Chapter 3-Bit
I understand Kristie’s going through something right now—what with being confronted by her ex, Rooster, and all—and seriously, that girl has a lot on her plate.
So yeah, I’m trying to give her space.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, playing hide-and-seek from some overgrown biker caveman who thinks a single drink gives him property rights.
I heard Rooster talking to Kristie before they took off.
The words Hellbound Heathens and sex trafficking came up in the same breath.
Yeah—hard pass.
I want nothing to do with that mess.
But I can’t shake the guilt of dragging it here.
This here? The Jersey Iron Ranch?
It’s the kind of place that makes you want to breathe deeper.
Miles of fence line stretching out under a wide September sky, barns that smell like hay and hard work, and somewhere in the distance, the deep, rumbling bellow of cattle.
It feels solid. Safe.
Like the kind of home I’ve never really had.
And maybe that’s why the idea of hiding here makes me itch.
I hate being useless.
I offered to help earlier—Angie nearly fainted with gratitude—but Big Boss Man said no.
Don’t wander too far west, he said. Don’t bother the help. Don’t go near the bulls.
Don’t, don’t, don’t.
Stupid, dumb, sexy cowboy.
I didn’t even know they made those in New Jersey.
So naturally, what do I do?
Exactly what he told me not to.
The sun dips lower when I wander past the barn, following a line of fencing until it opens into a sprawling pasture. The air hums with insects and the sweet tang of cut hay. The ground is soft under my boots, still warm from the afternoon heat.
That’s when I see him.
A hulking mountain of muscle and horn—easily the biggest animal I’ve ever laid eyes on.
His coat’s black as midnight, eyes dark and intelligent. He watches me from across the paddock, tail flicking lazily, like he’s assessing whether I’m worth the trouble.
“Well, hey there, handsome,” I murmur, leaning on the fence. “You’re kind of a big deal, huh?”
He snorts, stamps a hoof, and I laugh.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Boundaries.”
Still, something about this bull is mesmerizing—the sheer size and power of him.
Everything here feels like that.
Raw. Untamed. Dangerous in a way that makes your pulse skip.
I step onto the bottom rung of the fence, leaning over so I can see him better.
“Lil Bit!”
The deep, gravelly voice snaps through the air, rough enough to send a shiver straight down my spine.
I turn, and there he is—Sawyer—stalking toward me with that long, confident stride that says he’s equal parts furious and scared half to death.
He’s wearing jeans that hug his thick, powerful thighs like a second skin and a T-shirt that’s seen too many wash cycles and clings to the kind of chest that could ruin a girl’s peace of mind.
He’s hot. Too hot.
“You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” he growls, grabbing me by the hips and yanking me off the fence.
“I-I was just looking,” I say, hands clutching at his shoulders. “Didn’t know sightseeing was a crime.”
“That bull’s dangerous. He’s worth more than this whole damn ranch. He doesn’t like strangers.” His voice drops low. “And I don’t like people ignoring my rules.”
I look down.
“Maybe if you gave me something to do around here, I wouldn’t have to break your stupid rules.”
He looks at me—really looks at me—and for a moment the air between us feels charged, like right before a thunderstorm.
His jaw works, and I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch, like he’s fighting a smile.
“Knew it when I saw you. Nothing but trouble,” he says finally.
“Yeah, well,” I shoot back, daring to meet his gaze once more, “you’re bossy.”
He leans down, and I catch his scent—cedar, leather, and something darker, something purely him.
My breath stutters. His gaze dips to my mouth before snapping back up.
“You shoulda stayed inside,” he says quietly, voice gone rough. “And I shoulda run the second I saw you.”
Then he closes the space, his lips hard and unrelenting as he claims mine in a kiss that turns my knees to jelly and has my heart slamming against my chest.
The kiss ends as abruptly as it began, and his fingers flex on my hips before he steps back and turns away with a nod.
“Stay near the barn,” he says, voice gone rough. “And if you see that bull moving toward you again—run.”
I watch in stunned silence as he walks away, his muscles flexing beneath sun-worn denim.
I can’t believe he’s leaving me standing here with a racing pulse and a very inconvenient realization.
I might be hiding out. But I’m in way more danger than I thought.
Because the real threat around here isn’t some random biker.
It’s Sawyer DeWitt.