Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
It doesn’t matter.
They’re coordinated.
Prepared.
Kyle strides up, breath hard, eyes bright with anger.
He grabs my hair at the base of my skull and yanks my head back just enough to meet his gaze.
“This is what happens,” he says quietly, “when you don’t take the deal.”
I spit at him. It hits his cheek.
His smile returns, slow and vicious. “Good,” he murmurs. “I like you feisty.”
Rage explodes in my chest. “Nash is going to kill you.”
Kyle’s eyes flicker—just a flicker—like the name is a thing he respects more than he wants to admit. Then he leans closer. “Not if you’re gone.”
They move fast after that.
One of them wrenches my arms behind me. Kyle opens the truck door. The interior is dark, swallowing. I try to plant my feet, but the second man lifts me like I weigh nothing and throws me inside. I hit the seat hard, breath knocking out.
Kyle climbs in after me, shoving the door shut. The lock clicks. The sound is final. The truck lurches forward. I scramble for the handle, yanking. Child lock. Of course.
Panic claws up my throat, sharp and hot. I slam my fist against the window, screaming until my voice cracks, but the music in the distance swallows the sound. The festival noise fades as we speed away—Rodeo Days glittering and loud behind me, my ranch, my parents, Nash… shrinking into the horizon.
My hands shake. My lungs burn. I force myself to breathe anyway. Because I know one thing with certainty—stronger than fear, stronger than Kyle Stroud’s grip, stronger than the dark closing in around me:
Nash Hawthorne is going to come.
And when he does… this town will learn what a real cowboy looks like when you take what’s his.
FIFTEEN
NASH
I don’t like crowds.
Not because I’m antisocial—because crowds are cover. Too many bodies, too many blind spots, too many ways for a threat to slide through like it belongs.
So while Delaney runs Rodeo Days like she’s conducting a damn symphony, I do what I do best: I circle the edges and make myself hard to surprise.
I walk the perimeter of the festival grounds, eyes sweeping, ears tuned. My hand rests near my belt like instinct, even though I’m dressed like any other cowboy in town. Hat low. Sunglasses on. “Boyfriend” face engaged when people glance at me.
Inside, I’m running threat matrices and time stamps.
Delaney’s laugh floats across the crowd when Josie Calhoun drags her toward a booth. That sound cuts through the noise and settles my nerves better than any breathing exercise ever did.
I catch a glimpse of Delaney near the sponsor banners. Clipboard in hand. Sun on her hair. Busy, bright, alive.
And then I lose sight of her.
Not unusual. She’s working. Moving. Managing.
But something in my gut tightens anyway, like a wire pulled too fast.
I pivot, scanning.
Where’s her route? Where would she go next? What booth is understaffed? What vendor is “wandering” again?
I’m about to step toward the north access when I hear it—
Footsteps. Fast. Uneven. A kid running like he’s being chased by hell.
He barrels through the crowd, eyes frantic, face pale beneath a dusting of freckles. He nearly trips over a cooler and catches himself, then locks onto me like I’m the only solid thing in his world. “Sir—” he gasps. “Sir, you’re— you’re Nash, right? You’re with Delaney?”
My blood goes cold so fast it’s like my body forgot how to be warm. “Yeah,” I say, already moving. “What happened?”
The kid’s chest heaves. “She— she was at the corn dog cart in the north pasture access. There was this guy. Nice clothes. Fancy boots. He grabbed her and she— she was fighting—”
The last word cracks on him like he can still see it.
Everything inside me snaps into a clean, ruthless line. “Where exactly?” I bark.
He points, arm shaking. “Past the hay bales—near the tree line where the pasture dips.”
I’m already running.
The crowd blurs as I cut through it. People shout my name. Someone calls, “Hey!” like I owe them an explanation.
I don’t.
I bring my phone up as I sprint and hit Gray’s contact.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey, Nash...”
“Delaney’s in trouble,” I cut in, voice clipped. “North pasture access. Possible abduction in progress. I’m moving.”
Gray’s tone changes instantly—cold, sharp, all business. “Confirm.”
“I will,” I snap, then hang up because breathing and running are more useful than talking.
I hit the edge of the festival grounds and the sound drops off behind me, muffled by distance. The world opens up into pasture and sunlight and dangerous space.
My boots pound dirt.
My pulse is steady.
My mind is not.
I cross the fence line at a gap and spot the corn dog cart parked crooked, abandoned like someone dropped it and ran. A teen employee stands there, shaking, staring at the ground like it betrayed him.
“Where is she?” I roar.
The kid points, eyes wide. “They— they went that way—”
I don’t wait.