It’s a woman’s jacket. Black leather, heavy duty, not the fashion garbage they sell at the mall. Reinforced elbows and shoulders. I had it made three years ago, not knowing who it was for, just knowing that if I ever found the woman who could handle the weight of my life, she would need armor.
I pull it out. On the back, stitched in the same white and red thread as my own patch, is the Broken Halos logo. But the bottom rocker doesn't say a territory. It says: PROPERTY OF PRESIDENT.
I turn back to Savannah. She watches me approach, her eyes widening as she sees the leather in my hands.
"Stand up," I say softly.
She stands, her gaze fixed on the jacket. "Logan? What is that?"
"Protection," I say. I hold it open. "Put your arms in."
She slips her arms into the sleeves. The jacket is a little big on her, the leather swallowing her small frame, the sleeves coming down past her wrists. It makes her look fragile, but it also makes her look dangerous. Like she’s wearing my skin.
I step in front of her, gripping the lapels. I zip it up halfway, encasing her in the scent of new leather and oil.
"This isn't a gift, Savannah," I tell her, my voice low and serious. "Consider this a warning label."
She runs her hands down the front of the jacket. "A warning to who?"
"To everyone," I say. "Sterling. Costa. The rescue team. Anyone who thinks they can look at you, talk to you, or touch you. When you wear this, you carry my flag. You are under the protection of the Broken Halos MC. An attack on you is an act of war against me and every brother on this mountain."
She looks up at me, her eyes shimmering. "You really mean that. You’d go to war for me?"
I cup her face, my thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "Savannah, I would burn this entire valley to ash if someone touched a hair on your head. I claimed you. That means something to a man like me. It means everything."
She leans into my touch, closing her eyes. "I’ve never felt safe before," she whispers. "Not really. Not like this."
"You’re safe now," I promise.
The vibration of my phone in my pocket kills the quiet.
I ignore it. It buzzes again. And again.
"Ignore it," Savannah murmurs, but the tension in her shoulders returns.
"I can't." I pull back, frustration tightening my jaw. I fish the phone out. It’s Austin. Again.
I swipe to answer. "I said ten minutes."
"You need to get down to the shop," Austin’s voice is tight, devoid of its usual humor. "Now."
My blood runs cold. "What happened?"
"Someone put a brick through the front window of Peak Wilderness. Main Street is covered in glass."
"Is anyone hurt?"
"No. Shop was closed. But there was a note attached to the brick, Logan. You need to see it."
I hang up, the phone creaking in my grip. The rage simmering in the truck flares up into an inferno. Someone touched my territory. Someone touched the legitimate front that keeps the feds off our backs.
Savannah sees the change in my face immediately. She steps back, her hands clutching the lapels of her new jacket. "Logan?"
"Get your boots back on," I say, my voice devoid of warmth. It’s the President speaking now. "We’re going to town."
"Is it safe?"
"No," I say, grabbing my own cut from the hook by the door and swinging it on. "But you’re with me."
