed. “All right. I’m listening.”
Amber straightened like she was about to present a thesis. “So Skye shows up—”
“A mess,” Regan cut in.
“A full disaster,” Evie added.
“Chains. Drama. Tears,” Amber said, ticking them off on her fingers.
“I wasn’t that bad,” Skye winced.
I paused. “Chains?”
Regan waved that away. “Long story. Focus.”
Amber leaned in. “So we find out this psycho mother-in-law—”
“Clarissa,” Evie muttered darkly.
“—has been threatening her, blackmailing her, full villain energy,” Amber continued.
“And we’re like...” Regan sat straighter, chin lifting. “Absolutely not.”
All of them nodded in unison.
I laughed. “Okay. I like where this is going.”
Amber pointed at me. “Right? So we decide—no men.”
“Important detail,” Evie said.
“Because if the guys found out—”
“They’d burn a country down,” Regan said flatly.
Amber lifted her drink. “So naturally, we handled it ourselves.”
I choked on my sip. “You what?”
Regan grinned. “We gave them the slip.”
Evie lost it laughing. “Best part.”
Amber slapped her knee. “Tina who is—Hacker’s wife locked him out of his own accounts.”
Regan nodded. “Changed every password.”
“Man couldn’t even track his own damn bike,” Evie added.
“And while they’re all scrambling,” Amber said, leaning closer, voice dropping dramatically, “we board a private plane.”
I stared. “A what?”
“Private plane,” Regan repeated, as if this were a normal escalation in female friendship.
I looked between them. “Who paid for that?”
Amber shrugged. “Emergency.”
Evie raised her glass. “Girl emergency. Black Amex time.”
“Spain,” Regan said with deep satisfaction.
I blinked again. “You flew to Spain?”
Amber pointed at me like I was catching up slowly. “Hell yeah, we did.”
“Without telling anyone and out a private jet on a Black Amex? Holy shit.. ya’ll are next level.”
Regan grinned wider. “Especially without telling anyone.”
I laughed. “That’s insane.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Evie said.
Amber leaned forward, acting it out now. “We land. We roll up to this villa—”
“Massive,” Regan added.
“Evil queen energy,” Evie said.
“And this woman opens the door, rosé in hand.” Amber mimed it perfectly, lips pursed, wrist limp.
Regan jumped in with a voice dripping attitude. “‘Skye?’”
Evie burst out laughing. Amber shoved her.
“Let me finish!”
“No, no,” Regan insisted. “Tell the part where you kicked the door.”
“I did not kick the door.”
“You absolutely kicked the door.”
“I nudged it.”
“You booted it open like you were in a movie.”
The whole table broke into laughter. I was laughing too now, fully pulled in, the kind of laughter that made my ribs ache because I hadn’t used those muscles enough lately. Amber waved them off with regal irritation.
“Fine. The door may have opened aggressively.”
“Violently,” Evie corrected.
“Anyway,” Amber continued, “next thing you know—”
Regan jumped halfway out of her chair. “Full brawl.”
She mimed grabbing someone by the hair.
“Hair pulling—”
“Vase breaking,” Evie added.
“Amber screaming not the face like she’s ringside,” Regan said.
“I was being practical!” Amber shot back.
I laughed so hard I had to lean forward. “You’re kidding.”
Regan dropped back into her seat, breathless. “Nope.”
Amber lifted her glass. “We got our girl. Got our answers.”
Evie smirked. “And scared the hell out of that woman.”
Regan pointed at me. “Moral of the story?”
I wiped under my eyes. “What?”
“We don’t play.”
Amber clinked her glass against Regan’s. “Ever.”
The fire crackled louder, and the women kept laughing, interrupting, correcting each other, retelling pieces bigger and messier each time.
I sat there wrapped in a blanket I didn’t bring, holding a drink I didn’t pay for, surrounded by women who moved like a unit, and something in my chest pulled tight.
Not pain. Not exactly. Something quieter.
I’d never had this.
Not like this. Not loud, loyal, chaotic, ride-or-die energy that didn’t ask for a résumé before stepping in.
I had friends, sure. People who sent texts and remembered birthdays and said things like we should catch up soon.
But this was different. This was women who boarded private planes for each other and laughed about it later under desert stars.
Regan nudged me. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
My voice came out softer than I meant it to. “Just... wish I had this.”
