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“There was a break-in at my ranch. A tractor is missing.”
“What the fuck do we need with a tractor?” He’s got to be kidding me with this shit.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Zander says, his expression darkening.
“My guys don’t give a crap what you have on your property. In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t matter to us. But I’m sure that’s a hard pill to swallow with your ego.”
His jaw tics—the only hint at his irritation.
Zander steps closer, and I straighten my spine, ready for him to give me an excuse to do something about the problems he’s been causing.
“I’ve got my eye on you, Shane. You and all your felon buddies.” He takes another step. “Stay away from shit that’s mine. My ranch. My businesses. My fucking fiancée.”
“Don’t you mean ex-fiancée?” I smirk, attempting to swallow the fire that swells in my chest at the mere mention of Harloe.
“If you go anywhere near Harloe, it won’t be snakes next time.” Zander waves a hand as he starts to turn and walk away.
His buddy steps forward, pulling out a knife and walking toward my bike. He eyes one of my tires, and my patience snaps.
I pull out my gun and point it at the back of Zander’s head. He freezes when he hears the click.
“It’s rude to walk away before finishing a conversation.” I take a step toward him. “Get your man back in line and tell him to drop the fucking knife.”
“Tucker.” Zander turns toward his buddy, whose knife is an inch away from my tire. “Leave it.”
Tucker grumbles, slowly walking back toward the truck but not taking his eyes off me.
“What do you want?” Zander asks through clenched teeth.
“What do I want? I don’t know. What should I expect from a man who leaves snakes lying around, putting a kid in danger?”
Zander’s eyes narrow, but he’s smart enough to not answer me with a gun pointed at his head.
“I understand you had an arrangement with Jackson. Arrangements you broke, and he did nothing about it. Which is why I’m going to make this very clear for you: I’m not Jackson. With me, you don’t get away with shit. This isn’t your town. Not anymore. Not since I stepped foot in it.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“I’m not done.” I step closer, dropping my voice. “You seem to think my men are a problem. We haven’t even begun to be a problem for you yet. But you’re about to learn just how big of one we can be. I don’t give second chances. I don’t make empty threats. I promise you are going to fucking pay for what you did on my land.”
His teeth clench. His fingers flex, but he doesn’t move.
“Now move your fucking trucks. I have shit to do.” I tuck my gun away, and Zander’s shoulders relax.
As I walk back to my bike, I wait for someone to pull their gun. Part of me hopes they will just so I have a reason to finish this. Instead, Zander walks back to the trucks and climbs in after his men like a coward. They pull off the road, and I flip them off as I ride past.
I’d like to think this will be the end of it, that he’ll get the message.
He won’t.
And as good as that felt, Zander Cross just became a much bigger problem for me and my club.
9
HARLOE
Wine club doesn’t usually meet in the middle of the week, but the three-woman group has made an exception today. They sit in a half circle at their table on the patio, shaded by the overhang that holds the Ransack sign on top of it. It’s a cowboy riding a horse, and half the neon lights are no longer working. Not that it matters in broad daylight.
They aren’t the least bit discreet as they watch the bikers down the street, sweating and loading tools and equipment into the back of a truck in the middle of the afternoon while I scrub a spray-painted dick off Ransack’s front window.
