I do a sweep of the cabin.
Check the windows, the doors, the sightlines.
Everything's secure. For now.
Grace is standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself.
"Shadow, please. What's going on?"
I turn to face her. "The truck. The note. It's Copperhead Kings. Houston MC."
She shakes her head. "I don't understand. Who?—"
"They’re Bronco’s family's club."
The color drains from her face.
She sinks onto the couch, and Charlie immediately limps over to rest her head on Grace's knee.
"Why?" Grace's voice is small. "It's been years. Why now?"
I crouch in front of her, taking her hands in mine. "The deal your father made. The four million dollars. I think... I think they believe you still owe them."
"But Bronco's dead. The arrangement?—"
"Died with him. I know." I squeeze her hands. "But they might not see it that way."
She's shaking now. "What if they know? About what really happened?"
"They don't." I keep my voice firm. "The truth stayed within the club, and none of us are talking."
"Then what do they want?"
I meet her eyes, let her see the truth. "I think they want you. They think you belong to them because of the money that changed hands."
"That's insane."
"Yeah. It is." I stand, pull her up with me. "But that doesn't make them less dangerous."
She looks up at me, fear and trust warring in those blue eyes. "What are we going to do?"
"We?" I cup her face. "You're not doing anything. You're staying here, staying safe. I'm going to find outexactlywhat they want and make sure they understand you're not available."
"Shadow—"
"Grace." I cut her off. "I'm the enforcer. This is what I do. I eliminate threats. And anyone who comes for you is a threat."
"My father made that deal. What if he?—"
"I don't give a fuck what deal he made." My voice is hard. "You're mine now. And I protect what's mine."
She stares at me for a long moment, then nods. "Okay."
"I'm staying here tonight. Every night until this is handled."
"Okay," she says again, quieter this time.
I pull her into my arms, and she melts against me.
