I needed to call Sierra and figure out how bad things got after I left. If the police were looking for me in connection with Waylon’s assault on Jonathan, there might even be a warrant out for my arrest.

That thought sends chills through me as I follow Doc to the bar. And I feel lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with my empty stomach.

This is why I figure I must be hallucinating when I see the man standing next to a single stool at the long bar’s otherwise empty short edge.

He’s wearing a leather vest with the same Ruthless Reaper patch on the front as Waylon and Hades. However, he looks just like Griffin Latham, the trap country superstar currently half-crooning and half-rapping overhead.

Surely, I must be mistaken.

But when I reach the stool, he holds out his hand and says, “Hey, I’m Griff. Just had to meet the girl I heard actually made our prez crack a smile.”

CHAPTER 2

Griffin….

Griffin Latham, one of the biggest crossover country music stars of the last decade, is smiling. At me! And holding out his hand. To me!

“Oh my God, oh my God, you’re Griffin Latham!” I respond instead of shaking his hand.

He grins down at me, his teeth sparkling and white underneath platinum blond hair. He has a face that could get him called pretty if not for his darker beard and all the tattoos crawling up his neck from under the white tee. He even has some ink underneath one of his eyes, but I’m too flabbergasted to make it out.

I add one more, “Oh my God, you’re really, really Griffin Latham,” just in case he isn’t getting how shocked I am to see him here in this backcountry roadhouse of all places.

“Yeah, I’m Griff,” he answers, crooking his head at me. “And you're the reason Fairgood couldn't make it out to my show.”

“Fairgood?” I repeat, looking from side to side. I know Colin Fairgood's another big country superstar, but… “What do I have to do with Colin Fairgood not coming to your show?”

Griff squints at me. “Waylon put you on the back of his bike, but he didn't tell you his last name?"

Now it's my turn to squint. “His last name is Fairgood? Like Colin Fairgood? Are they, like, related?”

“Are you serious?” Griff shakes his head at me. “They’re—”

“Is that her?” another male voice yells out over the music.

I look up to see three huge guys all dressed in the same leather-cut vests as the one Griffin Latham’s wearing over his T-shirt.