Ruthless Bastard (Dangerous Love 3)

Rhett slowed his breathing further and counted with each of those breaths. Patience wasn’t necessarily his strong suit, but hours of practice had made him better. Stronger.

“You never told us of this plan,” Dalton stated. “And if you had, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

Rhett took in every single word, imprinting the conversation into his memory.

Dalton’s back went ramrod straight at whatever the person had said. One hand pressed against the desk. “You’ve fucking made your point now. Leave it at that.” A pause, and Dalton let off a tense laugh. “You’re a fool to believe that. She’s surrounded by cops and a retired Army Ranger.” Another pause, and Dalton snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. You’ve given your warnings, now I’ll give mine. Do not put heat on me again. You will regret it if you do.” And then he hung up, tossing his phone onto his desk. “Fuck,” he spat.

Rhett lunged forward, slamming the door closed on his way, and a blink later, had Dalton up against the wall by his neck, Rhett’s weapon digging into his chin.

Dalton chuckled, though his nostrils flared. “You are either stupid or want to die.”

“I could say the same to you.” Rhett pressed the gun harder against Dalton’s neck and said through clenched teeth, “Tell me who that was on the phone.”

Dalton snorted. “You’re not going to shoot me, West. You’re a cop.”

“You’re wrong,” Rhett said slowly. “I’m first and always a Ranger. I protect mine. And don’t think for a fucking second I won’t end you to find out who attacked her.”

Dalton’s eyes flared. “You’ll never walk out of here if you do.”

Rhett dropped the veil off the cold-blooded warrior inside him. “Do you honestly believe I give a shit about that?” He dug the weapon deeper into Dalton’s jawline. “Give me a name.”

Maybe it was the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes, but Dalton’s expression shifted, going lax. “I cannot give you a name,” he said firmly. “To do so would be to endanger my club.”

Rhett felt the racing of Dalton’s heart beneath his fingers on his neck. “If you can’t give me a name, then give me s

omething to find this person.”

Dalton’s Adam apple bobbed. “Look into Bernie.”

Rhett lightened his fingers on Dalton’s neck. “The owner of Merlots?”

“Yes, him,” Dalton growled. “Now, get your fucking gun out of my goddamn face.” Rhett slowly lowered his gun. He backed away, keeping his gaze on Dalton as the biker said, “I should kill you.”

Rhett grinned, a smile he knew promised death. “You won’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I overheard your conversation,” Rhett explained. “You want this fucker gone as much as I do, and instead of starting a war, you’ll let me end this.”

Dalton’s eyes blazed and he gestured to the door. “You’ve got one minute to leave before I send my men after you.”

Rhett kept his weapon aimed at Dalton’s head. “If you’ve lied to me—”

Dalton raised his hand, a hardness filling his expression. “I don’t touch women or children. A line was crossed today. Fuck off and go deal with it.”

And that was as close to peace as Rhett and Dalton were ever going to get. Rhett didn’t say anything more; he simply turned and exited the bar the way he’d come in, with no one else aware that he’d even been there. His feet hit the gravel parking lot and Rhett took off running to the east, through the cornfield that was his cover if Dalton indeed sent anyone after him.

But ten minutes into his run, only silence greeted him as the corn stalks that had been used for the pumpkin festival maze brushed across his arms, snow fluttering down.

Another few minutes later, he caught the headlights of the truck, and in seconds, he was back in the passenger seat. Asher hit the gas a second later, and the tires skidded against the gravel road.

From the back seat, Boone asked, “Did you get anything?”

“Bernie,” Rhett wheezed, his chest heaving.

“What about Bernie?” Asher asked, taking a quick right turn.

Rhett used the front of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “That’s who Dalton pointed to.”