Page 26

“Fuck this shit. I need to get Max to preschool.” Lawson turns on his heel and storms toward the bunkhouse.

He’s a big guy—solid muscle. Always serious, rarely smiling. Still, he’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met and a loving father to his kid. But as he slams the bunkhouse door, I get the hint of his lethal side. The protective edge that earned him his role in the club.

Given what happened, I don’t blame him for being angry. Zander might be trying to prove a point to the club, but Max could have wound up hurt—or worse. I’m so over this piece of shit.

“He’s pissed.” Kincaid states the obvious. “I’m going to go make a few calls, get the names of who Zander might have sent over to pull this off.”

He stalks off in the opposite direction, and I cross my arms over my chest, turning back to the barely built clubhouse.

I’ve been in town for nearly a month, and I’m already getting a picture of everything Jackson was hiding from Steel. Very few ranchers actually want us here, and the rest are constantly causing us trouble. Half the businesses on Main Street won’t even let us through their front doors. Between bad attitudes and permit issues, the club is running into one wall after another. And that trouble extends to anyone helping us.

Kincaid and Will have lost the cooperation of a few of their neighbors, while others have gone as far as canceling grazing arrangements for their herds. All because they’re doing the club favors.

But this—snakes in my fucking clubhouse—is the final straw. We already can’t finish building it. And now, apparently, we can’t even protect our land.

There are no sensors at the property line. No people to make up for it through patrol shifts. We’re short on bodies and resources.

Lawson is right.

Fuck.

I turn toward the bunkhouse, eyeing Max sitting in the truck. The windows are down, and he’s playing a handheld video game while he waits for his dad, the snakes long forgotten. His eyes lift, and he smiles, waving with excitement.

I’ve never considered myself a kid person, but Max is a good one. Waving back, I harness my irritation long enough to force a smile and head into the bunkhouse. I want to plant a bullet in the center of Zander’s forehead for putting this kid in danger.

Lawson paces the kitchen, grabbing his keys, wallet, and gun. “I have to get Max to school. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“East is already on the phone with animal control. We’ll get it taken care of by this afternoon.”

He nods, heading to the door, but I shift in his path, stopping him.

“I’ll take care of it,” I promise. “Max is safe here.”

These guys don’t really know me. Just like I don’t really know them. We only met a month ago, and we’re still figuring each other out. But I was sent here to get this place in order, and that’s what I intend to do. I’ll protect my brothers, our land, this town.

Lawson nods. “Let me know what you need.”

He leaves out the front door, and I walk into the kitchen to down a glass of water.

In Vegas, we’d take care of this problem by dragging the guys who did it into the Shack and cutting them up into as many pieces as it took before they gave us the answers we were looking for. In Lanceleaf, it’s not that simple. People notice when someone goes missing. Which is what Zander is probably counting on. He wants us to make a move so he can send his cop buddies after us.

We need to play this smart.

My phone rings, and Aiden’s name flashes on the screen.

“Where are you?” I answer.

“I’ve got my eyes on a few of Zander’s friends. They’re enjoying breakfast at the diner.”

“Perfect, I’m fucking starving.”

“See you soon.”

I hang up, turning down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

The bunkhouse is significantly smaller than the clubhouse back in Vegas. The main space is a wide-open kitchen and living area, with bunks sectioned off by dividers at one side. On the other is a short hallway with four cramped bedrooms. East, Aiden, and I each claimed one, but Lawson sticks to a cabin out back to keep Max as far away from club life as possible.

When I reach my room, I shrug on a T-shirt and my cut. I’ve been walking around shirtless since Lawson woke me up yelling about snakes.