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I look down at my cards, in the middle of debating how much I should bet, when the wall slides open.

Ezra and Wells both jump.

Delilah and Hassie stride into the room. “Idiots,” Hassie says in greeting.

“What the fuck you doin’, Hassle?” Warren complains, taking the interruption as an invitation to boss and bark. “Front door.”

Hassie smirks. “The front door’s boring, but you know that, don’t you, boss man?” She glances down at his cards. “Aces. Nice.”

Warren swears.

My eyes launch to Delilah.

Delilah’s big brown eyes go impossibly wide when she sees me. Her face flushes, then resets into a soft smile.

Fuck, it’s like a grenade going off inside me.

All I can do is stare. I take in her beauty from head to toe. She wears a short leather skirt and stilettos. Her honey-blond hair tumbles around an oversized moto jacket that covers a tiny white tank top. And on top of her head, a fawn-colored cowboy hat.

So fucking beautiful.

“You like it, Cole?” Hassie’s voice shakes me out of my daze. “Her hat?”

“Hat looks fine.” I grit my teeth.

“Hat looks nice,” Wells amends, reminding me of my manners. “You look nice too, Hassie.”

“Thanks, Wells.” Hassie props a hand on her hip, content to harass us. “Looks like a cowgirl, doesn’t she?”

Delilah’s mouth flattens in amusement, her amber eyes glittering.

“What do you want, Hassie?” A vein pops in Warren’s temple. “We’re in the middle of a game.”

The way Hassie looks at Warren is a combination of laughter and loathing. “We came for more whiskey, but now that we’re here…” Her eyes scan the room, then, a mischievous smirk tilting her lips, she looks at Delilah. “You know what, fuck it. Let’s go enjoy the local riffraff.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Monday night, the place is bound to be hoppin’.”

Taking Delilah’s hand, Hassie steers her through the room.

“Mr. Weston,” Delilah breathes as she passes by me, giving me a hat tilt. My cock flexes. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

I watch as they disappear out the vault door and into the bar.

My blood’s on fire. Delilah out in that bar, without me…

Hell, any idiot can tell the entire bar’s going to be on Delilah the second she sets foot in there.

Warren sighs long and loud, knowing our night’s just been sideswiped. “We goin’ to supervise?”

I shove up from the table. “We’re goin’ to supervise.”

Damn fucking right we are.

When we step into the bar, I search the crowd. It may be Monday night, but it’s packed. The band onstage plays a frenetic cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

Surveying the scene, I exhale out a frustrated breath. Deputy Craddock sits at the bar. Tyler Hale, Rogan Hale’s delinquent brother, trolls the crowd. Rowdy out-of-towners take the high-tops. In a corner booth are April’s parents, Frances and Adder Sawyer.

Fuck.

It’s like every awful person in Tempest arrived at the same fuckin’ time.