Page 3

Elevated ground with clear visibility in all directions. Strategic. As we settle onto the grassy slope, I position myself slightly behind Lilly and Katty, giving me a full view of the fairgrounds below while keeping them both in my peripheral vision.

Another test firework bursts overhead, illuminating the fairgrounds in flashes of blue and silver. In those brief moments of clarity, I scan the crowds, looking for Dylan. He's down there somewhere, watching, waiting. Like a jackal circling a campfire.

"You want some?" Katty offers, holding out a bag of kettle corn she bought on our way up the hill.

I take a handful. "Thanks."

As she settles back down, I can't help but look at her in the intermittent light.

There's something about her that doesn't fit the small-town best friend mold.

She carries herself with a quiet confidence I've rarely seen outside the club or the military—people who've faced real danger and come through it.

Either she's one hell of an actress, or she's genuinely as strong as she appears. I'm betting on the latter, and it's more appealing than it should be.

"You're staring," she says without looking at me, a small smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

"Assessing," I correct her, not embarrassed about being caught.

Now she does turn, those green eyes meeting mine directly. "And what's your assessment?"

"That you're either the best liar I've ever met, or you're exactly what you appear to be."

"And what do I appear to be?" she challenges, one eyebrow raised.

"Someone who doesn't back down. Someone who's seen enough shit to know how the world really works." I pause, then add, "Someone who's a lot stronger than most."

Her expression shifts subtly—surprise, maybe even appreciation. "Most people just see the small-town girl who works at the library."

"I'm not most people."

"No," she agrees, her eyes traveling over the tattoos on my neck, the scars on my knuckles. "You're definitely not."

It's dangerous, this pull toward her. I'm not here for this. I'm here for Lilly, to deal with a problem, then get back to the club. Anything else is a complication.

And yet…

"Oh, it's starting!" Lilly exclaims as the first real firework erupts overhead, a massive red and gold that reflects in Katty's eyes.

For the next few minutes, we watch in silence as the sky fills with light and thunder.

I've never been a fan of fireworks—too similar to other explosions I've experienced—but I find myself watching Katty's reactions more than the display itself.

The way she smiles at the larger bursts, the slight intake of breath at an unexpected pattern.

It's during a particularly loud sequence that I spot them. Four figures making their way up the service road toward our position. The lead figure is unmistakable even in the darkness. Dylan. And he's brought backup.

"We've got company," I say quietly, rising to my feet. "Four of them coming up the back way."

Katty is on her feet instantly, pulling Lilly up beside her. "Dylan?"

"And friends." I step forward, positioning myself between them and the approaching group. "Stay behind me."

"Like hell," Katty mutters, moving to stand beside me. "I'm not cowering while you handle this alone."

Before I can argue, Dylan and his entourage crest the hill. In the flashing light from the fireworks, I see he's brought three guys who look like they've just stepped out of a college fraternity. Young, soft, with that entitled look I've seen a thousand times.

"Lilly!" Dylan calls out, ignoring me completely. "I need to talk to you. Just for a few minutes."

"She doesn't want to talk to you," I respond, my voice carrying easily despite the fireworks overhead. "Time for you to leave."

Dylan's eyes finally flick to me, dismissive. "This is between me and my girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," Katty corrects, her stance wide and confident beside me. "And she already told you it's over."

One of Dylan's friends—a stocky kid with a backwards baseball cap—laughs. "Dude, your girl's got a bodyguard now? Two of them?"

"Go away, Dylan," Lilly says from behind us, her voice trembling but determined. "I've told you a hundred times, we're done."

Dylan's face hardens, the mask of charm slipping. "Look, I've tried to be reasonable. I've given you space. But we need to talk, and we're going to do that now. Either the easy way or the hard way."

His friends spread out slightly, trying to look intimidating. It would be laughable if the situation weren't so potentially volatile. These boys have no idea what they're stepping into.

