Page 5

REILY

W e’re huddled at Dick’s, crammed into a corner booth under the glassy stare of Niner, the nine-foot grizzly bear mounted on the wall.

Clem’s clutching his beer like it’s the only thing holding him together, the foam sloshing over the rim every time he slams his fist on the table.

Seabus is next to him, his face redder than a boiled lobster, muttering curses under his breath like a broken prayer.

I’m on my sixth or seventh beer—I stopped counting after the third—and my head feels like it’s floating a foot above my shoulders.

“That damn Hoag,” Clem growls, his knuckles white around the bottle. “He’s got his little greasy fingers in every pie in this town. Selling us out to Irons like we’re just—what? Collateral damage?”

“Collateral?” Seabus snorts, his voice thick with beer and bitterness. “We’re roadkill, Clem. Straight-up roadkill. That dam’s gonna flood Mirror Lake, and Silver Creek’s gonna be a goddamn puddle. What’s left for us? Huh? Tell me that.”

I lean back, the wood of the booth pressing into my spine. “We’re not done yet. Hoag thinks he can just brush us off, but we’re not gonna let him. We’ll find another way.”

“Another way?” Clem’s laugh is more of a bark. “Reily, that protest was our shot. And what happened? Those biker goons ran us off like we were stray dogs.”

“Jack and his gang of rejects,” Seabus spits. “Ain’t nothing but a bunch of two-bit thugs with bad tattoos and worse attitudes.”

“Cold Slither,” I mutter, swirling the dregs of my beer. “More like Cold Shit.”

Clem slams his bottle down, and the sound makes me jump. “We’re not just gonna roll over, Reily. If Hoag and Irons want a fight, they’re gonna get one. I don’t care if it’s stupid or violent or whatever. I’m done playing nice.”

Seabus nods, his jowls quivering like a bulldog’s. “Damn right. We hit ‘em where it hurts.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Clem’s phone buzzes, cutting me off. He checks it, his mouth pulling into a tight line. “Uber’s here. Gotta get home before the wife starts hollering.” He slides out of the booth, his movements stiff and heavy. “You coming, Seabus?”

“Hell yeah. I ain’t gotta death wish. Martha’ll skin me alive if I’m late again.” Seabus grunts as he stands, his belly brushing the edge of the table.

Clem tosses a few crumpled bills onto the table and claps me on the shoulder. “You gonna be okay, Reily? Need a ride?”

“Nah,” I say, waving him off. “I’ll nurse this one for a bit. Clear my head.”

Clem hesitates, but Seabus is already dragging him toward the door. “Don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lie.

Once they’re gone, I signal Dick for another round. He shuffles over, his apron stained with grease and beer, and crosses his arms. “You’ve had enough, Reily. Time to call it a night.”

“The hell I have. Pour me another.”

“Not gonna happen. You’re cut off.”

“You’re killing me, Dick.” I glare up at him, but he doesn’t budge. “Fine. Be that way.” I slam my empty bottle down and stumble out of the booth, my boots scuffing against the sawdust-covered floor.

The night air hits me like a slap, cold and sharp. My head’s spinning, but I keep walking, the anger in my chest burning hotter with every step. “Not fair,” I mutter to no one. “None of this is fair.”

And then I see it—a sleek, black limo idling at the red light not twelve feet away. My breath catches. “Gary Irons,” I slur, squinting through the haze of alcohol. “Come to survey your handiwork, you prick?”

I spot half a crumbled brick on the sidewalk, its edges jagged and sharp. Without thinking, I grab it, the weight of it solid in my hand. “Take that, you fucking rich asshole!” I hurl it with everything I’ve got.

The brick arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and smashes through the limo’s rear window with a deafening crash. The sound of shattering glass is like music to my ears. I grin, a rush of elation surging through me.

The roar that follows isn’t human. It’s primal, guttural, and it shakes the air like thunder.

The limo door flies open, nearly ripping off its hinges, and out steps Gary Irons.

Except it’s not Gary Irons—not the man I’ve seen in the papers.

He’s massive, towering over the limo, his eyes burning like red coals.

In his hands, he cradles shattered glass like it’s something precious.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper. My legs move before my brain can catch up. I turn and run.

My boots pound against the pavement, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the alley. His footsteps are right behind me, heavy and relentless, like a freight train gaining speed. I don’t dare look back. My lungs burn, and my vision blurs as I push myself harder.

The chain-link fence at the end of the alley looms like a death sentence. No time to climb. I skid on my knees, dirt and gravel digging into my skin as I dive under the gap at the bottom. My shirt catches on the wire. I yank, but it’s no use.

Gary’s hand grabs a fistful of fabric. He pulls, and the shirt tears clean off, leaving me in nothing but my bra and jeans. I scramble to my feet, the cold night air biting at my exposed skin. “Stay the hell away from me!” I scream, but it comes out more like a sob.

