Phantom's eyes narrow slightly. "Why?"
"Just being thorough. We get a lot of traffic on that road. Truck stop brings in people we don't know. Rather have eyes on it."
It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.
Phantom considers, then nods. "Do it. Anything else?"
"Not yet."
The meeting continues—supply runs, upcoming events, member issues.
Routine shit that usually holds my attention but today feels like pulling teeth.
All I can think about is Grace.
Is she awake yet? Is she sore from last night? Is she thinking about me the way I'm thinking about her?
"Shadow."
I snap back to attention.
Phantom's watching me, his expression unreadable. "You with us, brother?"
"Yeah, Prez. Just thinking about the camera placement. I want to make sure we cover all the angles."
He holds my gaze for a moment too long, and I wonder if he sees right through me.
If he knows that his enforcer—the man he trusts to protect the club—is the same man who fucked his daughter against a fence last night.
Finally, he looks away. "Good. Make it happen."
Church ends twenty minutes later, and I'm on my bike before anyone can pull me into conversation.
I need to see Grace.
The clinic sits on Sharp Shooter Ranch property, about a quarter mile from the main house.
It's prime real estate—right along the main road with easy access for clients but still technically part of the ranch.
Grace's truck is already in the parking lot when I pull up.
The clinic itself is impressive—a main office building with exam rooms, large barns for working with horses and cattle, and covered areas with stocks and chutes.
The parking lot is massive, big enough for multiple trucks with trailers.
Across the road, the truck stop and diner are already doing steady business.
Early morning crowd of ranchers and truckers, getting fuel and breakfast before heading out for the day.
It's a good location.
Visible. Public. Safe.
Or it should be.
I park my bike and head toward the office, but movement in one of the barns catches my attention.
Grace.
