Page 170 of Ride the Sky

A slow smile tilts his lips. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” His face sobers as he glances at us. “Now we’re all in it.”

“Damn right,” I murmur. To my grave. Anything for my brothers.

A long silence falls as we each take a sip of our beers.

“That ring,” Davis begins. “It comin’ off?”

I grin down at my hand. “Not a chance.”

“Whipped,” Ford drawls then makeswuh-PSSSHsound.

I roll my eyes. “You’re one to fuckin’ talk. Your wife’s got you wearin’ turtlenecks. I saw you at the Market, man.”

“Fuck you,” Ford snaps, and I smirk.

I smear a hand down my face. “Listen, while we’re on the subject of wives, let’s keep this—oh shit.”

The door to the Bullshit Box slams open. Fallon stands there, hands on hips, creases marring her pretty brow.

Fuck.

Her fiery gaze lands on me. “You’re an asshole, Wyatt Montgomery.” She storms toward me, those gorgeous tattoos rippling on her muscled thighs. “You went to Pappy’s without me?”

Standing, I give her what I hope is an irresistible grin. “Reconnaissance.”

“Pig.” She slams a hand to my chest. “That smile won’t work.”

I capture her wrist, pulling her toward me. “If it makes you happy, he wasn’t there. You can go next time.”

“No one’s goin’ next time,” Davis orders in his Rambo voice. “Let the article fuck him up.”

Fallon pouts. “Boring.”

While Cole Weston’s reveal still leaves some questions—who’s been leaving Fallon the flowers, who was in her cottage—we have some answers. Not all, but enough to know that Pappy’s a traitor, an embarrassment to the entire PRCA. When that article hits, his career’s over.

Fallon glares down at Davis. “If anyone’s beating that fat bastard’s ass, it’s me.”

The doorway darkens.

Ford straightens. “Hey, uh, we got more wives.”

“Oh, please,” Fallon snarks, lifting a tattooed hand. “We already know what you idiots do in here.”

“It is not plan-a-murder-night,” Dakota interjects, stepping inside. “It’s game night.”

Charlie snorts. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Familygame night,” Reese adds, giggling as Ford tugs her onto his lap.

Ruby, blue eyes gleaming, palms her hands. Bats her lashes. “We have wine, beer, whiskey,andboard games.Please.”

The four of us sigh. Charlie’s rugged expression instantly softens. No one can say no to Ruby.

Not even Fallon.

“You heard Ruby.” Fallon’s dangerous gaze flicks to me. “Let’s get violent.”

Babies are asleep. Dog and cat at our feet. Whiskey, wine, and a cheeseboard. A deck of cards on the coffee table. Domestic as fuck. But I won’t lie. I fuckin’ love it.

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