The table went quiet for half a second.
Then Amber leaned over and bumped her shoulder into mine. “You do tonight.”
Evie raised her glass. “To strays.”
Regan smirked. “The best kind.”
I laughed under my breath and lifted mine too. “To strays.”
Glasses clinked. Fire popped. Somewhere behind us, in the shadows, Mason and the other man didn’t move, but I could feel it anyway: nothing was getting past them tonight.
For a little while, I let myself believe that was comfort instead of another form of danger.
I pushed up from the chair, fire still warm on my legs. “Bathroom,” I said, lifting my empty glass. “Anyone want another round?”
A few hands went up.
Amber pointed her bottle at me. “Same.”
Evie waved lazily. “Surprise me.”
Regan leaned back in her chair. “You’re a gem.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
They laughed as I slipped inside. The noise of the fire softened when the door shut behind me. The house felt quieter now, a few of the women already drifting off to bedrooms, laughter muffled down the hallway. I rinsed my hands, splashed cool water on my face, and stared at myself in the mirror.
Dust still clung to my skin. My hair was wild. My eyes looked tired, but lighter somehow. Less hunted. Less like I was outrunning a life and more like maybe I had accidentally run into one.
For a second, I didn’t recognize myself.
Then I grabbed a couple clean glasses from the kitchen and headed back toward the patio.
I stopped before I reached the door.
Voices.
Low. Sharp. Just outside the side entrance.
I shouldn’t have listened.
I did anyway.
“Shh. Don’t talk so loud.” Regan’s voice. Tight. Annoyed. “Stop upsetting me. Can’t you just let me have one night?”
Mason answered, calm but edged. “You don’t know anything about her.”
A pause.
“She’s a risk.”
My grip tightened on the glasses.
A risk.
Regan huffed. “Oh, please.”
“I mean it,” Mason said. “This could be staged. You pick up strays all the time. For all we know, she was planted.”
My stomach dropped.
Planted?
Regan scoffed. “You think she’s some cartel mole?”
“I don’t like it.”
A beat.
“I pulled her info.”
Of course he did.
“Regan—”
“I said don’t,” she snapped, voice low but fierce. “You don’t get to do that to people I bring in.”
Silence stretched for a second.
Then Mason again, quieter. “What kind of woman walks out of a random bar with people she doesn’t know?”
The answer came fast.
“Desperate,” Regan said.
Simple. Flat. True.
My throat tightened.
“Back off, Mase,” she added. “You know what it’s like to hit bottom. She needed somewhere to land for the night. That’s it.”
“She could still be trouble.”
“She’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Another pause. Then, softer, “She’s harmless. Except for that feral little demon she calls a cat.”
A weak laugh from Regan.
The conversation shifted, voices lowering again, but I didn’t hear the rest. Didn’t want to. I stepped back from the door, the glasses cold and hard in my hands.
Risk. Planted. Trouble.
The words stuck.
I should have known better. This wasn’t my world.
These weren’t my people. They looked like safety from the outside—warm fire, easy laughter, drinks passed without asking—but underneath there were rules, lines, suspicions, men in the shadows running background checks on strangers because kindness apparently required surveillance.
And I didn’t belong anywhere in it.
Heat crept up my neck. Embarrassment first, then anger. That old familiar feeling followed close behind, the one I hated most: the sudden certainty that I had overstayed my welcome without realizing it.
I set the glasses down quietly on the counter. My nails dug into my palms, grounding me.
As soon as I sobered up, I was gone.
Me and Bandit. Back on the road. Five hours or not, overheating truck or not. It didn’t matter. Better that than sitting here wrapped in someone else’s blanket, smiling into someone else’s firelight, feeling like some undercover villain in a story I hadn’t meant to enter.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself, then picked up the drinks again and forced my shoulders back.
Smile on.
Easy.
Like I hadn’t heard a thing.
When I pushed the door open and stepped back into the firelight, the laughter hit me again, warm and loud. Regan looked up, her face open with concern.
“Everything okay?”
I lifted the glasses. “Yeah.”
My voice came out smooth.
Too smooth.
“Just getting the drinks.”
She smiled, satisfied, and turned back to Amber, already mid-argument about something ridiculous. I handed out the glasses, sat back down, and pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
The fire popped. The women laughed.
And I smiled right along with them, already halfway gone.