My throat tightened, and tears dripped down my cheeks before I could stop them. He hadn’t just told me to stay put and trust him—he’d given me a way to see. He really did get me like nobody else.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For understanding.”
Brogan brushed the wetness from my cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll always find a way to get you what you need.”
His promise was incredibly sweet and I knew he meant every word.
He kissed me one last time before stepping back. Hawkeye was waiting near the trucks. Brogan gave Wraith and Trigger a final look, then turned and walked into the dark with the others to take their positions around the south barn.
I stood there holding the phone against my chest, completely reeling for a reason that had nothing to do with the danger these men were walking into for me.
Brogan was perfect for me. In every way that mattered.
Walking inside the house, I sat on the couch with the phone clutched in my lap, my eyes glued to the multiple camera feedsCipher had set up. The south barn glowed under temporary lights. Brogan’s club brothers moved in and out of the frames, quiet and focused. Everything looked like it was under control. He wasn’t underestimating Wade merely because the man was a local thief.
Then one of the northern feeds flared bright orange shortly before midnight. A fire had broken out.
I sucked in a startled breath. I heard Brogan’s voice through the audio feed. “Hold position at the barn. That’s a diversion. Ghost, take three men and deal with the fire. Everyone else stays put. Do not leave the barn uncovered.”
I watched the feeds as a small group of men peeled off toward the northern fence while the majority of the Black Crowns remained exactly where they were. My pulse leaped, but I trusted Brogan. Even scared out of my mind for his safety, I could appreciate that he wasn’t panicked.
Unfortunately, we never saw the second threat coming. While the club’s attention was divided between the fire and the meet at the south barn, a lifted truck with mud-terrain tires came roaring down an old drainage cut that ran parallel to the house. Then the driver cut the wheel and slammed through the side fence.
Alarms on the tablet started blaring, and Wraith drew his weapon. “Stay behind me.”
“Backup will be here soon.” Trigger took the opposite side of the living room, his gun aimed away from me.
The front door burst open, and three men stormed in. Trent Kessler was flanked by two bigger guys I didn’t know.
Wraith and Trigger opened fire at the same time the attackers did. The living room exploded into chaos—gunshots, shouting, the crash of furniture being overturned. Wraith slammed into one man. Trigger tackled the second.
Trent came straight for me.
I scrambled backward, grabbed the heavy iron fireplace poker from the stand, and swung it as hard as I could. It caught him across the shoulder with a solid crack. He snarled and lunged. I stumbled, dropped the poker, and snatched the heavy ceramic lamp off the side table. I swung that too, smashing it against the side of his head. He staggered but didn’t go down.
His hand closed around my arm in a bruising grip. “Got you, bitch.”
I kicked and twisted, fighting with everything I had, but he was so much stronger. He yanked me hard toward the door, but it slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall. Then Brogan charged toward us to rip Trent off me and throw him across the room. Trent hit the wall hard enough to crack the drywall, but Brogan was already on him again.
I’d never seen him like this. His fists landed with brutal, relentless force as he struck Trent in the face, ribs, and stomach. Basically anywhere he could reach.
Blood sprayed from Trent’s nose. He tried to protect himself and failed. Brogan didn’t give him a chance to fight back, going after him with a kind of viciousness I had never seen before. Hawkeye and Cipher had come into the house behind Brogan but actually froze for a moment, clearly shocked.
This wasn’t the club president they knew.
Hawkeye made sure the guy who Wraith had taken down was really out for the count, but the third man somehow managed to scramble away and disappear into the dark.
Brogan had Trent by the front of his shirt and was drawing his fist back again, his eyes filled with fury. But before he struck him again, red and blue lights flashed across the windows, sirens wailing as police cars raced up the driveway.
His fist stopped mid-air, and his chest heaved. For a moment, I thought he might finish him off anyway. Then he shoved Trent hard to the floor and stepped back, blood drippingfrom his knuckles and breathing like he’d run miles. “You’re lucky I need you alive, bastard.”
Brogan finally turned to me, his steely gaze raking up and down my body. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
Ignoring my answer, he checked me over himself. Cupping my face with his hands, running his palms down my arms, and checking my wrists, shoulders, and any of the places Trent might’ve grabbed.
His touch was careful but thorough, turning me gently this way and that under the living room lights while everyone moved around us. “Did he hit you? Cut you?”
