Page 11

The reminder hits like a blade between the ribs. She's right—I had those bastards handled, but she'd inserted herself into the situation anyway. Put herself at risk for someone she didn't even know.

For me.

"That was different," I growl.

"How?" She pushes against my chest, not to escape but to make her point. The contact burns through my shirt, tempts me to grab her wrist. "You were outnumbered, and I decided you were worth the risk. Now you're doing the same thing to me."

"Those men were nothing. Royce is—"

"Dangerous. I know." Her chin lifts in that stubborn gesture I'm learning to recognize. Learning to hate and want at the same damn time. "But so were you that night. And I still chose to trust you."

A dark grin spreads across my face. Can't help it. "Foolish choice, trusting a monster you'd never met. You had no way of knowing I wouldn't turn on you next."

"Arrogant bastard." But her voice has gone breathy, and her eyes drop to my mouth before snapping back up.

"Probably." I don't move away, savoring how her body responds to my nearness despite her protests. Despite all reason she should run from me. "Doesn't change anything."

She sets my phone on the narrow table beside us, the movement bringing her body closer to mine again. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Close enough to make my hands shake with the effort not to touch her.

"They've been monitoring my work," she says quietly. "All files I review, each phone call I make. They know exactly what evidence I'm gathering."

"Which means they're already building countermeasures. Destroying documents, intimidating witnesses, buying off anyone who might testify."

I see the exact moment she accepts the reality of her situation. I see her weighing options, calculating risks, and trying to find a path that doesn't involve trusting me any more than she has to.

"How secure is this war room of yours?"

"Swept for bugs weekly. No windows. Steel-reinforced walls.

Communications are encrypted and routed through proxy servers.

Soundproof," I pause, letting the next words carry all the weight they deserve.

"And it's staffed twenty-four-seven by people who know how to kill anyone stupid enough to threaten what we protect. "

"Including me?"

Her eyes dare me to mean it.

"Especially you."

She's quiet, weighing options I can almost see cycling through her mind: pride versus pragmatism, independence versus survival, trust versus a lifetime of learned caution.

And I want to tip the scales. Want to push her toward yes, toward safety, toward accepting the protection I'm desperate to give her. But pushing Nova Reyes only makes her dig in harder.

"If I agree to this," she says finally, "what are your expectations? What do you want in return?"

The question hits wrong. Forces me to realize she thinks this is transactional. That I'm offering protection in exchange for something.

When the truth i, I'd protect her for nothing. For less than nothing. Would tear apart anyone who threatened her just because she exists. Because the thought of losing her sends something primal and violent through my chest.

Because I'm already in too deep to pretend this is about club business.

"I want Royce Carvello's head on a spike." The words come out rough. "He's threatened this town, threatened people under my protection. Now he's threatening you."

"I'm not under your protection."

I step forward again, crowding her against the wall. "You are now."

She wants to fight me, but instinct responds to my dominance in ways that satisfy my hunger.

"This isn't just about club business," she says. It's not a question.

"No. It's not."

"Then what is it about?"

I should lie. Keep my damn mouth shut before this thing gets messy.

But standing this close to her, seeing the way her lips part slightly when I crowd her, the truth cuts through all the defenses I've built.

“It's about making sure the only person in this town who can actually arrest the bastard doesn't get buried for her trouble.”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I think she might bolt.

Instead, she presses herself flatter against the wall, creating distance she immediately seems to regret. "You don’t get to push me around."

"I’m not backing down, Sheriff."

"I could arrest you for harassment."

"You could try." Anger sparks in her eyes. I brush a strand of hair away from her face, the touch deliberately gentle. "But we both know you won't."

"Why's that?"

She leans into my touch for just a heartbeat before catching herself. The slip costs her, and we both know it.

I don't move away, don't give her space to retreat. "Because you want someone strong enough to stand between you and the monsters." My thumb traces along her jaw, and she doesn't pull away. Doesn't stop me from touching her like I have the right. "Someone who won't flinch when things get ugly."

She closes her eyes briefly, and when she opens them, I see surrender warring with pride. See her wanting to say yes and trust me with this.

To trust me with her.

"When?" she asks.

"Now. Tonight. Pack whatever files you need, anything you don't want them accessing if they decide to escalate beyond monitoring."

But instead of moving toward her bedroom, Nova goes completely still. When she looks up at me, the surrender is gone, replaced by something harder.

"No."

My jaw clenches. "What?"

"I said no." She pushes against my chest, and this time I let her create distance. "I'm not packing anything. I'm not moving to your clubhouse. And I'm sure as hell not playing by your rules."

My beast snarls, confused by her sudden shift.

What the hell happened?

"Nova, you saw the footage. They're monitoring you."

