Kelvin stood when I walked into Moonshine. Instead of his usual business casual attire, he was dressed in a black hoodie and track pants. Of course, they were Lululemon. The guy managed to be pretentious even when he was dressed down.

I nodded at Clarabell, then took a seat across from Kelvin. She eyed him with open skepticism—maybe even a touch of hostility—as she came over to our table.

“Mornin’,” she said. “Coffee?”

Kelvin ignored her and sat back down.

I met her eyes. “Sorry. I guess not. Maybe give us a few minutes?”

“Sure thing, honey,” she said, and took her coffee carafe back to the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You stopped answering my calls,” he said. “You won’t text me back. What was I supposed to do?”

“How about move on?”

“Leah, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing out here, but slumming with some backwoods West Virginia hillbilly is low.”

My eyes widened so much I thought they might pop out of their sockets. “Excuse me? You did not just call Jameson a hillbilly.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he said. “The man’s father murdered some girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my god. Is that why you came out here? You saw the story about me and Jameson, and you just couldn’t let it go?”

“You’re throwing away everything we worked for,” he said. “I know you still don’t have an agent. Who’s working for you? Who’s making sure your next gig is lined up? What the hell are you going to do with yourself out here? Open up a moonshine slushy stand?”

I paused for a second, because a moonshine slushy stand would do very well in Bootleg, especially during the summer months.

“Jesus, Leah,” he said. “You’re thinking about that, aren’t you?”

Before I could reply, the color drained from Kelvin’s face, leaving him stark white—maybe even a little green. His eyes were on the door and I knew immediately what—or more importantly, who—he must be looking at.

Not two seconds later, our booth was surrounded by Bodines.

Gibson leaned against the table across the aisle. It wasn’t empty, but the couple sitting there just glanced at him and went back to their breakfast. Jonah and Bowie took a slightly more subtle approach and sat at an empty table—facing us. Scarlett joined them, an amused smile on her face.

Jameson crossed his arms and casually leaned against the back of Kelvin’s side of the booth.

“Really?” Kelvin asked, his voice thick with disdain.

Jameson didn’t answer.

“Are these assholes for real?” Kelvin asked.

I glanced around at each of them, my gaze stopping on Jameson. He picked at his fingernails like he was bored.

Clarabell came out with a stack of menus and held them out, offering to anyone who needed one.

“We won’t be needin’ those, sweetheart,” Gibson said.

I sighed. I didn’t need Jameson to fight this battle for me—and I really didn’t need the rest of his family doing it, either. I was about to say something to Jameson, but Kelvin started in again.

“You think you know her?” Kelvin asked, twisting to look up at Jameson. “You don’t get to come in here and speak for her.”

“No one’s speakin’ for Leah Mae,” Jameson said. “She’s perfectly capable of doing that all on her own. We’re just here to make sure you behave yourself is all.”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. They weren’t here to rescue me, or fight my battle because they didn’t think I could. They were just here to make sure I was okay. And their presence helped. With Jameson and his family backing me up, I felt like I could take on the world. Or, my ex-fiancé-agent, at least.

“This town is insane,” Kelvin muttered under his breath and scooted farther from Jameson.

“No, I’d say what’s insane is you flying all the way to West Virginia because you saw gossip about me with another man,” I said. “You’re the one who kept insisting my so-called relationship with Brock Winston was a good thing. And let’s not forget, you were willing to put me on dating show with not one bachelor, but six.”

Jameson raised his eyebrows. Gibson cracked his knuckles.

Kelvin glanced around, like he didn’t want to talk with so many people around. I didn’t blame him, but I certainly wasn’t going to ask them to leave. I folded my hands in front of me and pressed my lips together, waiting.

He lowered his voice, but of course everyone could still hear him. “Those were strategic decisions for the benefit of your career.”

“My career went down the toilet because of you,” I said. “But you know what? I’m glad. I’m glad everything happened the way it did. Because if things had been different, I might not have realized what a lowlife bottom feeder you really are.”

“Leah, I made you,” he said. “You’d be nothing without me.”

Gibson growled—he actually growled—but Jameson held up a hand and then nodded to me, as if to say it was my move.

“You made me?” I asked. “I made you, asshole. Your agency was nothing before you signed me. I was the one who broke you into high fashion, and you’ve been riding my coattails ever since. Without me, you’d be nothing, and we both know it.”

