Page 5

Chapter Three

Ash

T he clubhouse feels too small when I walk in. Walls press closer. Air goes stale. My skin's too tight, blood running hot under the surface. It has not been two hours since that diner encounter with Sheriff Reyes, and I can still feel her eyes on me, assessing.

"That was some shit at Greene's," Diesel says from the couch, a half-eaten slice of pizza forgotten in his hand. "What the fuck was that?"

"Nothing." I head straight for the bar, bypassing the coffee we brought back. I need something stronger.

"Nothing?" Diesel snorts. "You two circled each other like you couldn't decide whether to throw down or... something else." He pauses, studying my face, and his expression changes. "That's because you don't know what to do with her."

I slam a bottle of whiskey onto the bar. "Watch your mouth."

"There's the tell." Diesel sets his pizza down, wiping grease on his jeans. "Since when do you give a damn when I talk shit? This new sheriff’s got under your skin already?"

My fist connects with the bar top hard enough to rattle glasses. "I said. Watch. Your. Mouth."

Diesel stares at my hand, then up at me, genuine surprise crossing his face. "Holy shit. You actually—"

"It's not about the woman," I cut him off, pouring two fingers of whiskey.

"It's about the badge. The timing. The fact that she showed up in my town two months after we pushed Royce into a corner.

" I pause, staring at the amber liquid. "Cornered animals are dangerous, and we've been dismantling his operation.

He's about to lash out, and the last thing we need is a new sheriff walking into that without knowing what she's up against."

I down the whiskey in one swallow, welcoming the burn. It helps me focus on what matters—next moves, not whatever the hell happened when I caught Nova talking to Helen.

“Right." Diesel rises from the couch but stops just out of arm's reach, keeping the bar between us. "Because that looked real business-like back there."

"Drop it,” I growl.

"Fine." He holds up his hands, but his eyes still hold that knowing gleam. "Just saying, if you're going to start a turf war with the new sheriff, make sure it's for the right reasons."

My phone vibrates—Vargan's number flashing on the screen—saving Diesel from getting his teeth rearranged.

"Yeah?" I answer, turning away from Diesel's too-perceptive stare.

"We've got a situation." Vargan pauses, and I hear him exhale slowly. "Your new sheriff's been asking questions."

My grip on the phone tightens. "What kind of questions?"

"The kind that'll put her square on Royce's radar." I hear the background noise of his shop—metal on metal, grinding gears. "Stopped by Greene's after you two left. Helen says Sheriff Reyes returned for lunch and asked some pointed questions about the families we're watching."

"Fuck. She's moving fast. Too fast for her own good." I think of Nova's calculated gaze across the diner, those sharp eyes taking stock of everything. Of course she'd move this quickly. Should have fucking seen it coming.

"Helen thinks she's legit. Asked all the right questions. Wanted contact info for the families involved. Played it off as community building."

"Those are the wrong questions if you want to stay off Royce's radar." I pour another shot, mind racing. "How the hell did she get that info so quickly?"

"Maybe she came prepared. Or maybe GBI gave her a head start."

The thought that Nova might be working with incomplete intel, walking blind into Royce's web, tightens my chest. "Either way, she needs to know what she's up against before she gets herself killed."

"Savvy thinks we should reach out. Warn her what she's stumbled into. If she's going after the same targets we are, better we coordinate than let her walk into a trap alone."

"Too late for that." I think of Nova's cool dismissal at the diner, the distance she maintained while assessing every inch of me.

"She's already decided we're part of the problem.

" The words taste bitter, and I hate that they do.

Hate that part of me wants her to see something else when she looks at me.

"Maybe." Vargan pauses, waiting. He wants me to be the one to approach her. To test those waters. The idea of getting close to her again—close enough to smell that citrus scent, close enough to see if her pulse jumps when I'm near—sends heat through my chest that has nothing to do with strategy.

"I'll handle it," I say finally.

Vargan's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "We need that badge on our side, not up our ass. Especially with Royce lurking in the shadows. Which means we better keep her alive so we can use that authority when we need it."

I end the call, pocket the phone, and find Diesel watching me.

