He grinned at me over the rim of his coffee mug, and I almost choked on my next bite of egg because he was so darn hot when he smiled.
We were halfway through eating when his phone rang.
“Yeah?” His expression darkened almost instantly. “Send Judge to Jacqueline’s place. Now.”
He ended the call and stood, tension rolling off his big frame.
I set my fork down. “What’s going on?”
“Wade was spotted heading toward our house.”
I didn’t have time to process his choice of wording because I was too busy freaking out over that man having the nerve to come here after what happened yesterday. It wasn’t long before the sound of two vehicles pulling up outside reached us. Brogan moved toward the front door, and I followed close.
A sleek black truck and a familiar motorcycle arrived almost simultaneously. Judge parked only a few feet from the driver’s side of the truck, dismounted, and stared down Wade as he climbed out of the truck.
Wade approached the house with a smooth smile, his eyes darting between Brogan and me. “Miss Rutledge. I’m Wade Kessler. I wanted to clear up any misunderstanding about the equipment my crew was moving from your barn. Your grandfather gave us permission to use the space while he was ill.”
Judge came up behind him and asked, “Do you have a lease? A contract? Invoice? Any record of payment?”
“It was a verbal agreement.” Wade’s smile tightened. “Otis was a good man. He understood the need for flexibility.”
“My grandfather was meticulous about keeping written records.” I lifted my chin. “Without one detailing what he supposedly agreed to, I am not giving anyone permission to use my property.”
Wade’s gaze turned condescending as he looked me up and down. “You’re young, Miss Rutledge. Running a place like this alone is harder than it looks. You’ll see soon enough that you’re in over your head.”
Brogan cleared his throat, drawing Wade’s attention to him. “She isn’t alone.”
Wade’s polite mask slipped for just a second, revealing something cold underneath. “Even with the Black Crowns around, country life can be dangerous for someone who’s better off leaving.”
The implied threat hung in the air as he drove off. It was obvious Wade didn’t plan to back off, but Brogan had also made it clear that he meant it when he said anyone who wanted to get to me would have to go through him first. And that was enough for me to feel safe.
8
STRYKER
By Saturday morning, the Rutledge Ranch carried visible evidence of what happened when I decided a problem belonged to me. The back door locked properly, the porch step that had shifted beneath Jacqueline’s weight had been rebuilt, and the barn had new locks, reinforced points of entry, and a security system capable of telling me when someone breathed too close to the property line.
Jacqueline had watched the work with the kind of fascinated amusement that made my hands want to keep finding things to fix just to see what expression she’d give me next. She’d stopped asking me why I was doing all of this, which told me she was practical enough to recognize a losing battle when one stood in front of her with a drill. More interesting than that, she had stopped pretending she didn’t like when I moved her where I wanted her.
Each time she leaned into my touch instead of pulling away, the possessive thing inside me started making long-term plans without consulting the rest of my brain. Not that it had any objections.
Today, I put repairs on hold to take her to the compound. I wanted Jacqueline to have another layer of protection. She needed access codes, an emergency contact list, and a physical understanding of where to go if something went wrong and I couldn’t get to her. The men operating the guard stations would know her name and face, but I wanted her to be able to get through the gates in case someone new was on duty.
The road to the compound wound deeper into Sable Canyon than the ranch. Once we were through the front gate, the compound revealed itself gradually, with layers. The main road curved through oak-lined washes and past dry ridges until the clubhouse, garages, and outbuildings appeared beyond the final controlled turn, motorcycles lined near the front.
Jacqueline looked through the windshield, taking in the buildings, the brothers moving around the yard, and the quiet order underneath the rough exterior. “It’s bigger than I expected. Grandpa always talked about the club like you were just a bunch of men with motorcycles who also happened to own everything within driving distance.”
“Not everything,” I drawled, parking near the clubhouse while Hawkeye, Ghost, and Cipher looked up from a workbench beside the garage. “We leave room for the illusion of civic independence.”
A soft laugh slipped out, filling the cab with warmth that had nothing to do with June in California. When I helped her climb out of the truck, I didn’t have to look to know we’d caught the attention of every man within twenty yards.
Though they didn’t yet know the depth of the meaning, they knew enough to understand I was making a statement.
Hawkeye wiped his hands on a rag and walked over first, his gaze moving from Jacqueline’s face to my hand at her waist before his mouth curved with the kind of satisfaction thatusually preceded a conversation I didn’t want to have. “Welcome to the Black Crowns compound.”
“Thank you.” She offered him a small smile that softened something in his expression despite the amusement he aimed at me. “I hear I need codes, escape routes, and maybe a map so I don’t accidentally wander into something that requires a waiver.”
Cipher snorted from behind Hawkeye. “Everything here requires a waiver.”
