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They were waiting for us.

Diesel unholstered before we even killed the lights. Jinx and Pico rolled up behind in the second truck, fans whispering as the engine cooled.

I stepped out slow, kutte heavy on my back. No weapon in my hand — not yet.

Didn’t need it.

My voice was enough.

“Which one of you pissants forgot how boundaries work?”

A tall bastard in a snakeskin jacket stepped forward. Big boy. Leaned on swagger like it made up for the patch he wore. His cut said “Vice President,” but I already clocked him as second-rate.

“Just saying hi,” he said with a grin that made me want to break his jaw.

“You say hi inmytown without calling first, you’re not making friends,” I said. “You’re starting a war.”

“We ain’t looking for trouble?—”

I cut him off. “Then get the hell off my mountain.”

He opened his mouth again, but I was already moving.

Three steps forward.

No warning.

I grabbed his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the side of his own damn SUV.

Hard.

Metal dented.

He grunted like a stuck hog.

I leaned in close, voice low and venom-slick.

“See, I’ve got two lives. One with a woman who thinks I’m worth something. And one with men whoknowI’ll die for them. I will not—will not—let either get burned because some jumped-up city crew wants to swing their dicks in my woods.”

I let him go.

He slumped like a bag of wet cement.

The others started moving, reaching for pieces.

I drew first.

Didn’t fire.

Yet.

But the message was clear.

“Back in your cars,” I barked. “And next time you come near our border without notice, you don’t get a warning. You get a burial.”

One by one, they backed off. No more smartass grins. No sudden moves.

I stood there and watched them turn around and drive back the way they came, snow spitting from their tires.