Page 6

I wait three minutes by my watch. Let her get settled. Let my blood cool. Let the beast that rose at the sight of Santos's hand on that door crawl back into whatever hole it came from.

Keep it business-like. Keep it about strategy. That's how this has to go.

Bullshit. But I'm good at swallowing bullshit when I have to be.

I slip in the back door, staying against the wall. The place is packed—standing room only, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Everyone wants a look at the new sheriff, the outsider sent to clean up Shadow Ridge.

She sits at the front table with the council members, back straight, hands folded. She looks contained and controlled. Nothing like the woman who looked at me in the diner like I was shit on her shoe or faced me down in that parking lot with fire in her eyes and a gun that never wavered.

I scan the crowd. Savvy's here with Vargan, his massive frame making the wooden chair he in look like dollhouse furniture. Helen's near the front, notebook in hand—town gossip disguised as meeting minutes. Familiar faces from every corner of Shadow Ridge, all here to size up Nova Reyes.

Acting Mayor Reb Bartlett taps the microphone, clearing his throat. "Folks, let's get started."

The crowd settles. Reb taps the microphone.

"As you all know, we're here to welcome our new sheriff officially." Reb gestures toward Nova. "Sheriff Reyes comes to us from Atlanta PD with an impressive record. We're fortunate to have her experience in Shadow Ridge during this rebuilding period."

Nova stands, and the room shuts up. Her eyes sweep the crowd, then lock on mine.

Fuck.

She's looking at me like she's deciding something. Something that's going to leave marks.

"Thank you, Mayor Bartlett." Her voice cuts through the room. "I appreciate the welcome I've received from most of Shadow Ridge."

She doesn't smile, but her face relaxes a fraction.

"I won't waste your time with speeches. You've heard plenty of those from people who didn't keep their promises." She pauses, letting that sink in. "I'm here to enforce the law. Protect the vulnerable. Help rebuild trust in local government. That's it."

Her shoulders are tight. Her fingers press harder against the table. I can smell the stress on her—sharp, metallic. Her breathing's faster than it should be.

Every muscle in her neck stands out in rigid lines. Her jaw works once, twice, like she's grinding down words that want to escape. The slight tremor in her left hand—the one not gripping the table—gives away what her voice won't admit.

All these people staring at her, waiting to see if she's worth a damn.

All these people, except me.

Because she's still holding my gaze, and I realize she's using me as an anchor point. My beast goes completely still. She's not watching me as a threat. She's steadying herself against my presence.

She picked me. Out of everyone in this room, she's drawing strength from the most dangerous bastard here.

That shouldn't heat my blood. It shouldn't make me want to step closer.

But it does.

I don't move. I don't give her anything that might spook her. Just hold her gaze and let her take whatever she needs.

She takes a breath, then looks away, turning back to the crowd.

"I know what Victor Hargrove did to this town," she continues, her voice gaining strength. "How he used his power to take what wasn't his. How he manipulated the system to hurt those who stood against him."

People shift in their seats and start whispering. Nobody says Victor's name out loud anymore. Too many people are still scared of the bastard.

"Some of you have questions. Concerns. Maybe even fears about what my presence here means." She scans the room again. "That's fair. I haven't earned your trust yet. But I will."

Old man Jones stands up, leaning heavily on his cane. "What makes you different from Dawson? He promised to clean things up, too, then took Victor's money like everyone else."

Nova doesn't even blink. "I don't have ties here. No favors owed. No hands in my pockets. And a documented history of refusing bribes that cost me promotions in Atlanta."

Jones sits back down. He still looks pissed, but he's accepting her answers for now.

"What about the MC?" another voice calls out. Are you planning to run them out, too?"

Every head in the place swings toward me or Vargan. I keep my face blank, but my shoulders go tight.

Nova looks right at me. "I enforce the law, not personal vendettas. The Ironborn MC will be judged by their actions, not their reputation."

Smart answer. Gives nobody what they want to hear, but doesn't piss anyone off either.

"Any other questions before we move to official business?" Reb cuts in.

No one responds, so Nova sits down. But the crowd's not done with her.

"What about our property taxes?" someone shouts from the back.

"You gonna do something about the drug house on Maple?" another voice calls out.

"Why should we trust you won't bail like the last three sheriffs?"

The questions come fast and loud. Nova's shoulders go rigid. I can smell the shift in her scent from here—stress cutting through her usual citrus scent.

My feet start moving before I think about it—one step off the wall, ready to shut these assholes down.

Nova's eyes flick to me, just for a second. Then she smiles—not fake, but sharp as a blade—and stands back up.

"I'll take your questions," she says, voice cutting through the noise. "One at a time."

And fuck me, she does. For the next twenty minutes, she handles every question they throw at her. Doesn't lose her cool. Doesn't give bullshit answers. Just works through them like she's got all day.

She knows how to work a crowd without pissing them off or letting them walk all over her.

Then old Henderson starts getting loud, demanding to know why she's "really here," and my hands clench into fists. Every muscle in my body wants to shut his mouth for him.

Which is fucking stupid. She handled those assholes in the parking lot just fine. She's handling Henderson just fine too, but my beast doesn't give a shit about logic.

