Page 51 of Life Or Death

“You really want to blow this up? Now? At Shadow’s wedding?” Dread hisses.

I grind my teeth. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to close the distance between us, to grab that cowboy by his fucking throat and show him exactly who she belongs to. But Dread’s words cut through the red haze clouding my vision, and I force myself to take a breath.

He’s right.

This is Shadow’s day. The last thing he needs is his president making a scene because the wife no one knows I have showed up on the arm of another man.

“Fine.”

Dread relaxes his grip on my cut, but his eyes stay locked on mine, making sure I’m not about to bolt. I take a step backward, putting some distance between myself and the direction of Jess, and lean against the table.

“Do you know who that is with her?” I ask, my molars grinding.

Dread squints, studying the cowboy as he guides Jess across the yard with his hand pressed against the small of her back. The gesture makes my blood boil, but I keep my expression neutral.

“I’m pretty sure I saw him fixing a tractor over at the ranch when I went over there to pick up the food for tonight.” Dread scratches his jaw. “So, maybe he’s a mechanic. I think Shadow said his name was Julian or some shit like that.” He glances at me. “You want me to find out?”

“Yeah.”

Dread nods and slips away, disappearing in the direction where the ranch hands still gather around the stripper pole.

I turn my attention back to Jess, watching as Amelia spots her from across the yard. Her face lights up, and she rushes over, arms outstretched. The two women embrace, and Amelia pulls back, saying something that makes Jess laugh—a sound I haven’t heard in what feels like a lifetime.

Amelia links her arm through Jess’s and leads her and the cowboy toward a table near the dance floor. Maddox is sitting there with Amelia’s son, Dylan, and an older woman I don’t recognize.

The cowboy pulls out a chair for Jess, then sits beside her, his Stetson tipping forward as he leans in to say something to Maddox.

It should be me pulling out her chair.

Me sitting next to her.

Me fucking draping my arm around her shoulders as I tug her against my side, making sure every man with a pair of working eyes knows she belongs to me .

I swallow hard, and my gaze slides back to her. She looks fucking incredible. The purple dress hangs low around her neck, showing off the barest hint of cleavage, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. It’s been a long time since I let myself look at her in that way. The way where I memorize every curve and dream about uncovering every inch of her body.

I tear my eyes away from the swells of her tits and openly stare at her face, committing all her stunning features to my memory.

Her eyes . . . those lips . . . even the scar on her forehead is fucking beautiful.

She looks just as radiant and alive as she did before the fire.

Her eyes flick in my direction, and something primal twists in my gut. She holds my gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away, and I catch the slight tremor in her hand as she reaches for her water glass.

I want to go over there. I want to pull her into my arms and do all the things I’ve been imagining doing since I first laid eyes on her. I want to peel that dress off her body and run my tongue between those tits of hers. Pull those nipples that are so fucking hard I can see them poke against her dress from here into my mouth and torture her until she’s bucking against me, begging me to touch her everywhere.

But I stay rooted to this spot, pretending I don’t notice the way the cowboy’s hand keeps finding her shoulder.

Dread reappears beside me, grabbing a beer from the table.

“I was right. He’s the mechanic. His name is Jude.”

Just as the words leave his mouth, I watch Jude lean in close to Jess, his lips dangerously close to her ear. She nods at whatever he says, and he pushes back from the table, heading toward the cooler where all the drinks are kept.

That’s it. I’ve had enough of this charade.

I cross the yard with purposeful strides, weaving through clusters of bikers and ranch hands. Maddox spots me first, his eyes widening slightly as I approach the table.

“Lucifer—”