Chapter 67
JAKE
Mason parks his truck next to mine in the gravel lot. Luke pulls up on the other side, like we discussed formation.
Three men. One message.
We walk in as a unit, and I scan automatically. Exits—front door, back hallway leading to restrooms, and rear exit. Sight lines—clear view from the pool tables to the bar. Potential threats—
Cole Turner.
He's at the bar, nursing what looks like whiskey. His back is to us, but his shoulders stiffen the second we walk in. He knows we're here.
Good.
Mason catches my eye and jerks his chin toward a corner table. Perfect position—wall behind us, clear view of the entrance and the bar. Tactical advantage. We claim it without discussion.
Luke drops into the chair facing the pool tables, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Mason takes the seat with the best view of the bar. I sit where I can see the door so I can see her the second she walks in.
"You good?" Mason asks quietly.
"Yeah." Glancing at Turner, I stretch my fingers. I know exactly what I'm doing. This isn't romance. This is strategy. Remove ambiguity. Establish Emma as protected. Force Turner to recalculate.
Mason’s watching Cole at the bar. "He's twitchy."
Luke snorts. "He should be. We’re a wall of consequences he can’t outrun."
A server approaches—blond, mid-thirties, efficient. "Evening, boys. What can I get you?"
"Three beers," Mason says. "Whatever's on tap."
She nods and heads toward the bar, coming back in a few minutes with our beers. I’m paying her when I see Cole push off his stool and start toward us.
Here we go.
I don’t move a muscle, but I watch him approach.
He stops at a comfortable distance from our table, not crowding or posturing. His hands are relaxed at his sides, his expression pleasant. Professional.
"Jake Callahan." He says it like he's greeting a business associate. "I thought that was you. Mind if I join you for a moment?"
He doesn't wait for permission, pulling out the fourth chair and sitting down with the ease of someone accustomed to negotiating. Not aggressive. Just... present.
I don't respond. Just watch him.
Turner's eyes move across the three of us—assessing, calculating.
When he speaks again, his tone is conversational.
"You've assembled quite the team here. Former military, I'm guessing?
Special forces based on the way you move and the way you position yourselves.
" He gestures to our table placement. "Tactical. Impressive."
Luke's expression doesn't change, but I see the slight tension in his shoulders.
Turner leans back in his chair, completely at ease. "I have to admit, I'm curious about your interest in Iron Ridge. Small town, not much opportunity for men with your skill set. Unless you're here for something specific." His gaze settles on me. "Or someone."
"You have a point, Turner?" My voice is flat.
"Just making conversation." He smiles, warm, genuine-looking.
I’ve taken out cartel lieutenants who had snake smiles like that.
"I understand you've been spending time with Emma Hayes,” Turner continues. “That's interesting timing. You return to town right when she's dealing with her father's death and property pressures. Some might see that as opportunistic."
Mason shifts slightly.
Still smiling, Turner holds up his hands.
"I'm not judging. I'm simply observing. Emma's in a difficult position. Large property, significant expenses, no family support. A woman in that situation needs allies. Real allies, not just”—he pauses, pretending to choose his words carefully—"temporary distractions. "
I set my beer down slowly. "Emma's not your concern."
"Isn't she?” Turner tilts his head. "I've been trying to help her. I offered her fair market value for property she can't maintain and doesn’t want to. But she's been resistant. And now you're here, and I'm wondering if that resistance is really hers, or if it's being influenced."
"She makes her own decisions," I say evenly.
"Does she?" Turner adjusts his pant leg.
"Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're making them for her.
Security systems she didn't ask for. Surveillance she doesn't know about.
Public displays of ownership." He gestures around the bar.
"This, for instance. Very territorial. Is it really going to play out the way you think? "
The words land like precision strikes. He knows about the cameras. How the fuck does he know about the cameras?
Turner reads my expression, and his smile widens slightly.
"I do my research, Mr. Callahan. It's how I stay successful in business.
And what I've learned is that you're a man who operates outside conventional boundaries.
Which makes me wonder, what exactly are you protecting Emma from? Or are you protecting yourself?"
Luke's hand moves slightly toward his belt.
Turner notices too. He stands slowly, buttoning his jacket with deliberate care.
"Gentlemen, I'm not here to cause trouble.
I'm simply here to establish that I'm not going anywhere.
Emma's property is valuable. Very valuable.
And I'm a patient man. I can wait for her to realize that selling is in her best interest." He pauses.
"Or I can wait for other circumstances to make that decision easier for her. "
A threat, wrapped in civility. I’m having none of it. "You're done here," I say quietly.
"Am I?" Turner’s expression remains pleasant.
"I don't think so. See, you can make your public claim.
You can position your team. You can install as much surveillance as you want.
But at the end of the day, I'm the one with legitimate business interests.
I'm the one with legal standing. And I'm the one who's been here, building relationships, establishing credibility.
" He leans forward slightly. "You're the outsider who was run out of town eighteen years ago and came back with blood on his hands. "
My jaw tightens.
His voice drops, becoming almost intimate. "My brother’s disappearance is convenient for you. For Emma. Very convenient." He straightens. "I'm not my brother, Mr. Callahan. I don't make his mistakes. I don't underestimate my opponents, and I don't lose."
He steps back from the table, his expression shifting back to professional warmth. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." His eyes find mine. "All of you."
Then he turns and walks back to the bar. Not retreating, not fleeing—just leaving on his terms. He settles back onto his stool, orders another whiskey, and pulls out his phone like nothing happened.
I ease back in my seat.
Luke whistles low. "Well, that was subtle."
"Wasn't supposed to be subtle." I take a sip of my beer. Where the fuck is Emma? I check my phone. She should be here by now.
Mason takes a drink. "He's going to be a problem."
He’s already a problem.
The door opens, and Emma walks in.
Everything else fades away for a moment. She's wearing jeans and a dark sweater under her open coat, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks exhausted—like her call drained her—but she's here.
I stand before I realize I'm moving.
Her eyes find mine across the bar, and something in her expression shifts. Relief. Need. Trust.
I cross the room in four strides and pull her into me.
"Hey," she whispers.
"Hey." I take her chin in my hand and kiss her—hard. I feel the entire bar watching, quiet again.
Good. Let them see. Let them know. I don’t care what Turner thinks. Emma and me? It’s right.
When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven.
"You okay?" I ask quietly, cupping her neck.
"Yeah." She glances around the bar, noticing the stares. "Uh, Jake, we’re putting on a show."
I pull her closer, lowering my mouth to her ear. "Just making sure everyone knows you're with me."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Why—"
"Come on." I keep my arm around her, guiding her back to the table. "Let me buy my girlfriend a drink."
The word feels strange on my tongue. Too small for what she is to me, but it's a start.
Emma stops and gapes at me. "Girlfriend?"
I raise an eyebrow. "If you want to be more, you're going to have to ask me."
Humor and something deeper fill her gaze. "Noted," she says, snuggling into my side and winding her arm around my waist. In front of everyone. She might as well have branded me.
And I love it.
I love her.