Page 6 of Property of Legend

Dad only laughs low and deep, pattin’ me on the back like I did good.“That’s my boy.”

Chapter 3

Sophie

I pull my truck into the edge of Main Street, tires crunching the gravel, and just sit there for a minute.

Hell.The sign actually saysHellnow.

Someone spray-painted it in thick red letters right over “Welcome to Paradise.”The wooden board’s still splintered where I remember James running into it with Daddy’s truck when we were kids.But now it’s weathered and worn, the red dripping like blood.

Swear the town evensmellsdifferent.Less like honeysuckle and horse feed, more like burnt rubber and cheap tobacco.

I swallow hard and push open the truck door.

The second my boots hit gravel, I feel it.

Vibration in the ground.Rumble in the air.

And then I hear it.The roar of engines.Low.Menacing.Coming straight down Main like a goddamn parade from hell.

Four motorcycles roll by first.Then ten.Then at least twenty.Chrome gleaming.Leather cuts flapping.That logo stitched on every back, Kings of Anarchy MC, Kentucky, complete with a crowned skull bandit with an anarchy symbol between its eyes.It turns my stomach.

The last few bikes slow up at the square, the courthouse, and the tiny memorial garden Mama and I planted when Grandma June passed.

It’s still there.

Or…was.

I storm toward the edge of the brick walk.

Theytore it up.

Trampled pansies and black-eyed Susans, broken garden stakes.The rosebush we transplanted originally from Grandma’s wedding bouquet is half crushed beneath tire tracks.There’s a goddamn boot print in the mulch.Theyrodethrough it.

And in the middle of it all.Him.

Hudson.

He leans against his Harley like he doesn’t have a care in the world, arm flexed as he takes a pull from a mason jar.His cut’s open at the front, sun glinting off the chain around his neck.He’s bigger now.Broader.Ink crawling up his arms.A horse and roses.Roses, just like the ones he stomped.

And when he looks up, that cocky smirk almost makes me forget I’m furious.

Almost.

“What thehelldo you think you’re doing?”I bark, shoving past a scrawny prospect with a nose ring and a face tattoo.

He looks right at me.

He tilts his head, dragging his gaze down my jeans, my blouse, the fire in my face.“Horse Princess returns.”

“Don’t you dare,” I snap.

“See you’re still a midget,” he laughs, towering over me.

“Am not.I’m four eleven.”

“She’s fun sized,” he quips, and winks at his friend, poking fun at me.

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