Rags turned, jaw tight, and raked a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ timing.”
“Maybe it’s better we stopped,” she whispered, tugging her top back down.
He stepped closer, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. The touch made her breath hitch.
“Don’t lie, Casey. Not after the way you were moanin’ for me.”
“Rags…” Her voice trembled.
He leaned his forehead against hers for a long, charged moment, his breath mingling with hers. “Gotta go.” He kissed her—quick, hot, unfinished. “Later, darlin’.” Then he stepped back, and the space between them felt painfully cold.
Rags pulled open the barn door, sunlight spilling across his shoulders as he stepped out first. Everything in him changed. His posture straightened. His face hardened. His voice carried none of the heat from moments before. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.
Casey followed him out. Throttle, Diesel, Smokey, and two other Insurgents were waiting. Their conversation died instantly.
“Banger needs you,” Throttle said. “Devil’s Reign showed up.”
“Fuckin’ assholes,” Diesel said, contempt lacing his voice.
Rags’s stance shifted, every line of him sharpening. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t acknowledge what had just happened between them. It was like a steel door had slammed shut behind his eyes.
“Watch this area,” he said. “Nobody comes near the barn unless they’re family.”
“Got it.”
Diesel flicked a glance at Casey, then looked away. Smokey gave her the same brief look before dropping his gaze to theground. She suddenly felt like an intrusion in a world she’d once escaped.
Finally, Rags looked at her, but it wasn’t the man from inside the barn. It was the outlaw. “You good?”
It was a simple question, but the icy tone twisted something deep in her chest. “I’m fine,” she said.
He gave a short nod—no smile, no teasing, no lingering heat—then said, “Get back to the festival, find your friend, and head back to town.”
“Okay,” she muttered.
He turned away. “Let’s go,” he said to his brothers.
They fell in behind him without hesitation.
He didn’t look back. Not once.
Casey walked away from the barn, lungs tight and unsteady. The festival buzzed around her, but none of it felt real. She still tasted him. Still felt his hands on her. Still saw the way he’d gone cold and distant the second his brothers called. She needed out. Now.
She fished her phone from her pocket. She didn’t bother trying to find Zoe in the crowd; she wasn’t up to explaining anything at that moment. She needed time to digest what had happened, to spend some time with her thoughts.
Casey:Hey, not feeling great. Headache. I’m going to head out. Text u when I’m home.
She hit send and forced herself to start walking, keeping her head down, weaving through families and bikers and booth lines before Zoe could ping her back with questions.
The warm October air felt suddenly suffocating. Every step carried the ghost of his touch on her arm, her waist, her throat. She slipped past a row of leather vendors and kept moving until the noise thinned, the crowds faded, and the ranch’s openfield stretched in front of her. The faint hum of engines at the perimeter drifted on the breeze.
Her phone buzzed.
Zoe:What?? Where r u you? Want me to come with u?
She swallowed and typed.
Casey:No. Really. Just need to lie down. I’m ok.