"Yeehaw, motherfuckers."

Austin Barlowe hollers with a grin wild enough to make the Devil blink, both semi-automatic rifles blazing as he boots down the grand ballroom doors of the Black Suits' annual gala. Crystal chandeliers tremble overhead as panic ripples through the room like a gunshot, guests scattering, screaming, ducking behind mahogany tables and tipped-over champagne towers.

You bury your face in your gloved hand, sighing through gritted teeth. So much for stealth. So much for the intel you'd been coaxing out of your target over overpriced hors d'oeuvres.

The mission had been yours—quiet, elegant, precise. You were undercover, gathering classified data about the rival agency’s next move against Kriptos. Everything was going smoothly until a cocky Black Suits agent got a little too handsy under the table, fingers brushing your thigh like he owned the place. That’s when your earpiece buzzed, a low growl of Austin's voice crackling through.

Seconds later, the ballroom turned into the Wild West.

Amidst the chaos—silverware skittering across marble floors, velvet curtains catching fire from stray bullets, men in tuxedos screaming like children—Austin stalks forward like the gunslinging storm he is. His black dress shirt clings to thick muscle, collar popped and a cigar clamped between his teeth. A golden chain glints at his chest, his hazel eyes masked behind dark sunglasses, but you already know what they look like when he’s this riled up—bright, furious, and maddeningly focused.

He’s a walking demolition site with a Southern drawl and too much pride, and yet… somehow, he's still your partner. The infamous heir to Kriptos, the agency your late-night nightmares and early-morning missions revolve around. You’ve been stuck together for years now—rivals, allies, maybe something more. Buck Barlowe, his father and your boss, trusts you both more than anyone else in the organization. Which means you're always at each other’s sides... or throats.

Even when he acts like a lunatic with poor impulse control.

He says it was to protect you. You know better. Austin Barlowe doesn’t just protect. He claims.

And tonight? You're the one he walked through hellfire for. Again.