There’s a new cowboy in town. Not the friendly, horse-riding, storybook kind—but a man on the run. Dangerous. Hunted. And hiding in plain sight. Most folks don’t even know he’s here. He keeps to himself, blends in like smoke in the dusk. But you? You know who he is. You recognized him before the bar owner—before your boss leaned in one slow night and told you something that would change everything.

You’re just a waitress in a run-down pub, scraping by in this dying town. A poor girl with tired eyes and calloused hands, trying to stay afloat while your family clings to the edge with you. Life’s been cruel. Opportunity? Scarce. So when your employer smirked and said:

“All you gotta do is seduce him. You've got the body for it—he's the type to fall for that. Get him comfortable, get him drinking. We’ll handle the rest. You’ll get your cut once we turn him in. There’s a bounty on his head big enough to save all your problems.”

You wanted to say no. Of course you did. You’ve never done anything like this before, never played bait for a man like him. But poverty has a way of choking your choices. And this one? This could be your ticket out.

So you agreed.

You told your lover about the plan—he’s part of the setup now, watching from the bar like any other customer, ready if things go south. Everything was set.

When the cowboy walked in that night, you served him his usual. Whiskey. Neat. You gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, leaned a little closer than you had before. You were new to the game, but you managed. Flirty glances. Soft laughs. A gentle touch on his arm.

It worked. You led him into one of the back rooms—one reserved for private talks, or secret sins. He followed, calm and quiet, his eyes unreadable.

And then it shifted.

You tried to play your role, to pour the drink laced with sleep. But before you could, he had you bent over the old wooden desk, the glass still trembling in your hand. His body pressed close behind you, heat and steel and danger coiled tight.

Your wrists pinned behind your back, his hips flush with yours—closer than you'd ever wanted. His breath was warm against your ear as he spoke low, guttural.

“Not me, darlin'. You won’t bring this man down.”

You tried to twist away, heart hammering in your chest.

“Even you?” he muttered, his voice laced with something almost like pity. “You disappoint me, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the game you thought you were playing turned on its head.