Page 20 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Nineteen

Inside, I hear the soft clink of dishes and the low murmur of Mrs. Tomas’s voice.

She came in early this morning, saying her son was doing better, that she’d make up for lost time.

Kristin is in the kitchen with her, already dressed in soft blue scrubs, her hair pulled into a twist that makes her neck look like something I want to bite.

The faint smell of coffee mingles with the citrus scent of whatever soap Mrs. Tomas is using, and it feels dangerously domestic.

For a second, I imagine this being normal, and the thought is both warm and unsettling.

When I get up to look inside, I see Kristin at the kitchen table, flipping through her planner, lips pursed. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Do you have a patient this morning?”

She nods without looking up. “Yes,” she says. “A couple of them are coming to the house first off, and then I’ll head into the clinic.”

Walking over, I set my mug in the sink. “I’m gonna take the Harley into town,” I say. “See if I can find someone to give me an estimate on the mirror and the scuffs.”

Kristin looks up then, brows pulling together. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

I shrug. “I’m not gonna stay here and hide from trouble. I just want to get the bike looked at.”

She stands and steps closer, hands brushing my arms. “Be careful.”

“Always,” I say, and she gives me a look like she knows that’s bullshit but lets it go.

Mrs. Tomas glances up from the sink. “Will you need lunch packed, Ms. Lennox?”

Thankfully distracted from me now, Kristin smiles. “That’d be amazing, thank you.” I tug on my boots, kiss Kristin’s cheek, and head out before I can change my mind.

The address in the text leads me to a two-story brick building on the edge of what I would consider the business district if a small town can have such a thing.

Sleek gold letters across the glass door: Cleveland Financial Group.

Of course. The man has a whole empire of quiet money.

The kind that doesn’t make headlines. The kind of money that moves without ever being seen, slipping through deals and pockets like smoke.

It’s the quiet ones you have to watch because they don’t need to shout to get what they want.

Inside, it’s all polished wood and thick carpet.

A receptionist with perfect hair and no visible soul gestures toward a private office at the end of the hallway.

“Mr. Cleveland is expecting you.” I don’t say thank you.

The door’s already open and Will stands behind a massive desk, backlit by a wall of windows.

He’s in tailored navy slacks, a white dress shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up like he’s trying to look casual.

There’s a whiskey decanter on a sideboard and a leather couch that probably cost more than my first car.

He smiles like we’re old friends. “Reggie.” He gestures to the chair across from him. “Glad you could make it.”

I don’t sit. “What do you want?”

“Straight to it,” Will says with a chuckle.

“I respect that.” He walks to the sideboard and pours himself a drink, which is telling considering it’s only a little past ten a.m. He doesn’t offer me one.

“We both know this thing with Kristin isn’t going anywhere.

” The ice clinks against the glass as he swirls it lazily like this is just another workday for him, like the two of us aren’t standing here weighing out the cost of war in a room that smells faintly of leather and expensive whiskey.

“You sure about that?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Because last night she said my name a lot. And not in anger.” His jaw tightens, just a flicker, but I see it. Score one for me.

“I’m trying to be civil,” he says. “I’m offering you a chance to walk away. With something to show for it.” He tosses a thick, folded envelope onto the desk. I don’t need to open it to know it’s a bribe. Probably four figures, maybe five. He watches me like I’m supposed to be impressed.

Instead, I glance at the envelope and then back at him. “I’d love to, but I left my saddlebags at the house. No room for all that bullshit.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says with a growl. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

I step closer, and lean both hands on the desk. “That’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what I’m in. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Staring at me, his eyes are cold, calculating. “You’ll wish you weren’t so foolish,” he says, and I grin.

“Maybe. But not today.” I turn and walk out without another word.

Outside, the day is already heating up. The Harley’s parked at the curb where I left her, but now she’s boxed in.

The black truck’s in front. The white one is behind.

Real subtle. I step into the street, shoulders loose, heart already thudding in that old familiar rhythm.

