Page 6 of Boss and Brat

Chapter Three

Carter rode toward the green barn without expecting much. Most barns on the property were old, drafty, and full of tools nobody used anymore. This one wasn’t any different—paint peeling, roof patched in places, the big sliding door hanging just a little crooked. Sunlight hit the metal latch and flashed in his eyes as he pulled up on the motorcycle.

He killed the engine, and the sudden quiet settled heavily around him. A few birds scattered from the roof. The place looked forgotten, like someone had shoved it to the edge of the ranch and hoped no one would notice.

He knocked once.

Ethan opened the barn door as if he owned the place, even though the kid clearly didn’t own a damn thing in there. He didn’t stand still—he leaned one shoulder against the frame, hip kicked out just enough to look careless, like he’d practiced that posture in a mirror once and decided it worked for him. The morning light hit him from behind, outlining him in a way that made Carter’s breath catch before he could stop it.

The acrid smell of smoke from the cigarette dangling from Ethan’s fingers did nothing to ease the tension. He held it loosely, two fingers hooked around it with a kind of lazy confidence, like he’d been smoking since he was twelve and no one had ever told him no. Smoke curled around his face, drifting past the sharp line of his jaw, and Carter had to look away for half a second just to get his bearings.

The kid didn’t have to try to take up space—he just did. Not loud. Not showy. Just… there. Solid. Magnetic.

Ethan stepped into full view, and Carter’s breath snagged before he could school it. Blond hair, sharp features, medium height, lean but cut—like every muscle on him had a purpose. But it was the eyes that stopped Carter cold.

Bright, electric blue.

Too direct.

Too knowing.

Ethan didn’t blink when their gazes met. Didn’t look away. Just held it—chin tipped up a fraction, like he was testing him, seeing what kind of man Carter was, seeing if he’d flinch.

Something in that look hit Carter harder than he liked. Not soft, not sentimental—just a clean, sudden jolt right to the center of his chest. A pull he didn’t have a name for.

Not here.

Not now.

But Ethan’s eyes said something he couldn’t ignore, something that reached past all the armor he’d spent years building. And for one unsteady second, Carter felt himself lean toward it. Toward him.

He forced his shoulders back, steadying himself, but the truth lingered anyway: that kid’s gaze had gotten under his skin in a single heartbeat.

Ethan shifted his weight, and the movement was smooth, almost graceful. Slim and athletic, the kind of build that camefrom being naturally active rather than disciplined. His shirt clung to him in places Carter tried not to notice. The kid knew he looked good—Carter could see it in the way he stood, the way he let silence stretch like he was comfortable being watched.

Carter wasn’t used to being the one doing the watching. He cleared his throat, trying to shake it off. Trying to remember why he was here. Trying not to stare at the curve of Ethan’s lips as he exhaled smoke.

Carter reached forward, plucked the cigarette right out of his mouth, and threw it onto the dirt outside. “No smoking in here.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Boss Carter to you,” he said, keeping his tone even. “From now until your debt’s paid off, you’re under my authority.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but he stepped back. “Come in.”

Carter walked inside, and the smell of dust, old hay, and motor oil hit him. Tools hung on nails, some rusted, some new. A couple of empty stalls sat along the far wall, swept clean but still smelling like horses.

Then there was the room.

A plywood box sat shoved into the corner like an afterthought. No insulation. No window. Just a cot pushed against the wall, a metal locker with a dented door, and a single bulb dangling from a cord that swayed every time the wind slipped through the cracks.

Carter stepped closer, boots scuffing against the dirt floor. The mattress dipped under his fingers when he pressed it—thin enough that he could probably fold it in half with little effort. A blanket lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, twisted as if someone had thrown it there in frustration.

The bulb flickered overhead, casting a weak yellow glow that didn’t reach the corners. Shadows pooled under the cot. The entire space felt too still, as if even sound didn’t want to settle here.

Carter just stood there, jaw tight, letting the cool air settle into his bones while the truth of the place spoke for itself. He didn’t need to call it punishment. The room already had.

“Put on a pair of boots,” Carter said. “You’re coming with me.”