I nod, already mentally adding it to the checklist. “Just run security checks on anyone new coming in. Last thing I need is strangers wanderin’ around Wyatt’s birthday.”
Ace nods. “Already on it.”
Beau steps out of the barn stall just as I untie Tornado, arms folded, but the gun still in his hand. “Double, Hunter,” he says. “Did you hear them?”
I turn slowly to face him. “I heard them perfectly fine, Beau. I ain’t deaf. And the answer’s still no.”
Out of all of us, Beau’s the one who’s always wanted more than this place. More money. More reach. More something. And hell, I’ve tried to help him find it. Investments. Side ventures. Anything. Nothing ever seems good enough.
“It’s not up for discussion,” I add.
His jaw flexes, but he nods and backs off. For now.
I lead Tornado out into the sunlight, dust kicking up around his hooves. “I’ll be out later,” I tell them. “Gotta go pick up Wyatt’s presents from his mom.”
Beau’s head snaps up. “You’re going to her place?”
I grunt. “Unfortunately.”
Ace laughs behind me. “Try not to murder her, Hunter.”
I shake my head. As much as I hate what Ashley did to us—what she did to Wyatt—I wouldn’t wish her dead. She’s still his mom. And I’ve tried to help her for Wyatt’s sake over the years. Nothing works. Some people just can’t change.
“A pretty face like this wouldn’t last in jail,” I joke.
All three of my brothers laugh at that.
Truth is, if I ever ended up locked up, they’d probably just keep adding years to my sentence every time someone pissed me off.
I swing up onto Tornado’s back and guide him toward the paddock. A few hours to clear my head is what I need.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LOLA
For the firsttime in days, I open Instagram.
Part of me expects disaster. My sunset photo, horses silhouetted against the mountains, sky bleeding orange and pink. It felt like a gamble compared to the sexy selfies and modeling shots I used to post. Perfect lighting. Perfect angles. Perfect version of me.
But it hasn’t tanked. In fact, engagement is decent. There are comments asking where the photo was taken, and people saying they love this kind of content.
I scroll through notifications, a small smile forming.
Then it fades. Because the same name keeps appearing.
Again. And again. And again.
Reese Atkins liked your photo.
Reese Atkins commented.
Reese Atkins liked your post.
Reese Atkins liked your photo from three years ago.
My stomach twists. He’s gone through everything. Every shoot. Every bikini picture. Every posed smile. Every filtered version of the girl my parents sold to the world.
I click his profile and find exactly what I expect. Being on social media for nearly a decade, you can tell what someone will put out based on how they interact. And I’ve seen enough of Reese to know what I’d expect.