“If he steps into my bar,” he says evenly, “he steps into my rules.”
“He’ll want you angry,” I say. “He always liked you angry. Made you predictable.”
Ryder’s eyes go cold. “I’m not predictable anymore.”
“No,” I agree. “You’re disciplined. That’s worse for him.”
Silence falls again, but it’s sharper now.
“We don’t escalate,” Ryder says. “We tighten security. Rotate routes. Keep documentation clean. No retaliation unless he crosses a line that forces it.”
Zane nods once. “I’ll reinforce the back entrance. Cameras need a blind spot adjustment. Rear side’s still not covered clean.”
“I’ll vary my checks,” I say. “Different times. Different paths. See if I spot tails.”
Ryder’s gaze moves between us.
“Stay sharp,” he says. “He’s patient when he’s wounded.”
“And he’s wounded,” I reply. “We took his identity.”
“No,” Ryder corrects quietly. “He refused to change.”
That’s the difference.
We chose to walk away.
Cole didn’t.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaks.
We all look up instinctively.
Ryder frowns. “He won’t get to her. No matter what he tries.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Aurora
It takesa while for me to learn that small-town politics is just high school with better lighting and snacks.
The town council meeting is in the high school gym, which feels aggressively symbolic. Folding chairs. Fluorescent lights. A microphone that screams every time someone breathes near it. There’s a “Go Wildcats!” banner hanging behind the podium as if civic conflict pairs nicely with pep rallies.
I did not plan to attend.
I was dragged.
By “dragged,” I mean Finn said, “Oh, you absolutely need to see this,” and Zane handed me my jacket without asking, which in Zane language meanswe are going, and I am not debating it.
Ryder is already there when we walk in. Button-down shirt. Dark jeans. Clean boots. He looks like a man auditioning for Responsible Business Owner Who Definitely Does Not Lead a Motorcycle Club.
He’s also radiating a level of controlled irritation that could power the building.
We take seats behind him.
A man who quickly introduces himself as Benjamin Wren stands at the podium with a confidence I definitely don’t enjoy seeing.
Benjamin is the kind of man who says “optics” in casual conversation.
