Page 108 of The Convict Gets His Girl

He turned, arm around Raul's shoulders, ready to introduce him to Jewel.

A slurred voice cut through their celebration and excitement. "I guess this is another moron from prison. They're forming a herd. Quick, let's thin them out."

And just like that, the moment shattered. Chase and Raul both turned together, their stances shifting automatically when the boisterous group behind them burst into laughter.

Andre stood there, surrounded by his crew, drunk, probably high, and definitely looking for trouble. His eyes were fixed on them, malice dripping from every syllable.

Chase's muscles tensed, a familiar tightness spreading across his shoulders. The warmth of reunion evaporated, replaced by a cold calculation he'd learned behind bars. Raul rolled his shoulders, preparing already.

"What do you want, Andre?"

The question hung in the air, flat and controlled. Chase positioned himself subtly, blocking the line between Andre's crew and the Jenga players behind him—Jewel, Nick, Parker, Goldie, Tasha. Family he needed to protect.

Andre shrugged, a loose, liquor-fueled movement. "Just making observations," he drawled, his words slurring together like wet cement. "This party's nothing but low-life scum, not even fit to lick my boots."

Raul stepped forward, muscles coiling. Chase's hand shot out, gripping Raul's arm. Their eyes met—a silent conversation born of shared survival. Not here. Not now.

"If you're speaking about yourself, I'd have to agree with ya there," Chase said.

Andre's hands fisted. "You think you're all that, don't you? New house, new girl, new horse. Prancing around town like you own the place when you're nothing but a filthy convict."

Chase's hands fisted at his sides as Jewel gasped behind him. He desperately hoped Parker or Nick would keep her back. "It's time for you to fucking leave. I may not own the town, but this is my family's land, and you're not welcome."

His voice was low, measured. But underneath ran a current of steel—the kind of controlled tension that said he was capable of violence, but choosing restraint. For now.

Andre's friends shifted, sensing the potential energy crackling between them. Drunk bravado met prison-tempered resolve.

The Jenga tower trembled, forgotten, in the background.

Andre's lips curled into a sneer. "Leave? I'm not the convict here. I'm not the one that was dumb enough to get caught." His words dripped with practiced cruelty, a knife sliding between ribs. "A real man like me gets away with that accident, but a chump takes the rap for it. 'Course, still got a fucking broken arm from it, but, hey, I get a monthly disability payment for not being able to work. See? That's how you play the game, boys."

Something shifted in the air. His words struck like a tuning fork. His peripheral vision blurred, the sounds of the party fading until only Andre's voice remained.

Chase went absolutely still. Not the frozen stillness of fear, but the predatory stillness of a wolf calculating its next move. His hands, relaxed at his sides, didn't even twitch.

He licked his lips as his stomach twisted. "What the fuck does that mean?"

The question hung between them. Chase's eyes locked onto Andre, every muscle coiled and waiting, not with anger but with something colder, something reminiscent of prison, something that suggested Andre had just stepped into a space he didn't understand.

Beside him, he could sense Raul's tension. The Jenga players had gone silent, but Chase's entire world had narrowed to this moment.

Andre's bravado seemed to waver for a split second—a micro-expression of fear flickering across his face before the alcohol-fueled courage rushed back.

"You're such a dumbass. Do you know how hard it was to carry your sorry ass to the truck? Dad was furious to see you there again, drinking and smoking all his shit. Hit you over the head with a beer bottle, leaving me to clean up the fucking mess."

That night came rushing back to him, and he blinked slowly. "And you just sent me on my way with a head injury?"

Andre snorted and jerked his chin at Chase. "Can you believe this guy? Still doesn't realize I was driving that night," he blurted, stepping closer and bowing up. "See? Dumbass walking, everyone. Well, except for that night. I was the smart one who walked away with just a broken arm. You took the fall, and I walked away scot-free."

ChapterForty

Andre laughed, his black teeth flashing just a few feet away as he held his paunchy stomach.

Chase's world went red.

No thought. Pure instinct.

His fist connected with Andre's jaw in a sharp, decisive punch that snapped Andre's head back. The crack of knuckles against bone rang out like a gunshot.

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