"If we could move to our agenda," Reb finally interrupts, "we have several items requiring attention. First, the county's decision to reopen foreclosure reviews."

The room goes quiet. This isn't news to me—Vargan's intel was solid—but judging by the shocked faces, it's a surprise to most.

"What do you mean, 'reopen'?" Helen asks, her pen poised over her notebook. "Those cases were settled."

Reb shifts uncomfortably. "Judge Wilkins received a petition from Caldwell & Associates, representing certain property interests. They've identified what they call 'procedural irregularities' in the foreclosure moratorium we enacted after Victor's arrest."

"Procedural irregularities," Savvy repeats, voice hard. "You mean Royce found a loophole."

"We don't know that Royce Carvello is involved," Reb cautions, but his expression says otherwise.

"The timing is suspicious," Vargan says, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "The first foreclosure reviews are scheduled two weeks after our new sheriff arrives."

Everyone looks at Nova. Waiting to see if she's on their side or Royce's.

"If I may." She stands up again. When her eyes hit mine, there's no doubt left. Just cold focus. "I've been reviewing the foreclosure documentation since my arrival."

People start talking again. I straighten up. This just got interesting.

"Many of these evictions appear to have been executed without proper legal authority." Nova's voice goes hard. She's all business now. "Missing signatures. Incomplete paperwork. Court orders without proper judicial review."

She grabs a folder from beside her chair and slaps it open on the table. "I've identified at least seventeen properties where families were forced out based on documentation that wouldn't hold up in court."

Fuck me. She knows exactly what she's doing.

She's not just calling out Royce—she's doing it in front of the whole damn town. Making his corruption public. Making it impossible for him to handle this quietly. She's telling everyone she's not working behind closed doors, not cutting deals in back rooms.

Watching her do it, knowing she understands the risk and doesn't give a fuck—that steel spine just got a hell of a lot more impressive.

The room erupts. She's been here less than a month. One fucking month, and she's already dug up evidence it took us months to compile.

"That's a serious accusation, Sheriff," Reb says over the noise.

"It's not an accusation. It's a fact." Nova taps the folder in her hand. "I've got copies of every document. I've spoken with the county clerk, the circuit judge, and several of the affected families. The pattern is clear and deliberate."

Reb looks stunned. "Why bring this to the town meeting instead of my office?"

"Because Royce Carvello's legal team is counting on this staying quiet.

" Nova looks around the room, locking eyes with people one by one.

"They're betting that if they move through proper channels—judges they've paid off, lawyers on their payroll—they can reverse our progress before anyone realizes what's happening. "

I glance at Savvy. She's watching Nova with the kind of respect that can’t be faked. One steel spine recognizing another. Savvy held off Victor and Royce for three years before Vargan found her. She knows what it costs to stand alone against bastards with money and power.

"What do you suggest we do?" Reb asks Nova, but his eyes dart to me.

Nova doesn't miss a beat. "First, we delay. I'll file a formal request to review all documentation with the state attorney general's office. That buys us time."

She keeps talking—legal moves, gathering evidence, getting the community involved—and I realize she's been working from the same angle we have—following the trails we've followed, building the case we've been building.

She's not just tough. She's brilliant. Scary brilliant.

She's doing exactly what I would have done. Except she can do it through the front door while I have to sneak around back.

That shouldn't heat my blood. Shouldn't make me want to see what else she's capable of. But fuck me, it does.

Her eyes find mine again, and this time there's a question in them. A challenge. She knows I've been working on this too. She's figured out that my legal background isn't just for show. That the club has been mounting our own defense against Royce's latest attack.

She's not asking for help—Nova Reyes doesn't strike me as someone who asks for anything—but she's acknowledging that we're on the same side of this particular battle.

For now.

The meeting breaks apart. People cluster together, talking fast. I stay against the wall, watching Nova work the room. She has quick words with Reb and a longer talk with Helen. She even shakes hands with old Jones, which surprises the hell out of both of them.

She knows what she's doing. She listens more than she talks and looks people in the eye when she makes promises.

What gets me is how steady she stayed after that moment when our eyes met. Like I gave her what she needed to keep going.

That shouldn't matter to me. Shouldn't tighten my chest. Shouldn't make my beast want to pace the cage, torn between wanting her on our side and knowing she's still dangerous as hell.

I push off the wall and head for the side door. Need to think this through. Figure out how to approach her without showing my hand.

Because one thing's clear: Nova Reyes isn't working for Royce. She's here to tear down what Victor built—just like us.

That knowledge changes the whole damn game.

When I look at her, something dangerous stirs in my chest. My hands want to touch her, see if that cool mask cracks. That shit has to stop.

From what I just saw, that brain could save this town or torch it.

Getting involved with her would fuck everything up. My judgment. The club's standing. One night between the sheets, and my brothers would start to wonder if I'm thinking with my dick. They'd be right to wonder.

But I can't walk away either. Losing her would be a disaster. We need her badge, her legal moves, and a spine that doesn't break.

The truth is, Nova and I could tear Royce apart. She plays by the rules, and I do whatever it takes.

I just have to figure out how to work with her without going crazy.