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Fiddling with mama’s charm bracelet, I watch him from the upstairs window, just like I always seem to do. Legend, standing stiff as steel on my front lawn, barking orders like he’s still the one protecting me even if I’m no longer his to protect.

He won’t even look at me now.

The biker who once touched me like I was salvation won’t meet my eyes. And I hate him for it. Hate that he lit a fire in me only to leave me burning alone. Hate that I still want to run down there, wrap my arms around him, and beg him to stop being so damn noble.

Instead, I make myself coffee I won’t drink and stare out the window like some desperate widow. The Kings still move around my property like soldiers guarding a queen, but their commander has gone cold. No more calling me horse princess. No more longing in his voice.

I’m not sure if they’re protecting me or caging me in.

Legend said he’s doing it to keep me safe.

That his enemies are too dangerous. That loving me put a target on my back.

But what if that’s not the truth?

What if he just got what he wanted and now he’s done?

What if I wasn’t wild enough? Rough enough? What if silk sheets and love making bored the big bad biker? I start counting off the reasons. My perfect hair. My trust fund roots. My blue-ribbon life. Maybe I was just a challenge he wanted to conquer before crawling back to her. His sister.

I’m halfway through convincing myself of that when the porch creaks, and the hair on my neck rises.

I grab the shotgun by the door. The wood squeaks again. Too deliberate to be wind. I raise the shotgun slowly, every hair on my neck standing at attention.

And then I see her.

Becki. Perched like a damn queen bee on my front step, black hair short, eyes of two different colors, sharp and smug.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping outside with ice in my voice.

She grins like she’s been waiting for this. “Didn’t ya’ll had rules on who could sit on the porch.”

“This ain’t the clubhouse,” I snap. “And you’re not welcome.”

Her smile sharpens. “Guess you really think you’re in his world now, huh?”

“I don’t have to be in his world. He was in mine.”

“For a minute,” she drawls. “Till he remembered who he really is.”

I fold my arms, trying not to let her see how bad I’m shaking. “And who’s that, exactly?”

“The kind of man who likes a fight. Not a tea party,” she says with a shrug. “You’re a silk-and-lace girl, Sophie. Sweet. Polished. Breakable. He needs someone who doesn’t cry when the whip cracks.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “And that’s you? His perfect match?”

She rises, eyes flashing. “I’ve patched him up from gunshots, dragged his drunk ass outta bars, kept his secrets. I know what he likes, and it ain’t candlelit dinners and flirty glances over bourbon.”

I step closer, my voice steel now. “He kissed me like I was the last thing keeping him human. He held me like he never wanted to let go. So whatever sick little game you two played before? That’s over.”

Her smile falters, just a twitch. For a second, I see it. The fear behind the fangs. The way she needs him to be hers. Maybe because if he’s not, she’s got nothing left. “He was with me just the other day, right before the attack at the race track.”

My breath catches.

She notices.

“Don’t worry. Legend was probably thinking of you while he was deep inside my pussy. Doesn’t bother me none.”

She heads down the steps, but her voice follows me like smoke. “He’ll come back for more. He always does.”

The second she’s gone, I sink to the porch swing, shotgun resting across my knees, tears stinging but never falling.

I don’t know what to believe. But I know what I felt in that bed. I know what I saw in his eyes.

Legend might think he’s doing the noble thing, but I’m not some damsel waiting to be tucked away and forgotten.

If he thinks he can protect me from the fire by walking away, he’s dead wrong.

I’m already in the flames. I don’t wipe the tears away. I let them dry on my cheeks like war paint. Let her talk about lace and leather. I’ve got scars of my own, and I’m not afraid to earn more.