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The racetrack pulses with energy, the kind that crackles under your skin and makes your lungs forget how to breathe.

Horses snort and paw at the ground like they’re keyed up on the same nerves twisting through my stomach.

Jockeys hustle around like caffeinated bees, and trainers bark orders like the whole damn Derby depends on volume. And maybe it does.

I glance down at my wrist, at the old charm bracelet Mama gave me the year we won our first blue ribbon. I haven’t taken it off since the day she died. It’s not much, but it feels like armor, delicate, but strong. Like my mama. Everything I long to be.

It’s just a morning breeze, a routine practice run for Ribbons, our filly with a shot at winning it all, but you’d think the Derby started early with how wired everyone is, from the jittery thoroughbreds to the hell-raising bikers guarding my life.

This year’s Derby isn’t just about pride or tradition, it’s about saving Paradise Falls.

Despite Nurse Jolene’s warnings, my father’s holding on, but fading fast, and whether I like it or not, the weight of our legacy is sliding onto my shoulders like a too-heavy saddle.

One wrong step, and I could lose everything.

Legend’s crew blends into the chaos with unsettling ease, a wall of leather and attitude positioned like sentinels across the grounds.

The biker called Derby gives quiet orders like a general at war.

Bullet and Oaks move like shadows, scanning for threats.

Even Vandal and Rye, usually all jokes and middle fingers, are on edge.

Then there’s Legend.

He leans against the stable doors like sin made flesh, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes hidden behind those damn sunglasses. He’s all calm menace and coiled power. And, of course, he’s watching me.

I try not to care.

I fail.

Across the paddock, I spot my little brother James.

He’s all decked out in a maroon suit and frills.

Got that trademark Montgomery scowl glued to his face and arms crossed like he’s about to throw a tantrum.

He always thought the farm should be his.

Dad didn’t agree. I’d like to believe he’s just bitter, but lately, I’m not so sure.

Family makes the best enemies, after all.

“Sophie,” Derby says, approaching with his usual quiet confidence. “Everything’s secure. You can relax.”

I snort, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off my perfectly pressed blazer. “Derby, I’m wearing heels in dirt and praying the family legacy doesn’t go up in smoke today. Relaxin’ isn’t in the cards.”

He grins slightly and winks. “You’ve got the best lookin’ biker army money can’t buy watching your back.”

I arch a brow. “If you’re fishing for a compliment, Derby, try after I survive this.”

He chuckles, tipping his head. “Fair.”

Before I can respond with something witty and vaguely inappropriate, a loud metallic crash shatters the morning buzz. The entire world jerks sideways. Horses scream. People shout. It’s the kind of ruckus that means something bad is happening. And fast.

“Shit,” Derby mutters, reaching for his radio. “We’ve got movement near the south stalls. Multiple hostiles.”

Multiple? As in more than one?

My stomach knots. My heels slip in the dirt as I pivot just in time to see them.

Bikers. Depraved Sinners, by the looks of their denim cuts.

Jeans. Guns. Rednecks in motion.

My breath stutters.

Then I hear it. Legend’s voice, hard and commanding, slicing through the panic.

“Sophie, down. Now.”

For one heartbeat, I don’t move. I can’t. Fear’s a sucker-punch, and I didn’t see it coming.

Then I’m grabbed, no, wrapped. Shielded.

Legend’s arms clamp around me like a vice as he yanks me behind cover. His chest is solid heat pressed against my back, his breath hot at my ear. Bullets start flying, ricocheting like angry bees, and I feel every ounce of his resolve.

“You okay?” he growls, not letting go.

“Define okay,” I breathe out, heart hammering like it’s trying to claw out of my chest. “Because I might be emotionally scarred forever.”

His chest vibrates against me with a low laugh. “Long as you’re not bleeding, you’re ahead of the game.”

Then he releases me, only to storm into the fight like he was born for it.

He’s not a man in this moment. He’s wrath in motion. I can’t look away. Not from the swing of his fists, not from the way he owns the earth under him. My heart clenches, and it’s not fear. It’s want, hot and impossible.

It’s stupid. It’s dangerous. It’s mine.

Bullet takes down one of the Sinners with a brutal punch, dragging the guy through the dirt like a sack of trash.

“Who sent you?” Legend growls.

The man spits blood. Wrong answer.

Crack.

I flinch as Bullet’s fist meets bone. The sound is awful. Satisfying.

And then Legend’s back, panting, blood spattered, wild.

“Are you hurt?” he demands, grabbing my arms like he needs to count limbs to make sure I’m whole.

I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. Shaken. Not stirred.”

He lets out a sharp breath and then, without asking, pulls me against him, pressing his face into my hair like he needs proof I’m real. The heat of him, the scent of leather and smoke, it’s intoxicating. I melt against him because I can’t pretend anymore.

“You’re safe,” he says into my ear, fierce and low. “You’re mine to protect. No one touches you. Ever.”

I shiver. Not from fear.

“I believe you,” I whisper, looking up at him. And I do.

God help me, I do. This time I believe him.

His arms tighten around me like a vow. Around us, they chase the Sinners away, the mess winds down, the worst of it over, for now. But inside me, something else is truly beginning.

I should push him away. I should focus on the farm, the Derby, the fallout of this attack.

But all I can feel is Legend.

And for the first time in years, I don’t want to run.

Not from him. Not from this.

No matter what I want, he’s in charge. Once it’s clear I’m safe, he leaves me to go figure out what the hell just happened.