Clean route, good client, solid payout.
Only this time?
I’d already planned a little detour.
A stop I’ve been putting off longer than I should’ve. To see my old man.
Motherfucking Ace Gunner.
Just thinking his name makes something dark twist low in my gut.
The bastard’s still out there, running his mouth, trying to drag Jersey Iron Ranch through the mud like he didn’t already do enough damage when I was growing up under his roof.
Threatening clients.
Leaning on old connections.
Playing dirty like he always does.
The men he hired to hit Sawyer’s early deliveries?
They’ve gone quiet.
Either they backed off or somebody else made them back off.
Destiny’s Enforcers MC, maybe.
Good guys.
Or maybe it’s someone higher up the food chain who didn’t like where Ace was sticking his nose.
Doesn’t matter.
Point is—they’re not a problem right now.
But Ace?
Ace is always a problem.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders as I move back out into the barn aisle.
We’ve got our own connections now.
Our own weight.
Sammy Ramirez—yeah the Volkov Industries heir and guru—just went public with his investment in Jersey Iron Ranch, and that?
That’s not just money.
That’s a statement.
A billionaire like him doesn’t throw his name behind something unless he plans to protect it.
It means reach.
Influence.
Muscle.
