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The ranch hand huffed. “You think you’re some kind of badass now, Killian? You come back to lick your wounds after your career tanks and figure you can coast on the Wilde name? You’ve always been a fucking loser. That’s why your daddy never claimed you as his.”
Before I could shoot back a barb, Jameson’s fist connected with Pete’s jaw, taking the bigger man by complete surprise. Pete stumbled back a few steps but righted himself before leveling his gaze on Jameson and spitting blood on the sawdust dance floor.
“You’re gonna regret that, Brit boy.” He lunged, but I intercepted him, not willing to let Jamie get hurt over me.
Pete crashed into me, knocking me to the floor and landing a few well-placed punches. Pain blossomed across my cheek, my jaw, and when he stood and started kicking me in the side, I thought I might throw up all over him. The crowd erupted into hoots and hollers, more people joining sides, my brothers coming in to tear the ranch hand off me. But Jameson was already there, grabbing Pete by the arms from behind and pulling him away.
He got a head to the nose for his troubles, blood spilling down his handsome face as the music cut off and the flashing blue and red of police lights spilled in from the open door.
Pete’s girl handed Jameson a wad of napkins for his nose as the sheriff strolled in, his expression unamused.
“It’s always the Wildes. I thought settling down and getting hitched would keep y’all in line. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Luke helped me to unsteady feet as I favored my ribs and tried not to puke.
“You need an ambulance, Killian?” Sheriff Paul Barker asked.
“No, sir. I’ll be fine.”
“Who threw the first punch?”
Jameson opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted. “I did. He had it coming.”
“C’mon, Kill. Let’s go.” He jerked his head at Jameson. “You too.”
Sheriff Barker cast a glance at Frankie. “I’ll take care of these two for the night. You send Pete and his buddies packing?”
She nodded. “No one’s pressing charges, right, fellas?”
Pete grunted, and the two buddies of his who’d been trying to stop the fight tugged him back. “We’re good,” one of them said.
“Luke, you can come get your brother and his friend in the morning,” the sheriff said.
“Sheriff, let him come home. He was—”
“Nope. There’s a drunk tank in the jail with his name on it. We’ll see you in the morning.” He leveled a stare at me. “Don’t make me cuff you.”
Shaking my head, I sighed. “I never do.”
“Paul,” Frankie said, “It was a sucker punch. No one saw who started it. Let these guys go home and sleep it off. They’re beat up enough as it is.”
The sheriff looked from us to Frankie, his jaw clenching as she nodded slightly. Was it just me, or did those two have something going on?
“I want anybody involved in this fight to head home. You hear me? There’s a strict no fighting rule in this bar, but y’all seem to have thrown it out the window.”
Jamie looked at me with surprise flaring in his eyes. I simply picked up my hat, dusted it off, and put it on my aching head before grumbling, “C’mon. Let’s go.”
Thank God for Frankie. The last thing we needed was to have pictures of Jameson Lorde and Killian Wilde getting tossed in the back of a cop car splashed all over the fucking place.
Chapter Ten
JAMESON
“Here, put this on your face,” I murmured as I held out a bag of frozen peas.
Killian grunted, his eye nearly swollen shut, lip split, and a dark bruise forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be fine.”
“You look like hell. I’m sorry I threw that punch.”
