He hasn't thrown a single punch. He's been standing by the exit the whole time, phone to his ear, watching the chaos. Because no one is going to touch Hunter Sterling and live. They know that rule.
The main doors swing open. Twenty of our guys walk in. Ranch hands, security, the men who work the far fences and don't come to town unless they're called. They fill the doorway shoulder to shoulder, and the sight of them stops every fight in the room like someone pulled the plug.
Hunter pockets his phone. Steps forward. The floor goes silent except for heavy breathing and the groan of men who've just discovered what happens when you pick a fight with the wrong family.
He walks through the wreckage. Past Jett, who's grinning with a split lip and somebody else's blood on his shirt. He stops in front of Holloway, who I've got pinned against the rail with my forearm still on his throat.
Hunter looks dead at him.
"You tell Carson something for me," Hunter says, voice low enough that Holloway has to strain to hear it. "Tell him the next time one of his boys opens their mouth about my family, it won’t be punches being thrown." He leans closer. "I'll come for him myself. He can’t hide from me for long. And then I’ll burn down his whole ranch and shoot each one of you motherfuckers between the eyes. One by one. Making sure Carson is last so he can see what he’s done by letting the Greeks in."
He straightens up and adjusts his hat. Nods at me.
I release Holloway. He slides down the railing and hits the floor, holding his ribs.
Hunter turns to the room. The ranchers who haven't fled are pressed against the far walls, wide-eyed, clutching their auction catalogs like shields. The auctioneer is hiding behind his podium.
"Apologies for the disruption, folks," Hunter says. "Enjoy the rest of the sale."
He walks out. We follow.
Every single one of us. Colten with his paperwork tucked under his arm. Jett still grinning. Tate quiet as a shadow. Me with blood running down my face and Harper's name still ringing in my ears.
The twenty men part at the doors and close ranks behind us as we walk into the sunlight. Trucks and trailers lined up in the lot. Our guys everywhere. A wall of Sterling men between us and whatever's left inside that building.
Hunter stops at his truck and looks at me.
"Get that eyebrow cleaned up before you see Harper. She'll lose her mind."
I wipe the blood with my sleeve. "Worth it."
"Yeah." He almost smiles. "It was. I think we proved our point."
Colten appears beside us.
"Trailer's out back. Sovereign's Gold loads in thirty." He looks at the blood on my face. "You good?"
"I'm perfect."
"Good. I thought I told you to take this seriously?" Colt says with a grin.
Jett is wiping the sweat from his forehead as he approaches. “Nice cut,” he says to me.
Then his eyes light up. “We’re training later,” he tells me.
“I think a fight at an auction was good enough for today.”
He shakes his head. “No. No. No. This is social media gold. Bull rider, split face, bruised knuckles, doing push-ups in the dirt.”
I laugh. It hurts my ribs. That just makes me laugh harder.
“Jett,” I warn.
We came here to buy a horse. We're leaving with the horse, a message delivered, and the entire county knowing that the Sterlings don't bluff, don't back down, and don't let a goddamn soul disrespect what's ours.
That includes Harper.
That will always include Harper.
