The Villain (Boston Belles 2)

I went through the motions of getting changed, then met Ash and Belle outside the barn. Aisling, who’d learned to ride like her two older brothers from infancy, led Hamilton out of his stall by his bridle, patting his brown coat with a smile.

“He’s the sweetest out of the bunch. He was my training horse after I graduated from ponies.”

“Dang, Ash. That’s the whitest thing I’ve ever heard.” Belle checked her ass in her tight riding trousers with her phone camera.

Ash led Hamilton out of the stables and cantered with him. She explained to us the basic anatomy of the horse, the signals, and what they indicated. We bumped into Hunter, Sam, and Devon on our way out of the barn to the trail. The track wrapped around the smoky mountain like a ribbon.

The men strode into the stables just as we got out.

“You’re riding, too?” Aisling asked, turning tomato-red as soon as she noticed Sam. True to his Sam-ness, he ignored her existence as he breezed past her.

He wasn’t rude to his boss and best friend’s baby sister. But there was no doubt he considered her off the menu.

“Bet.” Hunter fluffed her hair, popping his gum. “Where’s my better half?”

“In the cabin, reading.”

“Bomb. The only stud she should be hanging out with while preggers is me. Dev, can you help Belle get on a horse? I’ll do Persy.”

“I don’t need any help,” Belle protested.

Devon’s eyes ran over my sister as though she was his favorite dessert while a sinister smirk tugged at his lips.

“I like her fire, Hunt.” Devon jerked his thumb toward my sister.

“Great,” she chirped, “because you’re about to get third-degree burns if you keep objectifying me.”

“He’s not objectifying you.” Hunter shook his head. “He’s trying to keep you alive. Your ass has never ridden before.”

“We have Ash to help us.” I squatted down, adjusting my riding boots.

Ignoring my words, Hunter picked me up from the ground like I was a milk crate, carrying me to Hamilton. He untied the reins on the horse, put my boot in the stirrups, and helped me swing onto the saddle, holding my waist.

“Ash is good, but she’s not a professional. If I bring you back with as much as a scratch, your husband will make me bleed from places that aren’t even on my body.”

“He is right.” Aisling smiled apologetically. “Both about my horseback riding abilities and about Kill.”

“Cillian ignores my existence.”

“You’re still his,” Sam cemented, businesslike. “I don’t need to be physically present in my car in order not to want someone to scratch it.”

“Tell me he did not just say what I think he said.” Belle pointed at Sam, scowling.

Sam stood tall, nonchalant as ever. “So dramatic, Penrose.”

“So chauvinistic, Brennan.”

After much bickering, we headed to the trail. I shook with anxiety and exhilaration even though Hunter was riding close to me on Jay and often leaned over to pat Hamilton and give me visual and verbal instructions.

Behind us, Belle was on Washington, Sam on Madison, Ash on Adams, and Devon on Jefferson. Devon and Belle seemed to overcome the initial frostiness. They were bantering like old friends, hitting it off instantly, while Aisling tried to strike up a conversation with Sam and got slammed each time.

Twenty minutes into ascending the trail to the mountains. I heard the gallop of a horse behind us. Hunter turned his head and groaned, pointing his finger to his temple like it was a gun, cocking it and shooting himself with a comic poof!

“Don’t tell me you didn’t tell your husband you’re riding.”

“I didn’t tell my husband I was riding.” I stared ahead, ignoring the prickle of fear pinching my spine.

Hunter dragged a hand over his face, tipping his head back. “God-fucking-dammit, Pers.”

God-fucking-dammit indeed.

Within three seconds, Cillian was riding by my side on Franklin, pushing Hunter out of the way, forcing him to ride behind us. Everything, from his good looks to his flawless posture, bothered me. His easy movements put us all to shame.

He didn’t wear any riding gear. Not even a helmet.

He did wear an expression of someone who was dangerously close to committing a massacre.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” His eyes tapered, zoning in on me like a weapon.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I used the sweetest, most innocent voice in my arsenal.

“Pissing me off.”

“Thought you were above human emotions.”

“This one seems to be reoccurring every time you’re around. You found your calling.”

“Ha,” I gasped, “so I am good at something. And here you thought I was average.”

“Hunter.” Kill snapped his fingers behind him, his hard stare giving my cheek frostbite. “We’re splitting. Lead the group to another trail. I’ll help Persephone get back to the ranch.”

“No, you won’t,” I countered, feeling abnormally irritated. I was the mellowest woman in Boston—voted Most Likely to Replace Mother Teresa in my high school yearbook—but somehow, my husband made me feel angrier than Pax ever did even though Pax had screwed me over so hard I’d almost died.