“Fuck off, Black.” Colt’s ever-cool facade was finally crumbling. I was getting under his skin, and when a normal person would have backed off, I kept going.

“You want to hit me?” I said, lifting my arms. I almost wavered in place—probably because I was swimming in whiskey. When Colt shook his head, I cut him off. “Of course you do. You’ve wanted to hit me since the first day of high school when all the girls were more interested in me than you and all your money.”

“I don’t want to hit you.” Colt had managed to collect his cool again, although Josie was picking up where he’d left off. If she could level me with one punch, I didn’t have any doubt that I’d already be horizontal and blacked out.

“You might not want to—which I don’t believe for one goddamned second—but before we part ways tonight, you’re going to hit me.”

From over Colt’s shoulder, I noticed Brandy mouth Take it outside. We weren’t going to make it another step if he didn’t take his hands off of Josie, let alone outside.

For the second time that night, Josie got in my face. Instead of a punch, she almost leveled me with her expression. “Why don’t you stop pretending to be the hero and own what you really are? The villain. Go villainize someone else’s life. You couldn’t possibly do anymore to mine.”

Josie Gibson had just gotten under my skin. I should back up, raise my hands, and surrender, but I couldn’t. Something about having her under my skin, even though it wasn’t the way I might have liked, was a drug for me. One I couldn’t say no to. “How about this? I’ll stop pretending to be the hero when you stop pretending you’re actually interested in this eunuch in a cowboy hat.”

“Ever heard the phrase ‘it takes one to know one,’ Black?” Josie crossed her arms and managed to narrow her eyes farther.

“I have, but I don’t see how it applies. You ought to know, with our history and all, how much of a eunuch I’m not. I might be wrong, but I’m pretty sure a eunuch couldn’t make a girl come the way I made you a while back.” That was when the slap came. I was braced for it—it didn’t surprise me—but it stung just the same.

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve been standing in it for twenty-one years, Josie.”

Colt moved to her side, and when he grabbed her forearm, he gave it a good tug. “Come on. We’re out.”

“Ouch,” she snapped, trying to pull her arm from his grip. “Ease up a bit, Hulk.”

What I did next I didn’t think about. It was all instinct. When Colt Mason tugged on Josie’s arm, my fist driving into his jaw was my reflex. It wasn’t enough to land him on his ass, but that had less to do with Colt’s ability to take a hit like a man and more to do with the amount of whiskey in my bloodstream. Josie’s hands covered her mouth as she gaped at me like I was a monster. That was exactly what I was, but at least Colt’s hands were off of her.

“What the hell, Black?” Colt spat, rubbing his jaw.

I lifted my finger in his face and fought the urge to deck him again. “That was because you put your hands on Josie.”

“I’ve put my hands on her plenty of times before and never got clocked across the face.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Before I knew it, my other fist was driving into the other side of his jaw. That was my reflex to Colt Mason insinuating his hands had been on Josie in that way. The way that made me almost as furious as imagining them on her in a harsh way. “There! That’s for all the times you put your hands on her before.”

Colt gave his head a swift shake and moved Josie aside as he moved closer to me. “I’m going to—”

That time, my punch was planned. I knew what I was doing before my knuckles crushed into Colt’s jaw. “And that was because you irritate the shit out of me.” Spitting on Colt’s pristine boots, I shoved his chest. “Go back to California and leave Montana to the real men. Pansy-ass poser.”

Judging from the look on Colt’s face, I couldn’t have paid him a greater insult. I moved Josie aside—who was in front of him fretting over him like he was dying—right before Colt charged me. It was about time I got a reaction out of him.

Colt’s first punch landed square on my nose—a true cheap shot—and gauging from the crack, my nose had broken for the third time. Colt’s next punch sank into my stomach, and when I curled, he drove his knee into my jaw. I went down. I didn’t try to move or lift my hands to shield my face when Colt’s fists came at me one right after the other. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t protect myself. Not because I incapable of doing it, but because taking a good beating every now and again did me good. Some people prayed, some did a cleansing, some took a vacation. I did a solid beating. It reminded me I wasn’t invincible and somehow that reminder made me stronger.

Josie tried to pull Colt off of me when I felt my left eye swell shut, and by the time my right was following suit, Colt’s punches had slowed. I could tell they were still a long way from being done though. The unexpected bonus of getting the shit beat out of me was that somewhere along the way, my whole face had gone numb. The hits didn’t sting anymore.

“What the hell are you doing, Colt?” Josie grabbed one of his arms and tugged on it. “What the hell are you doing, Garth?”

Josie had seen me in plenty of fights, but that was the first one she’d seen where I hadn’t come out the winner. She hadn’t seen when my dad used to lay me out with one strong backhand to the cheek starting when I was four. She hadn’t seen his backhands turn into fists as I’d gotten older. She hadn’t seen the guy I’d picked a fight with the night after she and I slept together. That was the first fight she’d seen where I just laid there and took it. I liked keeping those fights private, and Josie having a front seat to my twisted form of therapy was something I couldn’t decide how I felt about.

“Stop it, Colt! You’re going to kill him!” Josie kept trying to drag Colt off of me, but he had her by a good seventy pounds and seven times that in the rage factor.

I was close to blacking out when I heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked. Colt’s fists stopped instantly.

“You better get off that boy now unless you want to see how we Montana folk use a shotgun,” Brandy ordered, inching the barrel toward Colt’s face. “And it isn’t to decorate our walls like some kind of fancy trophy. Around here, we shoot coyotes, wolves, and assholes. And it’s been a while since I’ve got to shoot an asshole. I’m going through withdrawals.”

Colt lifted his hands and slowly lifted himself off of me. It was a smart move; I wasn’t afraid of most anything, but Brandy Hansen holding a loaded shotgun in my face was one of them. And yes, it had happened to me once before.

“Now get out of my joint.” Brandy waved the shotgun at the door. “I’d recommend you not come back unless you want me to ask questions second.”

Colt huffed but continued toward the door. “Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow learning your lesson finally, Black. Don’t mess with me.”

I had to spit out a mouthful of blood before I could respond. “I learned my lesson all right. That you fight like a little girl.” Leaning up just enough to make eye contact with him, I raised my middle finger and blew him a kiss.

Flames rolled through his eyes, and I could practically taste how badly he wanted to come take another swing—or ten—at me, but Brandy took a few steps in his direction and Colt kept moving for the door.

“Josie? You coming or staying?” he called.

I spit out another mouthful of blood. Good thing Brandy liked me because from the looks of it, more of my blood was splattered across her floor than I had left in my veins. “There’s no chance of Josie ‘coming’ if she goes anywhere with you, Mason.”

Colt shot me a lethal glare. “Joes? What the hell kind of nickname is that? ” He shook his head before glancing away from me. “Josie, are you coming?”