Rogue Rider

Limos cast a worried glance at Arik. “What does this mean for Arik’s soul? We thought that with Pestilence dead, it had reverted to Arik. Can Reseph give it back?”

“No.” It had been a long time since Reaver had willingly taken a drink of anything stronger than wine, but right now he could use a gallon-sized shot of tequila. “Only Pestilence can release his soul, and if he takes over again, he could release it into Sheoul out of spite.”

“Meaning?” That from Arik, who looked a little green around the gills.

“Meaning that when you do die, you’re doomed to Sheoul.”

“Oh, good,” Arik said. “Because I didn’t get enough torture the first time around.”

“This is so f**ked up,” Thanatos snarled. “We have to move on this. We can’t just sit around and wait for Reseph to get better in a thousand years.”

Arik cleared his throat. “Um… you need to do something.” He was staring at his cell phone. “I just got a message from Decker. He’s got a spy inside The Aegis, and it looks like they’re onto us. They’re sending a team to Bardsley.”

“Fuck.” Limos hurled a juiced lime into the garbage so hard it bounced back out. “That can only end badly.”

Arik shoved the phone in his BDU pants pocket. “We’ve got to get Reseph before they do.”

“Typical day with the Horsemen.” Kynan scrubbed his hands over his face. “Things with you guys only go from bad to worse.”

“No,” Reaver said softly. “I don’t think we’ve begun to see worse yet. Not even close.”

“What does that mean?” Limos asked.

Closing his eyes, Reaver braced himself. When he lifted his lids, hard eyes stared back at him. “Gethel knows he’s free. She’s got Soulshredders hunting for him.”

“And if she finds him…” Arik prompted.

“If she finds him, she can bring out Pestilence,” Reaver said. “And if you think he was angry before, imagine how pissed off he’s going to be this time around.”

Seventeen

“Jillian Cardiff. It’s about time you got out of that lonely cabin.”

She looked up and nearly groaned at the sight of the dark-haired man standing next to her chair. Figured that out of all the country music bars in Bardsley, she and Reseph would come to the one Trey Yates and his thugs were haunting tonight.

“Good to see you, Trey. It’s been a while.” Not long enough. He’d dated Stacey for a couple of months and then dumped her for a newly single cougar on the prowl. “Still seeing Charlene?”

The live band got the dance floor moving with a Garth Brooks song as Trey chugged his beer. “Nah. She was wanting a new daddy for her brats.”

Well, yeah. A blind man could have seen that coming. “How’s the ranching business?” she asked, but only to be polite. Mostly, she kept her eye on Reseph, who had gone up to the bar for a couple of beers. Seemed like there was a sudden rush of women who just happened to need fresh drinks as well. “Last I heard, you were venturing into bison.”

He burped. Didn’t excuse himself. “Didn’t work out. I’m back to sheep.”

No doubt sheep were easier for him to bully. He’d been a total ass in high school, and according to Stacey, not a lot had changed. Why Stace had dated him for as long as she had, Jillian had no idea. Then again, he’d apparently put on a good front and the best of appearances for a while. It wasn’t until shortly before he dumped her that his true colors began to show.

Trey jerked his chin toward the stage. “What do you think of the band?”

“They’re okay. Why?”

His grin was so damned smug that she wanted to smack him. Funny how, when Reseph got cocky, it worked. On Trey it only looked sad and pathetic.

“I hang out with them,” Trey said. “Belt out a song now and then. You should stick around, and maybe I’ll sing something just for you.”

Same old braggart he’d always been. Some things never changed. “I doubt we’ll be here long, but thanks.”

Trey never had taken rejection well, and his mouth twisted as he tipped his bottle toward Reseph. “I hear he’s new in town. Has some sort of mental problems. Why would you shack up with someone like that?”

She gave him a tight smile. “That’s none of your business.”

His belligerent snort told her what he thought of her answer. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” came the deep, rumbling voice from behind her, and Jesus, how had he moved away from the bar so fast? “I’m hers.” Reseph’s tone, his words, made her all shivery inside.

Trey made a point of sizing up Reseph, dragging his gaze from his face to his feet and back again. “I’m Trey. And you are…?”

“Intolerant of jackasses who f**k with my female.”

