Murphy folds his arms across his chest. “That’s exactly what Wayne said right before you walked out of the bar, isn’t it?”
I grin.
“See?” I say. “You two are starting to sound alike.”
Murphy shakes his head slowly.
“You’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days.”
I pause at the door and glance back at him.
“Already did,” I say lightly. “Someone wrecked my bar.”
The bell jingles again as I step outside.
Murphy’s voice follows me out the door.
“Don’t go starting a war you can’t finish, Rae!”
I stop beside my truck and glance back through the window. Murphy is still standing behind the counter watching me like he knows exactly what’s going through my head.
I lift a hand in a casual wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.
Because the truth is…
He probably isn’t wrong.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit quietly while someone tries to bully this town.
I sit in the truck for a minute after leaving Murphy’s, both hands wrapped around the steering wheel while the engine idles quietly beneath me. The conversation keeps replaying in my head whether I want it to or not. Five businesses Murphy knows about, maybe more, and apparently this has been going on for months. Broken windows, threats, vandalized equipment, and everyone quietly handing over money because they’re afraid of what happens if they don’t. The more I think about it, the hotter the anger burns in my chest, because someone walked into TheRust Nail, smashed the place up, and left a note like Wayne was supposed to panic and start writing checks.
And the solution everyone seems to be circling around is patience.
Waiting.
Letting the Iron Reapers handle it.
I understand the logic behind that plan, and I know those guys aren’t exactly the type you want on the wrong side of a problem, but that doesn’t make the waiting any easier. Every time I picture Wayne standing behind the bar staring at those boarded-up windows, something twists hard in my stomach. The Rust Nail isn’t just where I work. It’s where I spend most of my life, where I know the regulars by name and what they drink, and where Wayne grumbles at me like an irritated dad when I do something he thinks is reckless. He took a chance on me when I first showed up in town with a truck full of rescue animals and absolutely no plan for my life, and now some asshole thinks he can scare him into paying protection money.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles turn pale.
“Nope,” I mutter to the empty truck.
Waiting isn’t happening.
I shift the truck into drive and pull out onto the road before my brain can start offering reasonable alternatives. Guys like Voss don’t hide, not really. They like people to know where they are, because intimidation only works if everyone understands who they’re supposed to be afraid of. That means finding him probably isn’t as difficult as it sounds, and after two stops andone uncomfortable conversation at the gas station outside town, I end up with exactly the information I was hoping for.
The clerk hesitates when I say Voss’s name, glancing around like someone might be listening from behind the soda cooler, and then he sighs heavily before scribbling something on the back of a receipt. He slides it across the counter toward me without making eye contact.
Old warehouse.
Industrial park.
Voss Security Solutions.
I fold the paper once and tuck it into my pocket while he watches me like I’ve just announced I’m going to wrestle a bear.
“Appreciate it,” I tell him.