"You threatening my sister?" I ask, a dangerous calm settling over me. It's the same feeling I get before any confrontation—a cold clarity that slows everything down.

"I'm saying," Dylan enunciates slowly, "that I'm going to have five minutes alone with Lilly. You and the librarian can wait right here."

"That's not happening," I state simply.

Dylan's eyes narrow. "Look, I don't know what kind of tough guy act you think you're pulling with your little biker costume, but in Sweetheart County, the Thomas family gets what it wants."

The club isn't a costume. It's family. Brotherhood. The only place I've belonged since coming back from overseas. The patches I wear were earned through blood and loyalty.

"If you take one step toward my sister," I say, my voice dropping to that quiet register that makes smarter men back away, "you're declaring war. Not just on me, but on the entire Iron & Blood MC."

Dylan actually laughs. "I don't give a shit about a bunch of guys playing pretend bikers in some nowhere town."

And just like that, the decision is made.

I smile. Not a pleasant expression based on how Dylan's friends take a half-step back. "Wrong answer."

My first punch connects with Dylan's jaw with a satisfying crack. He doesn't even have time to raise his hands before he crumples, unconscious before he hits the ground.

The other three stand frozen for a heartbeat, staring at their fallen friend. Then baseball cap guy lunges forward with a wild swing that I don't even bother dodging. His fist connects with my cheekbone, and I barely feel it. Nothing compared to what I've taken before.

"That all you got?" I ask him calmly.

His eyes widen in fear just before my counterpunch takes him in the solar plexus, doubling him over. A knee to the face finishes him off.

The other two come at me together, which shows slightly more intelligence but ultimately makes no difference.

One grabs for my arms while the other tries to land a punch.

I pivot, using the momentum of the grabber to send him sprawling into his friend.

They tangle together, giving me the opening to stomp one's knee—not hard enough to break, but enough to take him out of the fight—while delivering a precise strike to the other's throat that leaves him gagging and clutching his neck.

In less than thirty seconds, all four are down.

None of them even knew how to throw a proper punch.

Just kids playing at being tough, who probably hit the gym twice a week and think that makes them fighters.

They've never been in a real battle, never understood that true fighting isn't about muscles or bravado. It's about will and experience.

And I have plenty of both.

I turn back to Lilly and Katty, the adrenaline still coursing through me. My sister is pressed against Katty's chest, crying softly.

"Lil," I say, my voice gentler now. "I'm sorry. I should have kept my cool."

The last thing I wanted was to scare her. To make her see the violence I'm capable of. It's why I've always kept my two lives separate—the brother and the club member.

But Katty meets my eyes over Lilly's head, and what I see there isn't fear or disgust. It's approval. Maybe even admiration.

"You did what needed to be done," she says firmly. "They weren't going to back down with words."

Lilly pulls away from Katty, wiping her eyes.

"I'm not crying because I'm scared of you, Tank," she explains, her voice steadier now. "I'm crying because I hate that it came to this. That you had to deal with my problem."

"That's what brothers do, Lil. We handle problems."

The fireworks continue overhead, the booms covering the groans of the men at our feet. Dylan is still out cold.

"We need to go," Katty says, practical as ever. "When these idiots wake up, they're going to be pissed, and Dylan's dad has enough pull in this town to make things difficult."

I look at the four men on the ground, then at the fairgrounds below us, still alive with lights and music and laughter. The night is young, and the adrenaline from the fight has left me feeling more alive than I have in months.

"No," I say firmly.

Katty and Lilly both stare at me.

"No?" Katty repeats, her eyebrows drawing together.

"We're not running." I step closer to them both. "We're not letting some entitled prick and his frat boy backup dancers ruin our night."

Lilly blinks, confusion replacing her tears. "But—"

"But nothing," I cut her off gently. "You've been letting this asshole control your life for months, Lil. Making you afraid, changing your routines, keeping you looking over your shoulder. It stops tonight."