I bolt into the woods, branches whipping at my face and arms. My feet slip on damp leaves, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. I fumble for my phone, only to remember it’s still sitting on the table at Dick’s. No one’s coming to save me.

The ground gives way beneath me, and I tumble down a steep incline. Rocks and roots tear at my skin as I roll, my world spinning until I land in the icy water of the brook. The cold shocks me, and I gasp, pulling my sopping hair out of my face.

He’s there. Standing over me like a nightmare, his silhouette blocking out the moonlight. His chest heaves, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burn like hellfire.

“You!” he roars, his voice so deep it rattles my bones.

I scramble backward, my hands slipping on the wet rocks, but he’s faster. His massive hand closes around my throat, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My back slams against a tree trunk, the impact knocking the air out of me.

I claw at his hand, but it’s like trying to bend steel. “Let me go!” I choke out, my vision swimming.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” he hisses, his face inches from mine. His breath is hot, his teeth bared like an animal’s.

"It was just glass," I manage to choke out, my voice barely more than a wheeze as his hand tightens around my throat. My vision’s blurring at the edges, but I can still see the fury in those burning red eyes.

"Just glass ?" Gary sputters, shaking me like a rag doll. My head snaps back, and I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood. "You dare mock my grief?"

Mock his grief? What the hell is he talking about? It was a stupid window! But his grip is crushing, and the words won’t come. Panic claws at my chest. I’ve only made him angrier, and now I’m paying for it in oxygen.

"I’ll make it up to you," I gasp, my hands clawing uselessly at his arm. His skin is hot, almost scalding, and I can feel the muscle beneath it, unyielding as steel.

"Make it up to me?" He growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Impossible."

"I’ll pay for it," I rasp, desperation making my voice crack. My legs dangle uselessly, and my bra feels like the flimsiest shield against the night air—or his gaze.

"I have plenty of money," he snaps, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "What you have taken from me cannot be replaced."

His hand tightens further, and spots dance in my vision. I kick at him, but it’s like kicking a brick wall. "Please," I cry, my voice breaking. "I’ll do whatever you want, don’t kill me!"

Gary freezes, his grip loosening just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. His eyes narrow, , the rage in them flickers, replaced by something darker, more calculating. "You’ll do whatever I want?" he replies, his tone low and dangerous.

I nod, too scared to speak, too scared not to.

His gaze drops, raking over me like he’s seeing me for the first time—not as some idiot who smashed his limo window, but as.

.. something else. His pupils dilate, and his nostrils flare, like he’s scenting me.

A shiver runs down my spine, and it’s not just from the cold.

Suddenly, I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my missing shirt. His hand is still at my throat, but it’s not crushing anymore—it’s possessive. His thumb brushes against my collarbone, and I freeze, my breath catching in my chest.

The air between us is thick with tension, a dangerous cocktail of anger and something else entirely.

I don’t know what’s worse—the hunger in his eyes or the way my body responds to it, like a spark catching flame.

My heart pounds, and my cheeks burn, and I hate myself for the way I’m not entirely against the idea of paying for my crime with my body.

Gary leans in, his face inches from mine, glorious as I bask in the heat radiating off him. "Whatever I want?" he repeats, his voice a low growl that sends a jolt through me.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Whatever you want," I whisper, the words barely audible.

Gary’s hand lingers at my throat for a moment longer, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that should feel threatening but instead sends a jolt of heat through me.

His eyes are closed, his face twisted in what looks like agony, and I can see the muscles in his jaw working like he’s trying to grind his teeth to dust.

“No,” he mutters, low and gravelly, like the word is being ripped out of him. “It would not be honorable.”

Honorable? What the hell is he talking about? I don’t have time to process it before he lets go of me and steps back, his chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. His shoulders tense, his huge frame shuddering like he’s fighting some invisible battle.

I crumple to the ground, my legs giving out the second he releases me. The cold earth bites into my bare skin, but I barely feel it. My heart’s still pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, smearing dirt and tears across my cheek.

Gary doesn’t look at me. He turns away, his back to me, and I can see the tension in every line of his body. His fists are clenched, his shoulders rigid, and I think turn around and finish what he started.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he growls, the sound rumbling through the night like thunder. “You’re mine. Understand? You belong to me.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I can’t tell if the heat that spreads through me is from fear or… something else. I nod instinctively, but of course, he can’t see me.

“What—what do you want me to do?” I ask, my voice trembling.

He doesn’t turn around. “You will be at my house tomorrow at twelve noon. Sharp,” he snaps, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “Perhaps I can make some use of your wretched existence.”

And just like that, he’s gone, striding off into the darkness with the same terrifying grace he had when he appeared. I watch him until he’s out of sight, my body trembling from the cold—or maybe from the sheer intensity of whatever just happened.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the spot where he disappeared, before dropping my head into my hands. “What have I gotten myself into?” I groan, my voice muffled by my palms.