Trey had been in the middle of guzzling his beer, and now he slowly lowered the bottle from his mouth. “I don’t think you know who you’re talking to, Amnesia Boy.”

Oh, shit. Jillian shoved to her feet and stepped between the two men. Trey looked ready to throw a punch, but Reseph merely looked amused.

“Enough,” she said. “Trey, go back to your buddies.”

Trey jabbed a finger at Reseph. “You better watch yourself, a**hole. Small town like this, word gets around, and we know how to cull the herd.” He glanced at Jillian. “Teach your stray some manners.”

What. An. Ass. Pissed, Jillian started after Trey, but Reseph pulled her back.

“He’s not worth it,” Reseph said. “Let me guess; his family has money or some shit?”

“Exactly.” She shot Trey one last glare before turning back to Reseph. “His family owns half the town. He has a sheep ranch just north of town, but he’d be flailing if not for his family money and all their connections.”

“Well,” he said, putting his mouth to her ear. “Let’s give him the attention he deserves.”

“Which is?”

“None.” He got a very naughty twinkle in his eye. “In fact, let’s take it all away from him.”

She huffed. “I know you aren’t thinking of doing something outrageous. Right?”

“Me?”

She poked him in the chest with one finger. “You. I’m going to the ladies’ room. Be good while I’m gone.”

Reseph’s smile was all charm and innocence, which made her instantly suspicious. “I’ll be so good you won’t know what hit you.”

“Reseph…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

“I just thought of a way to thank you for bringing me here and for buying the drinks tonight.” He lifted his hand to her hair and sifted through it until he was cupping her cheek. “I don’t know much about myself, but I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve you.”

Funny, she thought the same thing about herself. That she didn’t deserve him. Or at least, that she couldn’t believe her luck, because truly, if she’d given a genie a wish for the perfect man, Reseph would have been the guy who showed up on her doorstep.

Or in a snowdrift.

“Knock it off,” she said, leaning in to steal a kiss. “You totally deserve me. Just consider the drinks payment for all your help around the house.” He’d done so much, so this afternoon, after she’d taken him to the library for more research, she’d brought him here for a night out. He’d been so distracted at the library, his research halfhearted, and she’d hoped to cheer him up.

He shook his head. “I need to get a job or something. I can’t keep mooching off you.”

The implied permanence of what he’d just said both raised her hopes and unsettled her. She liked how things were now, and while the logical side of her knew they couldn’t stay like this forever, she wasn’t ready to start talking about him leaving, getting a job, finding a place of his own.

“We’ll figure it out. Once we find out who you are, everything will fall into place.” She hoped. God, she hoped.

She hurried to the bathroom, afraid to leave Reseph for long. The roguish glint in his eyes was the most predictable thing about him. It always signaled that he was going to do something utterly unpredictable.

Sure enough, before she even got back to the table she knew something was up. The fact that Reseph wasn’t there was the first clue. The second clue was that there was no music playing. The third was that everyone in the bar was staring at the stage, including Trey, whose expression was pure, red-faced hatred.

Almost afraid to look, Jillian swiveled around in her seat and gasped when she saw Reseph standing behind the microphone, his bright gaze burning a hole right through her. His smile stopped her heart. And then the band started playing. No… he wasn’t… was he?

Reseph brought the mic to his lips, and George Strait’s “I Cross My Heart” suddenly became Jillian’s favorite song. Reseph… could sing. And he sang it to her, his gaze never leaving her face.

When he finished, the entire bar erupted in applause that only died down when Reseph moved on to Alan Jackson’s “It’s Five O’clock Somewhere.” That one brought people out on the dance floor, and they stayed for Reseph’s incredibly deep rendition of Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”

When the last note played, the bar crowd once more exploded in cheers. Jillian, too breathless to cheer, had been so mesmerized by Reseph’s performance that she didn’t remember standing up. And when Reseph’s gaze locked on to her as he leaped gracefully off the stage, she moved to meet him. The people on the dance floor parted to allow him through, his shoulders rolling, his predatory intent clear.

She held her breath as he approached, and when he was inches away, his heat searing her skin, he grabbed her around the waist, tugged her against his hard body, and bent his head to her ear.