2. Quinn
Quinn
The first rule is simple.
Don’t react.
My phone lights up on the nightstand before I reach for it.
I’m already awake.
Awake long enough to assess the room. Exit points. Clothing. Consequences.
And the cowboy standing shirtless beside the hotel window glaring at his phone like he wants to throw it through the glass.
Logan Wilder is even more dangerous in daylight.
Cerulean blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Lean muscle earned from ranch work instead of a gym membership and vanity. The kind of strength that looks capable instead of polished.
Real.
Which makes him harder to manipulate than most men.
And right now—
he’s angry.
Good.
Anger is easier to predict than panic.
I sit up slowly, gathering the sheet around me without rushing. Controlled movement. No sudden reactions. No signals I don’t intend to send.
“How bad?” I ask.
My voice stays even.
Neutral.
Exactly where it needs to be.
Logan turns toward me, jaw tight.
“Bad enough my brothers are calling before sunrise.”
That tells me everything.
I extend my hand. “Show me.”
A beat passes.
Distrust.
Expected.
Then he crosses the room and hands me the phone with more force than necessary.
Emotion leaking through restraint.
Interesting.
I glance down.
Headline first.
Image second.
Context third.
WILDER brOTHER CAUGHT IN VEGAS SCANDAL WITH QUINN MERCER
There it is.
The Mercer name.
The problem.
I scroll.
One photo shows Logan’s hand low on my back outside the casino bar. Another catches me against him in the elevator. Suggestive. Intimate. Deliberate angles designed to imply more than they actually show.
Then I hit the video.
Of course there’s video.
The camera placement is too clean to be accidental. Whoever took it knew exactly what they wanted.
Logan moves into my space.
My fingers fist in his shirt.
Then his voice cuts through the audio.
“This isn’t a mistake.”
I go completely still.
Not outwardly.
Internally.
Because that line wasn’t random.
It wasn’t misunderstood.
It was selected.
Used.
Evan.
Of course.
My brother never attacks directly when manipulation works better.
And last night handed him exactly what he needed.
I hand the phone back carefully.
“This spread fast,” I say.
Logan lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Funny how that works.”
His gaze stays fixed on me.
Sharp. Searching.
He’s looking for guilt.
For fear.
For some sign this surprised me less than it surprised him.
He’s not wrong.
“Logan—”
“No.” His voice cuts clean and hard. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re suddenly on the same side.”
Noted.
Defensive. Reactive. Drawing lines already.
That simplifies things.
I let the silence stretch instead of fighting through it. Men reveal more when they think they’re already exposed.
“What do you remember?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “Enough.”
A partial truth.
Useful.
My gaze flicks briefly to his mouth before I stop it.
Too late.
Memory slams into me anyway.
His hands gripping my hips against the bar wall. The scrape of his jaw against my neck. The way he kissed like restraint wasn’t something he believed in.
Like hunger was the only language he spoke fluently.
God.
I shove the thought away immediately.
Irrelevant.
“This can still be managed,” I say.
The reaction is instant.
His posture hardens.
“You know what my problem is with that sentence?” he asks roughly. “You sound like you already moved on to cleanup.”
Because I have.
I keep my expression calm. “Getting loud won’t fix it.”
“Or maybe this isn’t a surprise to you.”
There it is.
Direct.
Earlier than expected.
I hold his gaze without overcorrecting. Don’t rush to defend myself. Don’t look away either.
Just enough stillness to let the accusation breathe.
Not enough to confirm it.
His phone vibrates again.
Grayson.
Then Cole.
Another call immediately after.
The shift in Logan is subtle but immediate.
This isn’t about him anymore.
It’s about the ranch.
The family.
Silver Spur.
Important.
“I’m going back to Montana,” he says.
“Obviously.”
Neutral tone. No challenge.
Inside, I’m already recalibrating.
Silver Spur Ranch in Redhaven Ridge, Montana.
Proximity I didn’t have yesterday.
Access I may now need.
His gaze locks on mine again.
“And when I figure out whether this was just a disaster or something dirtier, I’m coming for answers.”
He means it.
That’s the thing about Logan Wilder.
For all the bad-boy reputation and reckless charm—
he’s real when it matters.
That makes him dangerous.
“You should probably get the full story before deciding what questions to ask,” I say.
Not a lie.
Not the truth either.
He studies me carefully now.
Actually studies me.
Not as a hookup.
Not as a scandal.
As a complication.
Good.
That means he’s thinking.
The timing is too clean.
Too immediate.
The narrative already formed before either of us woke up.
Evan is escalating.
Pressure first.
Exposure second.
Destabilization third.
And the Wilders are already vulnerable after the trouble surrounding Silver Spur over the last year.
This won’t weaken them.
It’ll divide them.
Unless someone controls the narrative first.
I slide from the bed and reach for my dress. Logan’s attention drops briefly before snapping back to my face.
Quick.
Controlled.
Still affected.
That matters more than it should.
“Right now,” I say as I pull the dress on, “this story paints you as reckless. Unreliable. Exactly what your enemies want confirmed.”
His expression darkens.
Accurate.
“And you think you know how to fix that?”
“I know how my brother operates.”
That lands.
He doesn’t interrupt.
Progress.
“Evan doesn’t need proof,” I continue. “He needs perception. And this—” I gesture lightly between us, “—gives it to him.”
Silence settles between us.
Heavy.
Measured.
He’s listening now.
Not trusting.
But listening.
And this—
this is the moment that matters.
Because I could walk away.
Distance myself.
Shut this down before it grows larger.
Or—
I could stay close enough to stop whatever Evan’s planning next.
My fingers pause at the zipper.
I meet Logan’s gaze again.
He doesn’t trust me.
He shouldn’t.
Trust isn’t part of this.
Strategy is.
Decision made.
I’m not shutting this down.
Not yet.
“Call your brothers,” I say.
His expression hardens. “You really like giving orders.”
“I like outcomes.”
I step toward the bathroom, close enough to feel heat radiating off him as I pass.
At the doorway, I pause just long enough to leave him with one final truth.
“This doesn’t disappear because you pretend it didn’t happen.”
Then I walk away.
Leaving Logan with the headlines.
The fallout.
The suspicion growing behind those impossible blue eyes.
And for the first time since I woke up beside him—
I allow myself to admit the truth.
This isn’t a mistake.
It’s an opening.