Page 63 of For Cowgirls and Kings
The faint hum of an engine rumbles through the trees and we all whirl on the newcomer.
“Someone’s coming.” Gus moves to step in front of Stetson. His body shielding hers, taut muscle and radiating dominance. He’d step in front of a bullet for her, that I have no doubt.
And as the engine rumbles closer, my stomach somersaults with the realization of who it is—the sounds of the incoming bike familiar even in my nightmares.
I’ve wanted to avoid this at all cost, but I’ve no doubt Valentina sent him out here in her stead, either to complicate or help—in her own twisted way. Either way, it’s about to be a shit storm, and I see no way out.
Gus will step in front of a bullet for Stetson—kill for her even I’m sure—I just hope he can see reason too. I hope that after everything, he’ll let me explain.
I turn to look at Gus, hand extended in the air, as if trying to calm a wild beast. “Listen, Gus, this is going to be really fucking weird, and I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned it sooner. Honestly, I just didn’t know how because I know how you guys are. But trust me. And trust I will explain everything after Dale’s back. I swear it.”
His brows push together, and I can see the calculation forming behind his eyes. Before I
have a chance to say anything else, his face turns to stone, a snarl ripping across his face. Whether it’s meant for me, or the man I know is now pulling to a stop at my back, I don’t know.
“McCrae? What the fuck?”
I turn to look at the man in question, and cringe. He steps off his bike, running a tattooed hand through his unruly blonde hair. He’s always a scary mother-fucker, but tonight he looks especially so, shrouded in darkness that seems to curl around him more than part for him—like it’s part of him. His hair is slicked back, leather jacket perfectly in place over a white shirt, cigarette lit and hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He rolls his eyes, pulling the stick from his lips. “Brother.”
It’s a single word, and my stomach drops farther. How can I even begin to salvage this? And more importantly, how can he help me find Dale?
“What’s going on?” Stetson asks, her voice hesitant.
“Who—” Faith whispers.This is a fucking mess.
But instead of addressing any of their questions, I steptoward him, my heart in my throat. “McCrae. Any news?” I hear all three of my friends inhale loudly, but I don’t have time to consider their feelings. Not right now—not with Dale on the line.
His eyes remain glued to Gus’s, even as he speaks to me. “I passed some police officer’s heading out of here.” There’s a question in his voice, and I scrunch my nose.
“Yes. I called them to help search.” His eyes snap to mine, and he takes in a deep drag.
“Did you find anything?”
“Obviously fucking not. And I’m sick of this cryptic shit. What the fuck is going on? Where’s Dale?” I advance on him, my early hesitancy in his regard forgotten. I’m getting to the bottom of this if it’s the last fucking thing I do.
His eyes flare for a split second, and then drops the butt end of the cigarette, smashing the ember with the toe of his boot.
“I don’t know where Dale is, I’m sorry.” His voice is low, full of genuine concern.
“Fuck!” I shout, running a hand through my hair once more.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on? I don’t fucking understand.” Gus’s voice, biter and full of venom pelts my back, and I fold forward. I knew this was going to be bad.
What if he never forgives me?
Before I can respond, McCrae snarls, “I work for the Reyes family. Have for a couple years. Now that you’re on the inside, I can tell you that. Guess I’m not as much of a deadbeat as you always thought.”
There’s a weighted silence for several seconds, before Gus chuckles. “Oh, I promise, it had nothing to do with your job or lack thereof, that made me think of you as a deadbeat.”
“Fucking say it to my face, you little piss ant.” McCrae advances at Gus, and my hand snaps out, stopping him.
“Enough!” Stetson screeches, silencing both Gus and McCrae. “I get that you have shit, and McCrae, I’ll never forgive you for the things you’ve done to Gus. But for the love of god, this isn’t about you two. If you can help find Dale, do it.”
Gus, being the man who’d do anything for Stetson, concedes, cussing under his breath. He stomps away, his body retreating toward the van we drove out here. Part of me wants to follow him, apologize, explain,anything. But Stetson’s right—this is about Dale.
“Why are you here?” Being productive is better than nothing at this point.
“Wanted to see if you found…anything.” His eyes flick in the direction of the rock, before finding mine once more.