I turn to baseball cap guy, who's regained consciousness and is watching me with terrified eyes.

"You and your buddies are going to drag sleeping beauty here back to wherever you came from.

And you're going to tell him when he wakes up that if he shows his face near any of us again, next time I won't be so gentle. "

The guy nods frantically, already scrambling to help his friends up.

I turn back to Lilly and Katty. "Now, I rode twenty hours straight to get here. I haven't seen my baby sister in eight months. And I've been told this fair has the best funnel cakes in three counties."

A slow smile spreads across Lilly's face. The first genuine one I've seen since I arrived. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." I glance at Katty, whose expression has shifted from concern to something more complex. "Unless you two are too scared of a few unconscious rich boys?"

Katty's eyes narrow at the challenge, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitching. "I'm not scared of anything in this county."

"Prove it," I reply, holding her gaze.

The air between us practically crackles, and I realize that Lilly is looking back and forth between us with growing interest.

"Fine," Katty concedes, tossing her head. "But if we're staying, we're doing this right."

"Meaning?" I ask.

"Meaning we're getting the full Sweetheart County Fair experience." She grins suddenly, "Starting with the Ferris wheel."

Lilly claps her hands together. "Yes! Tank, you have to. It's tradition!"

I'm about to argue—riding a rickety carnival ride isn't exactly my idea of a good time—but the enthusiasm on my sister's face stops me.

"Lead the way," I say instead.

As we make our way down the hill, leaving Dylan's friends to manage their fallen leader, I notice Katty watching me.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," she replies, but then adds, "Just surprised. Most men who can fight like you do would be all about getting out of here, cleaning up, planning the next move."

"I'm not most men."

"No," she agrees, echoing our earlier conversation. "You're definitely not."

The fairgrounds are still packed despite the late hour, families and couples wandering between game booths and food stalls. The main fireworks display has finished, leaving the night sky clear above the colorful lights of the midway.

As we walk, I keep Lilly between Katty and me, my eyes constantly scanning for threats. But there's no sign of Dylan or his friends. Just the normal crowd enjoying a summer night at the fair.

"There it is!" Lilly points ahead to where the Ferris wheel towers over everything, a giant circle of light slowly turning against the night sky.

The line isn't long. Most people are focused on the games and food now that the fireworks are over. As we approach, I can see that each gondola is shaped like a swan, painted white with garish red hearts along the sides.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.

Katty laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "Welcome to Sweetheart County, where everything is designed to be as corny as humanly possible."

"It's charming," Lilly defends, but she's smiling too.

The operator is an older man with a weathered face and a carnival worker's permanent squint. He eyes my cut and tattoos but says nothing as we pay and wait for our turn.

"Three to a swan?" he asks when we reach the front of the line.

"Actually," Lilly says with a mischievous glint in her eye, "I think I'll ride alone. I get motion sick easily."

Before I can protest, she's climbing into a swan by herself, leaving Katty and me to take the next one.

"Your sister's about as subtle as a freight train," Katty murmurs as we slide into our own swan, the metal creaking under our weight.

The seats are narrower than they look from the ground, forcing us to sit close enough that our thighs press together. I can feel the warmth of her body through my jeans, smell the faint scent of something floral in her hair.

"She's always been a terrible wingman," I agree as the operator secures the safety bar across our laps.

Katty raises an eyebrow. "Is that what's happening here? You need a wingman?"

The wheel jerks into motion before I can answer, lifting us slowly into the night air. Below us, the fair spreads out in colored lights and movement. Above, stars pepper the clear night sky.

And beside me sits a woman who continues to surprise me at every turn—strong enough to stand her ground against threats, smart enough to recognize the tactical advantages of high ground, and beautiful enough that I'm finding it increasingly difficult to remember why I came to Sweetheart County in the first place.

"Maybe I do," I finally answer, turning to face her fully as our swan climbs higher into the night sky.