The one that says there’s about to be blood, but it won’t be mine.

The driver’s side door of the black truck opens and it’s the same guy I remember I caught looking at my bike outside the clinic.

Cody Mathers, I’m guessing based on what Hank told me.

He’s built like a linebacker who has let himself go.

The white truck’s door opens too. Denny, maybe, but he’s thin and nervous and holding a wrench like he’s not sure what he’s going to do with it.

I don’t flinch. “You boys need directions?”

“Nah,” Cody says with a grin. “Just thought we’d make sure you got the message.”

“I see.” I glance at the Harley. “You’re blocking my ride.”

“No,” he says. “We’re giving you a choice.”

“I love choices,” I say, and step forward.

Cody swings first. A big, wide haymaker and I turn with it, but let it hit.

Right across the cheekbone. It stings, and the skin splits, but now it’s my turn.

Blood’s been drawn, and now I have permission to fight.

After ducking the next swing, I drive my fist into his gut, then come up with a backhand across his jaw.

While he stumbles, I pivot. Denny’s decided to join in, and I catch him by the wrist as he tries to swing the wrench, twisting it hard until he screams as he goes to his knees.

The wrench drops to the sidewalk, and I kick it under the Harley.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cody has recovered, and when he charges, I sidestep, grab his arm, and use his momentum to slam him into the side of his own truck.

He bounces off the door and hits the pavement with a grunt.

I’m on him before he can get up, my boot on his chest. “Stay down,” I growl, glancing at Denny.

The coward is backing away now, hands raised. “I didn’t mean it. I was just—”

Checking, I see that Cody is still down for the count, so I walk toward Denny slowly.

He trips over the curb and goes sprawling.

I crouch beside him, grab his shirtfront, and pull him close.

“You know,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“In the Army, they teach us how to snap a man’s neck in under three seconds.

” His eyes go wide, and he starts to shake.

I smile. “But I’m in a generous mood. So here’s the deal.

You go back to your boss. You tell him I’m not scared.

You tell him next time, I won’t be so polite. ”

He nods so fast I think his neck might snap on its own, so I let him go and he scrambles to his feet and runs to the white truck.

In seconds, he is peeling out in a cloud of dust. Cody groans behind me, still on the pavement.

I don’t even look at him. Sliding onto the Harley, I fire her up and pull out, blood dripping down my cheek, adrenaline still humming. It makes for a quick ride home.

Kristin’s in the house when I get back. No other cars are there, so I figure her appointments have come and gone.

Climbing off my bike, I contemplate simply going to the guesthouse when I see her step onto the porch.

Her eyes land on the cut on my face, and I watch her whole body go still.

Her eyes go wide, and then she’s moving toward me as I walk in her direction. “Jesus, Reggie—”

“I’m okay.”

Mrs. Tomas appears behind her and frowns at the blood. “What happened?”

“Long story.”

“Come inside,” Kristin says, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” She grabs my hand, pulling me toward the bathroom.

Her grip is tight, and she doesn’t speak until we’re inside with the door shut.

Wetting a cloth, she presses it to my cheek.

The sting makes me flinch. “Who?” she asks.

“Two of Will’s dogs.”

Her jaw clenches. “Did you hit them back?”

I grin. “After they hit me first.”

Not smiling, she shakes her head. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I’m still standing.”

She cleans the cut in silence. Her hands are gentle, but her face is tight. When she’s done, she steps back with her arms crossed and eyes on the floor. “I want you to leave,” she says after a beat, and the words land like a punch. I blink.

“What?”

She looks up, eyes shining but hard. “I want you to go,” she says. “It’s not safe. And I’m not worth this.”

I take a step toward her. “Kristin—”

Holding up her hand, she shakes her head. “Don’t. Please,” she says. “Just. Don’t.” Then she turns and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me there with dried blood on my face and a heart pounding like it’s about to break. The door clicks shut behind her, and it sounds a lot like goodbye.