I could have died happy in that moment, except everything changed in the next heartbeat.
The camera caught a flash of movement behind Aspen. A big man in a brown leather jacket stepped up behind her, his hands landing on her hips like he’d done it a hundred times before. He was tall, with a face like old granite and eyes the color of black coffee, and the way he touched her made every muscle in my body snap tight.
On screen, Aspen froze. The light in her eyes guttered out, replaced by something small and wary. She tried to wriggle free, but the man leaned down, his mouth too close to her ear, and whatever he said made her whole body tense.
Maddie saw it, too. She twisted around and shoved the man’s arm. “Back off, asshole. She’s with us tonight.”
The man just smiled, but it was the smile of a wolf who already knows the lamb’s got nowhere left to run. He gave Aspen a squeeze, then let go, but he didn’t leave. He stood there, looming, watching the screen with dead-eyed amusement.
Wrecker’s mood evaporated. Gunner stiffened, and Arsenal looked at me with a warning in his gaze.
But I was already on my feet, the phone clattering to the table as my hands balled into fists.
“County Line, NOW,” I barked, voice low and lethal.
Bronc reappeared, reading the room in a split second. “What’s going on?”
Gunner told him, quick and clipped: “Aspen’s at the County Line. Someone’s messing with her. Papa’s about to lose his shit.”
Bronc’s eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed steady. “JT, sit the fuck down. We’ll handle it. You go in there, you’ll start a war.”
But the beast in my chest had already shredded the leash. “If another man had his hands on yourMATE, how calm would you be, Bronc?”
The silence that followed was total. Even the men in the hall stopped moving.
Bronc’s jaw flexed. He saw the truth of it—saw that it wasn’t about pride or territory, but the bare fact that Aspen was mine, and she was in danger. His voice, when it came, was soft but absolute.
“Wrecker, Arsenal, Gunner, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
I didn’t wait for the others. I was out the door and in my truck before anyone could try to stop me. The cold air slapped me awake, but nothing could dull the red haze at the edge of my vision, or the way my heart howled for blood.
They could say what they wanted about wolves being monsters. But this—this was love. And there wasn’t a force on earth strong enough to keep me from her.
The bikes thundered to life behind me, a wall of noise that promised violence and retribution. I stomped on the gas pedal and aimed myself at the County Line Bar, praying I wasn’t already too late.
The County Line Bar looked like every roadhouse in Texas, but tonight it felt like the only thing on earth that mattered. The parking lot was already full—Fords, Chevys, the odd Ram, and a neat row of bikes I didn’t recognize—but our arrival, a snarl of six Harleys rolling in together, sucked the sound out of the place. People at the picnic tables on the porch straightened, drinks paused mid-drink. They all recognized our cuts and decided they needed a smoke break instead.
I barely noticed. My world had narrowed to a tunnel: get inside, find Aspen, break anyone who hurt her.
Wrecker and Arsenal flanked me, Gunner a step behind. Bronc led, his presence enough to part the line at the door likethe Red Sea. The bouncer, a kid I didn’t know, tried to step up, but Bronc looked at him once and the poor bastard all but curtsied. We entered as a unit, the noise of the bar folding down to a single note. A pack member owned this bar, so we owned this bar.
First thing I did was scan the room: dance floor to the left, pool tables to the right, a long wooden bar running the length of the back wall. I didn’t see her at first, but I caught her scent—rosemary and vanilla, sweet and sharp—cutting through the sweat and cigarette haze.
But before I could move, Gator appeared from behind the bar, arms crossed, tattoos rippling with each step. He raised his chin at me, then Bronc.
“Thought you boys might show,” he said, voice steady but wary. “It’s handled.”
I stopped, my whole body humming with the need to do something, anything. “Handled how?”
He thumbed over his shoulder. “Asshole from Morgantown pack got grabby with your girl. I tossed him, no blood, no drama. Maddie decked him pretty good too. He left with his tail between his legs.”
The name clicked—Morgantown was fifty miles south. Small pack, all assholes. Known for thinking anything unattached was fair game.
I let out a slow breath, my heart still galloping. “He gone?”
Gator nodded, eyes sympathetic. “Gone. He won’t be back tonight.”
I nodded my thanks, but I still had to see her with my own eyes.
