He's older than I expected—early-sixties, maybe—but built like he could still take apart men half his age.
Silver threads through his dark hair, and his beard is trimmed close, neat.
His eyes are pale blue, the same shade as Dalla's, and they're fixed on me with an intensity that would make lesser men flinch.
I don't flinch.
His cut is worn but well-maintained—the leather soft from years of use, the patches bright against the black.
President patch on the front. Raiders of Valhalla MC rocker across the back.
This is a man who's earned every thread.
"RJ Malone," I say, extending my hand. "Brotherhood, Dublin division. I'm here to?—"
"I know why you're here." He takes my hand, and his grip is crushing.
Deliberate. A test. I match it.
"You're here because some Slovenian bastards tried to kill my daughter, and the Mackenzies think she needs a babysitter."
"I'm not a babysitter."
"No?" His eyebrows rise. "What would you call it?"
"Close protection. She's my principal—the person I've been assigned to keep alive. And I will. Whatever it takes."
"Your principal." He rolls the word around like he's tasting it. "That some fancy Brotherhood term for the woman you're supposed to be guarding?"
"Yes, sir. It's security terminology. The person under protection is the principal. Everything else—logistics, comfort, even your own life—comes second."
Something shifts in his expression.
Interest, maybe. Or reassessment.
"The Mackenzies trained you?"
"My father did. He's been in the Brotherhood since before I was born. Thirty years protecting the Mackenzie family."
"And now you're protecting mine." It's not a question. "Tell me something, RJ Malone. What makes you qualified to keep my daughter safe on my territory, surrounded by my men?"
Runes studies me for a long moment.
Behind him, Dalla has noticed our conversation.
I can feel her watching, even if I don't look.
"I can protect my own daughter," Runes says finally. "She's onmyterritory now. Inmyclubhouse. Surrounded bymymen. What exactly do you think you're going to do that we can't?"
"With respect, sir, your men are good. I can see that. But I was with her when three armed shooters opened fire at a private event. Three men, coordinated attack, professional execution. I put down all three before they could touch her." I hold his gaze. "Can your prospects say the same?"
The room has gone quiet.
I can feel the weight of attention—patched members, prospects, everyone listening without seeming to listen.
This is how it works in organizations like this.
Challenges get witnessed.