Someone whistled; I wasn’t sure who, but it might have been Scarlett.

“That’s bullshit,” Kelvin said. “We worked together for everything we had. You can’t just walk away from that.”

“Actually, I can, and I did.”

A vein in Kelvin’s forehead looked like it might burst. “This is what you want? To go back to being a country bumpkin and be this redneck’s whore?”

“Now you’re finished, son,” Jameson said. “You shouldn’t have called her a whore.”

He grabbed Kelvin’s shirt and hauled him out of the booth like a rag doll before Kelvin had a chance to react. Gibson took one side while Jameson held him on the other and a second later, Bowie and Jonah were ahead of them, holding the door open.

I got up and grabbed my handbag while they dragged Kelvin outside. Scarlett paused next to my table.

“They aren’t going to actually hurt him, are they?” I was frustrated and annoyed at Kelvin for having the gall to show up here, but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

“Nah,” Scarlett said. “He just needs to be taught a lesson. My brothers are good at this sort of thing. Best to just let it happen.”

Scarlett and I followed them outside. Kelvin struggled, but Jameson and Gibson held his upper body while Jonah and Bowie each took a leg. Together, the four Bodine men handled him like he weighed nothing.

I glanced around, expecting to see people with their cell phones out, taking pictures or video. But it was early enough, no one was around. I breathed out a sigh of relief at that.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kelvin asked, his voice bordering on panic.

The Bodines didn’t answer—just hauled him around the side of the building while Kelvin struggled in vain.

A car pulled up, Bootleg Springs Sheriff in large letters across the side. The Bodines all paused as the window slowly lowered.

“Mornin’, boys,” Sheriff Tucker said.

“Sheriff,” Jameson said.

“Oh, thank god,” Kelvin said. “Sheriff, make these psychos put me down.”

Sheriff Tucker just raised his eyebrows.

“Public assholery,” Jameson said. “Clarabell and Scarlett can vouch.”

“Dumpster?” Sheriff Tucker asked.

“Yep,” Jameson said.

Sheriff Tucker tipped his hat. “Carry on, then.”

“What?” Kelvin screeched. “Are you serious?”

“Well, there is a town ordinance against public assholery,” Sheriff Tucker said. “Just mind his head, Bodines.”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

The Bodines started moving again, hauling him through the parking lot. Sheriff Tucker drove on.

“What kind of backwoods shithole is this?” Kelvin asked, still trying to struggle out of their grip.

I stopped and tried to keep myself from laughing. They were heading toward the huge dumpster. “Are they really going to put him in there?”

Scarlett stood next to me, her arms crossed. “Of course. It’s the appropriate response to public assholery. Like Sheriff said, it’s a town ordinance, and he was clearly in violation.”

“On three,” Jameson said.

They swung Kelvin on one and two, and when they got to three, they hurled him over the edge of the dumpster. There was a wet thud and Kelvin started in on a string of curses that could have made a sailor blush.

Jameson brushed his hands together and walked toward me.

“Oh my god!” Kelvin’s muffled voice came from inside the dumpster. “What is that… oh god, it’s wet. And sticky. Get me the fuck out of here!”

“Are you just going to leave him in there?” I asked.

Jameson shrugged. “Garbage pickup is tomorrow, so it’s mostly full. He shouldn’t have any trouble gettin’ out. And if he does, Hamish’ll give him a hand.”

“Who’s Hamish?” I asked.

“Garbage man.”

“Do you fuckers know how much these pants cost?” Kelvin shouted, struggling to get over the side of the dumpster.

Scarlett left with Jonah and Bowie, and Gibson stalked off. He glared at Jameson as he walked by, but neither of them said anything.

Jameson tucked my hair behind my ear. “I didn’t mean to overstep. But no one speaks to you that way when I’m around.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

He put his arm around me and we walked back around the corner. It sounded like Kelvin was getting out, but I wasn’t worried about him anymore. And I was pretty sure I’d heard the last of him, thanks to some good old-fashioned Bootleg justice.

“Thanks for backing me up, but letting me say what I needed to say.”

“Course, darlin’,” Jameson said. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some waffles. Can I buy you breakfast?”

“Waffles sound great to me.”