"So I'll be more careful." She crosses her arms, chin lifted in that stubborn gesture I'm learning to hate. "Close the blinds. Vary my routine. Take precautions."

"That's not enough—"

"It's enough for me." Determination flashes in her eyes. "You think because you showed me some footage, I'm going to run crying to the big, strong orc with my tail tucked? That I'll just hand over my independence because you say it's dangerous?"

I step forward, towering over her. "This isn't about independence. It's about survival.”

"It's about control." She doesn't retreat an inch, meeting my advance with her own step forward. And suddenly I understand what shifted. What made her change her mind? "You want me where you can monitor me, manage me, make decisions for me. But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Hell. She's too smart. Sees right through me to the territorial asshole underneath who wants to lock her away somewhere safe.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

You're the one who said we need to keep a distance for optics." Her voice turns sharp. "Now you want me living in your clubhouse? That's a brilliant strategy, counselor."

My chest tightens because she's right. I'd been so focused on keeping her safe that I hadn't thought about how it would look.

How it would destroy the trust she’s working to build with the town.

"People will understand—"

"People will assume I've chosen a side." She cuts me off. "And you know what? They'd be right. Any case I build against Royce while living in an MC clubhouse becomes tainted evidence. His lawyers would tear it apart in court."

She's right, and I know it. Worse—I should have seen it immediately.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"I drag a hand through my hair, the realization hitting like a gut punch. I've spent years thinking ten moves ahead, and five minutes with Nova makes me stupid. Makes me forget everything I know."

"I want to bring down Royce as much as you do," she continues. "But the minute I walk into your clubhouse, I stop being an impartial law enforcement officer and become the MC's pet sheriff."

"So what's your solution?" I growl. "Pretend we're not on the same side?"

"You were right about maintaining distance. You share intelligence, I build the case, but we do it properly. Legitimately." She straightens, taking control again. "The way that ensures Royce actually goes down instead of walking free on a technicality."

The logic is sound. Infuriating, but sound. And it makes her refusal sting worse, because it's not just about independence— it's about being smart enough to see the trap I almost walked us both into.

"You stubborn, reckless—"

"Careful what you call me," she interrupts, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. "Because I'm not the one who just tried to blow up my own strategy."

My hands clench into fists, the urge to grab her and shake sense into her warring with the knowledge that she'd probably put a bullet in me for trying.

"You've had your five minutes," She adds. "Now, get out."

"I'm not leaving you here defenseless."

"You're not staying here either." She moves toward the door, opening it wide. "This is my home, my choice, my job. And I choose to handle this my way."

I don't move. Every instinct screams against walking away from her when she's in danger.

"Ash." Her voice drops, something almost gentle beneath the steel. "I appreciate the warning. I do. But I won't be managed, even by someone who thinks he's protecting me."

"This is a mistake."

"Then it's my mistake to make."

We stare at each other across her small living room. Two immovable forces locked in conflict. She won't bend. Won't break. Won't accept the protection I'm desperate to give her.

And part of me—the part that's been drawn to her since that first night at Murphy's—respects the hell out of her for it.

Even as it makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and drag her to safety, kicking and screaming if necessary.

"But when this goes to hell, when they make their move and you're alone and outgunned, don't come crying to me."

"I won't." The certainty in her voice stops me at the threshold. "I don't cry, Ash. Ever."

"I turn back, caught by something raw in her tone. For just a moment, her guard drops, and I glimpse the woman beneath the badge—someone who's learned that tears are weakness, that asking for help gets you hurt."

Someone who's been fighting alone for so long that accepting help feels like surrender.

Someone a lot like me.

But before I can process that revelation, her walls slam back up.

"Good night, Ash."

The door closes between us, and I'm left standing in the hallway, staring at the wood grain, muscles coiled with the need to act.

My beast demands I kick that door down and stop pretending her consent matters when her life is on the line.

Instead, I force myself to walk away.

At my bike, I stop and look at her window. The blinds are still open, light spilling out into the darkness. She's silhouetted against the glass, a perfect target for anyone observing.

As if she can feel my stare, she turns toward the window and slowly closes the blinds.

One by one, the slats shut, cutting off my view until there was nothing but darkness and a faint glow around the edges.

Message received. She knows what she's facing and the offer I've given. And she's refused.

I stand there for another minute, hands clenched at my sides, before swinging my leg over the bike. The engine roars to life beneath me, drowning out the voice in my head that says I should stay. Should monitor. Should protect her whether she wants it or not.

But as I pull away from her building, the truth slams home. Nova's made her choice. She's going to face whatever's coming alone, stubborn as hell, just like she always has.

I hope she's strong enough.

Because if she's not, if Royce's people get to her... I'll never forgive myself for walking away."