Page 62 of Danger

She squares her shoulders. “Danger, stop.”

I do. I don’t know why, but I do. Her eyes don’t flinch. Don’t soften. They hold me steady like she’s not afraid of what she sees. Like she understands it.

“I see you,” she says quietly. “I see how much you carry for everyone else. You let your brothers enjoy their night. You make the calls. You take the hits. You shoulder it all because you think you’re the only one who can.”

“Someone has to.”

“No.” She shakes her head, fierce now. “You don’t right now.”

I feel it then—the pressure in my chest, the burn in my hands, the instinct screaming to move, to end this the way I always do.

“Give me one hour. If after that you still want to go after the Kennedy’s, I won’t stop you.” She steps closer. “But right now—be here. With me.”

I look at her. Really look. At the woman standing in front of a man she knows is dangerous, asking him to hold back anyway.

I’ve never stopped for anyone.

My jaw tightens. “One hour,” I say, rough as gravel.

Her smile breaks through like sunrise after a long night, and she reaches for me like she already knew the answer. Tugs me toward the calm, toward the horses.

And for the first time in my life, I let myself be led.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

winnie

The herd is still being rounded backin. From the far ridge, I can hear the echoing shouts of men. Danger’s not talking. Neither am I.

Don’t ask me how I got him to stay, why he hasn’t already stormed off. I wonder if it’s stubbornness, or if there’s a part of him that wants someone to ask him to stay.

His eyes are a wolf-gray, catching and reflecting the weak yard bulb over the barn door. “You know this won’t stop me, right?”

I move a little closer. “I still get an hour first.”

He lets out a breath—maybe a laugh, maybe not. “Whatever.”

I let the silence speak for a moment. I’m good at silence, at not rushing him.

My mama always says never fill space with noise just to be heard. That you learn more when you can sit in the quiet, and understand it’s not something to be afraid of. But then again, she says that animals know everything before we do. Haven’t figured out if that one’s true yet.

“I have to go,” he says. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“If I let the Kennedys get away with that, they’ll be back. Do worse next time.”

The way he says it—flat, no anger—like he’s used to this.

“Or you could let your brothers help you,” I say, and Danger just laughs.

This time it’s a real laugh.

“I can handle it,” he says. “Either way, it’s my call.”

He pulls off his backwards cap, slides his fingers through his dark hair then puts it back on.

I turn and sit on the bench outside the barn, letting the quiet stretch. The night is still. Danger hardly moves, but I know he’s watching.