Page 40 of Leather & Lies

Lucas stills beside me.

“Unless you’re keeping her all to yourself?” Henderson winks, oblivious to how close to death he is. “Can’t blame you there. Though seems a waste not to share such a fine piece of?—”

The mare spooks at my sudden movement, but I barely notice. My hand is around Henderson’s throat before he can step back, lifting him until his boots scrabble in the dirt. The force of my grip makes the tendons in my forearm stand out like cables.

“Choose your next words very carefully.” My voice comes out rough as I shift my grip, pressing precisely where cutting off blood flow to the brain takes only pounds of pressure. “They may be your last.”

“Jesus, Jackson.” Henderson wheezes, face purpling. His eyes finally register the monster he’s awakened, the one that clawed its way up from poverty through calculated violence. “Just making conversation?—”

I tighten my hold until I feel cartilage creak. “No. You were making assumptions about what’s mine.” I let him feel how easily I could crush his windpipe, remembering other men who’d made similar mistakes. Men whose graves have long gone green. “Consider this a learning opportunity.”

“The deal—” he gasps.

“Is dead.” I release him with enough force that he stumbles. “Likeyou’llbe if you ever look at her again.”

Lucas doesn’t move to stop me as I back Henderson toward his truck. Doesn’t try to salvage six months of negotiations. Some lines can’t be crossed.

“You’re making a mistake,” Henderson manages, rubbing his throat. “Those grazing rights?—”

“Are worth less than the breath you’re using to talk.” I smile, letting him see what’s been lurking behind my carefullyconstructed facade. “Now get off my land before I bury you under it.”

I watch until his truck disappears in a spray of gravel. Only then do I turn back to where Shiloh continues working the mare, her breathing steady despite what just happened. Despite what I just sacrificed to keep her safe.

I look more closely. Her hands tremble on the mare’s halter, and she’s stroking the mare’s face rather than continue the training. She’s more affected than I thought.

“Well.” Lucas straightens his jacket, eternally unruffled. “I suppose you’ve made some decisions about your priorities.”

I grunt acknowledgment, attention fixed on Shiloh’s precise movements. She guides the mare through another pattern, her chin lifted in that defiant way that first caught my attention.

“Yes.” The word comes out rough as I track her every movement. “I have.”

15

Shiloh

The midnight-blue gownappears on my bed one morning, no note needed. The silk catches the light as I lift it, whispering promises of luxury I’d never allowed myself. Beside it sits a velvet box.

When I open it, the sapphire pendant inside catches my breath—not because of its obvious value, but because of its simplicity—understated and elegant.

Jackson appears in the doorway as I hold it, his frame filling the space in that way that still makes my stomach tighten.

“It reminded me of you,” he says, voice carrying that edge of command that brooks no argument. “You’ll wear it tonight.”

Not a request. Never a request with him.

He crosses over to me, taking the necklace from my trembling fingers. “Turn around.”

I obey—not because I must, but because I’m curious what will happen if I don’t fight this time. His fingers brush my neck as he fastens the clasp, lingering longer than necessary. I feel his breath hitch when his skin touches mine.

It hangs an inch above my mother’s pendant, and I’m grateful that he’s chosen jewelry that won’t require me to choose between obeying him and not wearing it.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and I’m not sure if he means the necklace or me.

In the mirror, I catch his expression—possession mingled with something softer, something he quickly masks when he realizes I’m watching. The pendant rests at the hollow of my throat, cool silver against warm skin. Marking me as his in a way that’s somehow more intimate than the bruises he’s left elsewhere on my body. My breath catches as he studies me. This close, I can see the predatory heat in his eyes, the possessive tilt of his head that makes my stomach flutter despite myself. This man owns my ranch, my debts, my body. And still, it’s not enough for him—never enough.

His thumb strokes along my collarbone. “We leave in five minutes.”

He turns and leaves me trembling in front of the mirror, knowing tonight will change everything between us. He doesn’t have to take me as his date. He could leave me here on the ranch, pleasantly ensconced in warm blankets, with a good book to read and blessed silence to keep me company.

---