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And he was exactly the kind of man I would want.
Strong. Silent. Smart. And I’m sure he will win the game.
Before I get the beers — and the whiskey — my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Candy.
She’s one of the only people who I still keep in touch with from high school. It was hard for me to make friends, after spending so many years in foster care, but Candy was always there to give me a smile or offer to help me with my homework. Now, she is faithful about checking in on me and making sure I’m okay.
But it’s hard to be honest – to tell her how scared I really am. And right now, I’m terrified.
I’m sure she’s worried about me, and I bite back tears as I shove my phone back in my pocket. Even though I want to know how things ended up with her and the tree farmer, I don’t want to worry her on Christmas Eve. She’s deserves to enjoy herself tonight.
I turn back to the room, resolved to not let my emotions get the best of me. Scared to hear how the poker hand went. Where I will be sleeping tonight.
The women in the romance novels I love to read, are always strong and resilient and I can be like them. Hold my head high and not let the haters get me down.
Still, when I walk back into the room, I feel all eyes on me. For a moment I falter, nearly toppling the tray with the drinks. The beer sloshes over the rims and a glass falls to the floor. Smith is by my side in seconds, his hand on the small of my back steadying me.
“Easy girl,” he says, his voice both gritty and gracious. My heart flip-flops as I collect myself. Stepping away from him. Refusing to give in to what I so desperately crave. A warm touch, a tender hand, a man to protect me from the wilds of the world.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to bristle at his words. I hand out the beer then give him his whiskey.
“Thanks, Sugarplum,” he says. I’d toss the drink in his face if it was anyone else who called me that. Somehow, when he calls me Sugarplum, all I see are visions of Christmas miracles and tinsel and packages tied up with strings. I see a future.
And that is why I blink hard while pushing away all my ridiculous notions and begin to march out the way I came.
“Easy now,” Rizz says. “I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” I ask. “I’m tired and want to go to the motel.”
“Not tonight, sis.”
I look at the poker table. The cards are stacked, the chips put away. The game is over. But who won?
“What do you mean?” I ask, biting my lip, looking at the girls for backup. But Trudy is off somewhere with PJ, and Rimmed is dragging his knuckles over Sarai’s cheek. Jocelyn is giving my brother a neck massage that requires her grinding against him so vigorously it makes me uncomfortable. I press a finger to my temple.
“Smith is taking you home tonight. One night. Understand? I’ll come for you tomorrow.”
I lift my eyebrows. Smith is a foot away from me and I suddenly feel trapped. “No.”
“No?” Rizz snorts. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You go with him or I’ll make your life a living h—"
Before he can finish his words. Smith is past me, grabbing my brother by the collar. “Don’t,” he says, lifting him from his chair. Uttering one single, direct, and authoritative word. And somehow it shuts my brother up. “Just let me take her in peace. Understood? You owe me.”
Rizz laughs, but I know he’s scared. This man, Smith, is bigger than him, he’s packing heat, and he isn’t scared of a fight.
For all the tough-boy act my brother and his buddies play — they are currently scared shitless.
“Come on Sugar, get your things. Tonight, you belong to me.”
I think about pushing back — fighting this — but then take a look at the guys here and the women with them. They love this life… playing by the rules of the Badlands. And me? I could leave it all behind in an instant. I’m not saying I want more, exactly, but I don’t want to be my brother’s property.
And tonight, if I leave with Smith, I won’t be.
I won’t be free, but I won’t be under my brother’s eyes.
“Fine,” I say, refusing to let an inch of fear creep into my voice. “I just need a second.”
Smith follows me, apparently not interested in letting me go anywhere alone. Stalker much? But even as I think it, I know it’s not true. Smith isn’t giving me creeper vibes. He’s giving me mountain-man vibes. Vibes that say, I got this. I got you. And I sure as hell don’t plan on letting you go.
