Shame I’ll never see her again.

Right. Never see her again until ten fucking minutes ago when I crashed through the door to Billy-Ray’s meth lab to find my little slice of trouble standing there with a goddamn shotgun pointed at my chest.

Mask or not, I’d know those eyes anywhere. Add the fact that she was wearing the same damn shirt and jeans from the night before — the same clothes I yanked the fuck off of her, I might add — and yeah, I knew who the hell she was.

The same little trouble currently handcuffed to my fucking wrist as I roar the truck down one country road after the other. She’s right, I was going for the money. The handcuffs I had just in case shit went sideways and I had to use them on any of Billy-Ray’s cooks during the heist. But when I saw her sling that bag full of cash onto the seat next to me, I just went for it.

Then the bullets started flying, she whirled just as I clamped those handcuffs down, and now here we are — the world’s most reluctant Bonnie and Clyde.

“Now what?” she hisses, her face scowling as I yank the wheel, turning us off one road and onto the next. I doubt any of Billy-Ray’s tweaker cooks are actually following us. I mean shit, they couldn’t even shoot us worth a damn from thirty feet away. But still. You rob from one of the biggest drug kingpins south of the Mason-Dixon line, and you’re gonna want to keep out of sight for a while.

I grin at that thought. Shit, despite the unexpected — the other armed thief, that other armed thief being her, and then her getting the drop on me, we do have the money. A million fucking dollars.

…Oh, and I do mean “we.” So long as she’s handcuffed to me, that money is as good as fifty-fifty in my eyes. All of it would be nice, but I’ll take half. Half might mean losing out on my goal, but half at least gets me squared with Law Banner on what I owe him. And Law is hardly the kind of guy you go to with less than what you owe him. Even if you’re a pro fuck-up like me.

See, I’ve always been the black sheep of my family — always the one stirring shit up. It’s been that way, ever since I was a kid. My older brother Colton was always the good one, and I was always the fuck-up. I don’t know what it is, it’s just always seemed to be that I find trouble. Or maybe it’s that trouble just finds me.

Hell, she did.

Colton was always the one looking out for me back when we were kids. When we got older and when Colton turned out to be the super-star young rodeo rider, he made sure the talent scouts he got took me along too. Hell, I was never much good — not nearly as good as my older brother who was deemed the “hot new face of rodeo” I think it was the sports channel called him. But I lasted one or two tours, if only because I didn’t know how to quit. I never knew how to just let go and when that horse had me beat.

Or maybe I just refused to ever believe I was down, even when I was. That “fuck the world” attitude got me a nickname from the sports channel too — Rough Rider they called me. I might not’ve won much, but I held the fuck on even when I was bloodied and fuckin’ wrecked on the ground.

But then, I found something I was really good at. I found something that just sorta clicked with me like rodeo never had.

Cards.

And man was I good.

I dropped the rodeo thing to hit the underground poker circuit, and I fucking cleaned up. Celebrities with a taste for the high stakes, mob guys, scumbags, even a few warlords from war-torn countries with cash to blow — I beat ‘em all, and I took ‘em all to the damn cleaners. The Rough Rider name stuck around too, only this time, it wasn’t about staying on that horse even when I was half-dead. This time, it was because if you were across the table from me? Well, I’d ride you fucking rough until I took every goddamn cent.

When our parents died along with our grandpa in that car crash, it was Colton again who stepped up to be the good guy. He’s the one that left his fame and fortune to take over our grandpa’s horse ranch. He looked out for our kid sister Taylor, too. Hell, someone had to raise her up through school and get her ass into college. And it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be me.

Like I said, I’m the fuck-up. Every family’s got one, and in mine, it’s me all the way.

But the money? The one sitting in the fucking bag between us in this very truck?

Shit, that was supposed to be my shot at making good. Because the card tables have gotten old. The traveling’s gotten old. The spending all my time in the seediest, shittiest little underground casinos around had gotten real old. And watching over my shoulder for pissed off criminals and scumbags who think I cheated them is getting old, too.

When I found out old man Wilson was selling his land, I jumped at the chance. A place of my own? And in Sugar County where I grew up?

Hell yeah.