Vargan's right, and I hate that he is. But part of me thinks he's got it backwards—we're not the ones who need to protect her.

We're the ones who need protection from what she can do with that brilliant mind and legal authority if she decides we're the enemy.

"Sheriff's asking about the foreclosure families," I explain, each word clipped. "She’s moving too fast, maybe putting herself at risk."

"You think Royce will see her as a threat?" Diesel crosses his arms.

"If he doesn't already."

Diesel nods slowly. "Want me to stop by her office and feel her out? I can play nice."

The image of Diesel walking into the station with his easy confidence, flashing that smile that's charmed half the women across three counties, sends a wave of possessive rage through me that's as unexpected as it is unwelcome.

But it's not just territorial bullshit—it's the certainty that she'd see right through his act in seconds, dissect his approach with those calculating eyes, and Diesel would never even know she played him.

"No." The word comes out sharp.

Diesel's eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't back down. "Why not? I handle cops all the time."

"Not this one." I force my voice back to neutral. "My legal background gives me the cover to approach her officially. Keep it appropriate."

"Appropriate." Diesel's mouth curls into a knowing smirk. "Right."

I ignore him, grabbing my cut from the back of the chair. "I need to check those property records again. See what she might have found that we missed."

"And here I thought you might be heading out to watch her office." Diesel makes a show of checking his watch. "You know, for reasons of appropriateness."

I level him with a stare that's made grown orcs reconsider their life choices. Narrow eyes, set jaw, anger simmering just beneath the surface. He just laughs.

"Keep your damn phone on," I tell him, already heading for the door. "If Vargan calls back with anything else, I want to know immediately."

"You're not fooling anyone, brother," Diesel calls after me. "But your secret's safe with me."

I slam the door behind me, cutting off whatever else he might say. The midday sun hits my face as I cross to my bike, mind already mapping the fastest route to the county records office.

Because Diesel's wrong, this isn't about Nova Reyes—the woman with eyes that cut through bullshit and a stance that says she's faced down worse than me.

This is about Nova Reyes, the sheriff who will either be our most valuable ally against Royce or get herself killed walking into his crosshairs alone.

And if I'm riding a little faster than necessary, gripping the handlebars a little harder than usual, it's not because I can't get her out of my head.

It's because I need to understand the enemy before she becomes something different entirely. Something more dangerous than opposition.

Something I might feel obligated to protect.

The town hall sits at Shadow Ridge's center—white columns and brick that used to mean something before Victor Hargrove made it his personal kingdom.

It's been two years since his arrest, and people still avoid the place when they can.

Smart move. Half the town council still jumps when his lawyer calls, and his property empire sits untouched while his appeals drag through the courts.

The town hall parking lot overflows onto Main Street.

I have to park my bike across from Miller's Hardware and walk back.

The town council meeting starts in twenty minutes.

That should be plenty of time to get a read on what the sheriff knows about the foreclosures, maybe gauge whether she understands what she's walking into taking on Royce alone.

Then her cruiser pulls up, and every plan I had goes out the window.

Nova steps out from the driver's seat, making damn sure the town sees who's in charge. Santos exits the passenger side. They've been on a call together. Already working as partners. The thought digs under my skin.

I stay in the shadows of the oak tree, watching. She scans the parking lot—left, right, behind—before moving toward the building.

"File the incident report when we're done here," Nova says, falling into step beside him. Her voice carries in the quiet lot.

"Copy that. You still want me to follow up with the witness about that plate number?" Santos replies, matching her stride.

"Yeah. I want to know if she's sure about the make and model of the car before we contact the owner."

"Yes, ma'am." Santos reaches the door first, pulls it open, and stands aside. "After you, Sheriff."

It's nothing. A basic courtesy. Normal human behavior that shouldn't register on any level.

But my beast prowls through my chest, a low growl building that I have to physically swallow down. The sight of Santos holding that door, the casual deference, the easy way they work together—it fucking burns.

Why?

I know why, and that's the problem.

Nova pauses at the threshold, head turning slightly. Her gaze sweeps the parking lot again, almost connecting with mine before Santos says something that pulls her attention back.

Then she's gone, disappearing into the building.