Chapter 22-Bit
I don’t remember walking out of the tent—just the way Sawyer’s hand wrapped around mine, firm and unyielding, guiding me through the press of people and noise until we hit the open air.
The sunlight’s fading fast, a haze of pink and gold blurring into night, and I’m shaking so hard I can barely breathe.
Micah and Benji flank us, one ahead, one behind. I catch the gleam of something metallic at Benji’s hip when the wind shifts, and that alone tells me exactly how serious this is.
No one’s saying a word.
Not until we reach the truck parked on the far end of the fairgrounds.
Sawyer opens the passenger door and helps me in, his touch steady even though his jaw is tight enough to crack granite.
“Stay here,” he says, voice rough. “Doors locked. Don’t open for anyone but me.”
I nod, and he shuts the door, tapping the roof twice before striding away with the others.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see the tension in their bodies—the clipped gestures, the quick, silent coordination that comes from men who’ve done this before.
By the time we make it back to Jersey Iron Ranch, the sky’s gone full dark.
Sawyer doesn’t speak. Neither do I.
The only sounds are the rumble of trucks and the thudding beat of my heart that won’t slow down no matter how deep I breathe.
When we pull onto the gravel drive, Sawyer cuts the engine and sits there for a second, hands still on the wheel.
Then he turns to me, his expression softer but still lined with that dangerous edge that makes me both nervous and safe at the same time.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I just, I wasn’t expecting to see him again.”
His jaw flexes. “I should’ve finished it that night.”
“What night?”
Then he tells me. He tells me about the attack on the truck and that it was that biker—Roach—who Sawyer pummeled but ultimately let go to stop another asshole from breaking into the trailer and ruining the delivery.
He apologizes for what he calls an unforgiveable fuck up.
“You didn’t know who he was,” I tell him, wanting to comfort him somehow.
“It’s not a good enough excuse. I should’ve ended the threat. I won’t make that mistake again,” he tells me.
A chill races down my spine, and I know he means it. Every word.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” he says, opening his door. “You need to rest.”
I don’t argue.
I just follow him inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around me like a blanket I don’t deserve.
The guys filter in behind us—Micah, Benji, Alex—and head straight for the living room.
Sawyer gives me one last look before joining them, the low murmur of their voices quickly turning into a full-blown strategy session.
I hover near the stairs, then I take them to the bedroom we share, hands trembling as I scroll through my phone.
Kristie’s name lights up the screen.
My heart squeezes.
I shouldn’t drag her into this—not after everything she’s been through with Rooster, not when she finally seems happy again.
But Roach showing up? That changes everything.
I type a text out fast:
BIT
The Heathen? Roach? He showed up today. At the rodeo. We’re okay. Sawyer’s handling it. Just wanted you to know.
I stare at the message for a full minute before hitting send.
Then I set the phone down, exhale, and realize I can’t stop shaking. My skin feels too tight, like I’m still sitting in that damn tent with his eyes crawling all over me.
I need to wash this off. All of it.
The adrenaline. The fear. The reminder that my past doesn’t want to stay buried.
So, I slip quietly down the hall to the bathroom.
Steam fills the air within minutes, curling around me as I step under the spray.
The water hits hot and sharp, burning away the chill that’s sunk deep into my bones.
I close my eyes and let it run over me until the trembling starts to fade.
But I don’t hear him come in.
Not until the door clicks softly shut behind him.
“It’s me,” Sawyer’s voice rumbles low, the kind of sound that vibrates through my chest.
I turn, startled, water streaming down my body and face as he pulls the shower curtain back.
He’s still in his jeans and T-shirt, hair mussed from running his hands through it, his eyes dark and searching.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “Just couldn’t, couldn’t sit out there anymore. Needed to see you.”
I swallow hard.
“You done with your meeting?”
“For now.” His gaze sweeps over me, not lustful—something deeper. Possessive. Protective. “Didn’t want to leave you alone with your thoughts. You shouldn’t have to face that shit alone, Lil Bit. You won’t have to face it alone. Not anymore.”
“I wasn’t alone,” I whisper. “You were there. And you’re still here.”
He exhales, rough and heavy. Then he reaches out, brushing a wet lock of hair from my face.
“Yeah, I was. And I’m not going anywhere.”
When he steps under the spray, fully clothed, I don’t protest.
I just reach for him, because right now, this—him, us, the heat, the water—is the only thing keeping me steady in a world that suddenly feels too damn fragile.
And when he pulls me into his arms, every jagged edge inside me smooths out.
Because with Sawyer DeWitt standing beside me, I finally believe it—I’m safe. And maybe? Just a little bit cherished, too.