CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Quiet Mustang
SILAS JAMES IS the chief of the Black Rock Sheriff’s Department and is firmly in the Grayson camp.
Has been for years. Mostly because Mars’s endorsement has been a key factor in him winning reelection.
In return, James has proved to be a good ally to have in the police force.
Especially when along with tending cattle and breaking horses, you’re also in the business of teaching your enemies lessons for vying for your land.
He also happens to be one of the very few who know about Rawhide Redemption and is involved in the operation of it.
Standing in a corner of Mars’s office with my arms folded across my chest and my back leaning against the wall, I watch James as he sits at the desk opposite to Mars and gives him a brief regarding what he was able to find on the Andersons.
Apparently, the meeting didn’t go as planned.
As in, the Andersons are proving to be a lot more determined than Marsden would’ve liked.
From what the sheriff says, Joshua Anderson has been seen at a restaurant with Hank Turner, which never bodes well: our enemies colluding.
On top of that, he’s been asking questions about us, trying to talk to our ranch hands.
They’ll never talk, but again, such aggressiveness in regard to our land usually means trouble.
So now, Mars is going to go the alternate route and run them out of town, so to speak.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Arsen entering the office and taking up space beside me. I don’t say a word, but he knows I’m judging him for being late. So he mutters, “Couldn’t sleep.”
Wordlessly, I shift on my feet.
“You’d know that if you spent eight years behind bars,” he adds.
Keeping my eyes on the proceedings before me, I respond. “That ain’t why you can’t sleep.”
“Oh, you know why I can’t sleep?” he challenges.
“It’s a filly and her name’s Reverie.”
He stiffens beside me. “Don’t fuckin’ call her that.”
I grunt as my lips twitch.
“Fuck you.”
“You ain’t my type.”
I’m not an expert at these things, far from it, but whatever’s been brewing between my friend and the girl he brought home for revenge has taken a serious turn.
It’s been two days since the night at the cabin, and alongside everyone else at Rawhide, I know he doesn’t sleep without Reverie.
When he’s away from her and working at the ranch, his focus is half-assed at best. As his foreman, I should be pissed, but I can’t find it in myself to take him to task for this.
Arsen has had a rough several years, and he deserves whatever happiness he can find.
Although, how it’s going to work out when he’s also hell-bent on avenging the past, I don’t know.
But since I don’t, I keep my mouth shut.
Other than giving him shit here and there.
He chuckles. “And people call me the wild one.”
Growing up, Arsen and I were inseparable.
He was full of rebellion and wild schemes, while I was the quiet one who followed all the rules.
Worked hard and kept my head down; my daddy taught me that.
People would call him the Dark Stallion, unruly and a playboy; and I was the Quiet Mustang.
We always knew we’d grow old side by side, him breaking horses on the ranch, his dream; and me, owning and working on the land, my dream.
I was like my father in that regard. He married my ma young, worked on a piece of land he bought with his own money that he’d been saving ever since he was fourteen, and got a job at one of the local ranches.
But then the Grayson brothers lost their parents, and my parents stepped in to help.
They moved us all to Rawhide so Ma could look after her sister’s children and my daddy could help Mars out with the land.
I don’t know if my daddy ever resented giving up his own piece of paradise, but I know I wanted something of my own.
And I’d planned to get it one day. Maybe even have a family of my own on that land.
But when my parents got murdered, my young naive self turned into a monster. And years later, Arsen’s life was upended as well, turning him into a hardened ex-con. So this feels good, having him back like this. Like old times. Even though we’ll never be the same people we were before.
“There a reason you’re starin’ at the good ol’ sheriff like you wanna drag him to one of the cabins out in the woods and give him a special Rad treatment?” Arsen asks after a while.
I stiffen. Not because he, and everyone else, doesn’t really know what it means when I give someone a special treatment. But because there is a reason that I can’t share with him. I keep my voice casual as I reply, “Just doin’ my job.”
He glances over at me. “You sure?”
I nod.
