“About us.”
“About Trigger,” he corrected. “Specifically.”
I exhaled slowly. “Thomas.”
“Has his fingerprints all over it,” Havoc agreed. “Just not where we can prove it.”
We stepped inside the tavern. It should’ve been busy—lunch hour, locals grabbing burgers, the usual hum of voices.
Instead, it was half-full. Conversations dipped when we passed. Eyes tracked longer than they should’ve.
Not fear.
Unease.
My words echoed in my head.
Men like Thomas don’t stop when they lose.
Saint came up behind us, lowering his voice. “Bank flagged two accounts. Temporary freeze. I’m working it.”
That settled it.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This was pressure.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to slow down. Anger was exactly what Thomas wanted. A rash move. A visible reaction.
I wouldn’t give him one.
“Any word on Rylie?” I asked.
“She’s fine,” Saint said. “At the cabin. Wolf checked in—Nora and the baby are good.”
Good.
At least Thomas hadn’t crossed that line.
Yet.
I moved to the window and scanned the street outside. People went about their day. Kids on bikes. A couple holding hands. Normal life continuing like it always had.
That was the danger.
Thomas wasn’t attacking us.
He wasattacking the space around us.
“Security stays quiet,” I said. “No posturing. No intimidation. We don’t become the threat.”
Havoc nodded. “And Rylie?”
I hesitated.
That was the real problem.
“She doesn’t leave the cabin unless necessary,” I said. “But we don’t tell her why. Not yet.”