Now, I’ve made some serious cash gambling, but, well, land ain’t cheap. Especially a few hundred acres of it. That’s pretty much what got me into this fucking mess. It’s also where owing money to Law Banner comes in. And if you knew the family history between mine — the Bronsons — and the Banners?

Well, you’d know I’d have to be real hard up to go to that guy for cash.

But I did. See, I’d pulled some strings, and through my old circle in the poker rings, I’d found out about this high-stakes game. This was some serious shit too. Drug lords, crime bosses, all sorts of rich lowlifes.

And me, ready to clean them out so I could cash out and retire to my new ranch.

Law’s money got me in the door. And at first, it looked like I was doing well. Too well, actually. So well in fact that suddenly, there was a gun in my face, a big guy dragging me out of my chair, and three more guys pulling me outside and beating the ever-loving-shit outta me.

And just like that, the five-hundred grand I borrowed with enough interest to make your balls shrivel from Law Banner was gone. Five-hundred G’s owed to a man I don’t want to owe a single dime to.

So, I think that about brings us up to speed.

I’d already forgotten about my dream of owning the Wilson property. Fuck it. I’d written that off when I got dragged away from that poker table. But the money now was about survival. It was about paying my debts. And this heist was about settling things up with Law.

Around these parts, Law and the Banner family pretty much run things when it comes to crime. Law’s got a pretty strict policy these days about staying out of the hard drugs and anything to do with running girls. But just the same, Billy-Ray getting in on his turf with meth doesn’t fly. Billy-Ray is also a loud-mouthed bragger of a drug lord who’s pretty much made zero effort to hide the whereabouts of his main cookhouse, or the fact that it was also his bank.

Now, I don’t give a flying shit about the politics of whose crime turf is whose, but to me, that looked like a win-win when it came to squaring up with Law: take out the guy trying to muscle in on his territory, and get him back his five-hundred grand.

“So now what?”

Her voice drags me out of my thoughts, and I blink, turning to look at the gorgeous little spitfire perched next to me in the truck. Shit. Even with that petulant little scowl on her face, this girl is all sorts of tempting. Those boots and those skin-tight jeans aren’t exactly helping. Or maybe it’s that I know damn well what that hot little body of hers looks like underneath ‘em.

Maybe it’s that I know her panties are white, with a little pink-laced edge.

…Maybe it’s that I know her pussy tastes like fucking honey.

“Huh?”

“What now?” she snaps.

“Now? Now we fucking disappear.”

She frowns. “Excuse me?”

“We disappear, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I chuckle. “Didn’t seem to mind me calling you that last night.”

“That was different,” she mutters.

“Oh was it?”

“It was and you know it.”

I grin. Oh I think teasing her is gonna be fun. “Meaning?”

“Meaning last night was before you pointed your fucking guns at me.”

“Look who’s talking, shotgun Sally,” I mutter.

“This was my pull, you know!” she hisses back, glaring at me with those gorgeous green eyes. Goddamn, her mad even makes me hard.

“That why you ran out so quick this morning?”

She smiles thinly at me. “Aww, did you want me to leave my number?”

I roll my eyes. “Settle down princess.”

“I’m not a prin—”

“No shit.”

She yanks on the handcuffs. I just yank right back.

…Oh this is gonna be fun.

She groans. “We need to get these off.”

“Oh, do we?”

She glares at me before turning to look out the window. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m taking us to my hideout.”

She rolls her eyes. “A hideout? Are you twelve?”

“You know I could have left you there, right?”

“Me and the million bucks?”

“Nah, I’d have taken the money, don’t worry.”

“Dick.”

I grin as I gun the engine, turning the wheel and pulling us off the road and onto a dirt one. Man, does she drive me crazy, and yet, this mouthy little brat drives me fucking wild too. Maybe it’s in my blood. Maybe seeing a wild horse like her, breathing fire and tearing up the ground around her, scaring off anyone with any sanity, just does the opposite to me.

Maybe seeing a wild filly like her just makes me want to hold on tighter and ride her rough.

And you know what? I want her tied to me. I want her bound up close to me with these cuffs. Because now, she can’t get away again. Not like I let her get away this morning.

Now, this little piece of trouble is mine.