He studies me some more before turning back to Mars and the sheriff, who are still engaged in a conversation. Then, “You know he won’t betray us. He ain’t that stupid.”
“Anyone can be that stupid,” I say before I can think it through.
That gets his attention and he’s back to studying me. “You know somethin’ that I don’t?”
Fuck.
Can’t say I like keeping secrets from Arsen. Or from the family that I owe everything to, but my hands are tied. “Everyone’s got a price, and he knows way too much about us.”
Sighing, he nods. “True. But he also knows he’s got a lot to lose.”
I hold my silence.
“His job, for one. And I hear he’s got a daughter. Axton’s age, goes to his school too.”
I throw him a look. “You sayin’ we’re gonna come for her if he steps outta line?” I go back to looking straight ahead. “Mars would never go for that. And since when do we involve innocent girls in our business? Despite recent events.”
He grunts before folding his arms across his chest like me. “I’m sayin’ he doesn’t know that. He thinks we’re all criminals with our land wars and whatnot. He’s already scared of us. Just lettin’ him know we’re watchin’ him and his daughter should get the job done.”
He’s right. It’s something to keep in my back pocket for when the time comes.
Not that I’m going to share it with him.
I can’t. I’ve been explicitly instructed not to if I want them to give back what they took from me.
Classic blackmail, a trick I’ve used often to get people to do what I want.
A trick that works and is working in this case.
Because in less than two weeks, I’m about to steal the Turner Princess—for a second time—and put a price on my head.
Unless I figure out who’s behind this. So far, I don’t have a clue.
All the attempts I’ve made to find out who’s involved have been in vain.
Which means everyone’s a suspect and I trust no one. Including the good ol’ sheriff.
A few minutes later, the meeting is over and Arsen and I are on our way out the door to begin our day. My muscles are tight and on alert like they’ve been for the past few weeks. Agitated and angry, ready for battle. Then I hear my name being called.
“Rad, do you have a minute?”
I’m not in the mood to talk, even less so than usual, but it’s Haven.
She’s the mistress of the house. But more than that, she’s like a little sister, annoying but ultimately family, and I can’t ignore her.
Arsen, however, has no such issues. He glances over at me and smirks. “Wonder what she wants, huh.”
And then, like the asshole he is, he keeps on walking while I have to stop and turn around.
She’s walking down the hallway we just came from, heading straight toward me. As soon as she crosses over, she narrows her eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Well, she’s right. So I stay silent.
“Don’t try to deny it. I know you are,” she says, studying my face. She’s one of the few who do that, treat me like I’m normal and not damaged. That my ugly scar doesn’t offend her or scare her. But then again, I haven’t given her any reason to be scared of me, nor will I.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t let my annoyance show. “What do you want?”
She keeps her eyes narrowed. “Follow me.”
Before I can protest, she spins around and starts walking.
I sigh again and do as she says, following her into the hallway I just left.
The sooner I find out what she wants, the sooner I can get out in the open air.
Maybe riding Milly and losing myself in work will help me ease this tension, this constant pounding in my temples these days.
I need to keep my head clear so I can find out who’s behind all this.
So I can pull them out of the goddamn hole they’re hiding in and explain to them exactly who I am.
I’m Radisson King, and playing games by someone else’s rules is not something I do.
I make my own rules, and if someone breaks them, at best they lose a limb, and at worst they lose their life.
And by the time I’m done with them, they’re going to understand it in their very core.
But as I round the corner and follow Haven into the kitchen, I realize what a fucking mistake it was to not put up a fight. Because sitting in the little dining nook, with the sun streaming through the glass window, is the girl I’m supposed to deliver.
She has her head down and her hands are holding what I’ve heard Haven call a piping bag.
Her hair’s tied up in a ropelike braid—an unusual occurrence during the day—and her brow is furrowed as she focuses on the task of, apparently, decorating a fucking cupcake.
Her cheeks are flushed with the heat of the oven, and despite the sugary scent in the air, I can smell her lotion underneath.
But then again, I can smell her anywhere. Sniff her out like the hunter I am.