Wren
The clubhouse had exploded into motion after Mason collapsed through the doors.
Men shouted over each other while boots pounded across old wooden floors.
Guns appeared like magic from hidden drawers and locked cabinets.
Engines roared outside as prospects scrambled toward the garage.
It was organized chaos, and somehow Buck stood in the center of it like the eye of a storm.
He was calm, deadly, and completely in control.
She should’ve been horrified; instead, she kept staring at Buck.
He stood near the fireplace with three patched members surrounding him.
His expression never changed as they talked strategy, but tension radiated from him in waves now.
The softness she’d seen earlier—the teasing, the reluctant smiles—was gone. This Buck looked dangerous.
“I was listening,” she lied.
“Sure you were,” Ghost said. Her cheeks warmed. God, she hated this place, or maybe she hated how alive she felt inside it.
Ghost studied her for a long second before speaking again. “You know what the problem is now, right?”
Wren frowned. “Besides armed criminals trying to start a war?”
His grin widened slightly. “Besides that.” She crossed her arms defensively. Ghost lowered his voice. “Buck cares.”
Her stomach tightened instantly. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” he asked
“Yes,” she insisted.
Ghost laughed softly under his breath like she’d just said something genuinely funny.
“Sweetheart, Buck barely sleeps when one of the prospects gets a cold. The man’s built wrong when it comes to protecting people.
” His gaze drifted toward Buck across the room.
“But you? You’re already under his skin. ”
Wren looked away first because the worst part was that she knew it, too.
She’d felt it in the woods when he threw himself in front of her without hesitation.
She’d felt it every time his body moved instinctively closer to hers, like he physically couldn’t help it.
And God help her, she liked it—too much.
“You should leave when you get the chance,” Ghost said quietly, the humor fading from his voice. “This life ruins people.” Wren looked back at him, and something old and tired flickered across his face before disappearing beneath his usual smirk.
“You say that like you regret being here, Ghost,” she assessed.
Ghost took a drag from his cigarette. “I say it like I know better. This place drains you after a while.”
Before she could answer, Buck’s voice cut through the room. “Ghost.”
The biker beside her sighed dramatically. “Duty calls.” He pointed at her with the cigarette. “Try not to get kidnapped while I’m busy.”
Wren rolled her eyes despite herself. “You’re an ass.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Ghost snorted.
He disappeared back toward the others while Wren remained frozen near the hallway, trying to ignore the fact that Buck’s gaze immediately found her again across the crowded room.
Every few minutes, his eyes seemed to search for her automatically.
Like he needed to know where she was. The realization should’ve scared her; instead, warmth spread low in her stomach, which was insane—completely insane.
A loud crash sounded outside, suddenly followed by shouting.
Every biker in the room reacted instantly.
Buck grabbed his gun from the table while Ghost moved toward the door with terrifying speed.
The entire atmosphere shifted again—hardening into violence so fast it stole Wren’s breath.
“Stay inside,” Buck ordered her as he passed.
“You keep giving me orders like I’ll actually listen to you,” she breathed. His eyes flashed, and for one dangerous second, the tension between them had nothing to do with guns or rival clubs. It felt personal—intimate even.
“You don’t understand how bad things can get around here,” he said quietly.
“Then stop treating me like I’m fragile, and help me understand,” she demanded. Buck stepped closer to her—too close. Wren could smell cold air, cedar, and smoke that clung to his skin. His expression tightened as he looked down at her.
“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he murmured. The low rasp of his voice did terrible things to her girl parts.
“Then what do you think?” she asked softly.
Buck’s jaw flexed as his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.
“I think,” he said slowly, “you keep walking into danger like you've got no idea what it does to the people around you.” The words hit harder than they should have.
Before she could respond, another shout erupted outside, and Buck tore his gaze away first, cursing under his breath before heading for the door.
He told her to stay put again, but Wren followed anyway.
Snow blasted against her face the second she stepped onto the porch.
Several bikes were already pulling out of the compound while men loaded rifles into trucks near the gate.
Mason’s attack seemed to have everyone on edge.
Ghost stood near one of the SUVs, barking orders while Buck spoke quietly with another patched member beside a map spread across the hood of a truck.
The wind howled around them, and for the first time since arriving here, Wren realized something terrifying.
These men weren’t just criminals—they were soldiers.
Every movement was practiced. They were efficient as a unit and very protective.
The Kings weren’t preparing for a fight. They were preparing for war.
“You shouldn’t be out here.” Wren turned to find that Buck had appeared beside her silently again.
“I needed air,” she lied.
His gaze softened slightly before drifting toward the storm-dark horizon. “Things are gonna get ugly fast.”
“That prospect said they hit supply trucks,” she said, needing more answers than she was being given.
Buck nodded once. “Blackwater Ridge controls one of the winter routes into town.” His mouth hardened. “If the Vultures take it, they control fuel deliveries, medical runs, and food shipments. Small communities up here don’t survive long when they’re cut off from supplies.”
Wren stared at him. “You protect the towns up here, don’t you?”
Buck shrugged slightly like it didn’t matter.
“Somebody has to.” The simple honesty of it wrecked her a little, because nobody ever talked about outlaw bikers like this.
Nobody mentioned them keeping remote communities alive during brutal winters or defending routes law enforcement couldn’t reach.
They just called them criminals, and maybe they were, but standing here now, watching Buck coordinate defenses while half the province froze around them—well, she wasn’t sure things were as simple as she once believed.
A truck engine roared near the gates, and one of the prospects sprinted across the yard, yelling something Wren couldn’t hear over the wind.
Buck turned, and then his entire body went still.
Wren followed his line of sight and saw a black pickup sitting just outside the compound gates.
Nailed to the front grille was the skinned carcass of a wolf.
Wren’s stomach twisted violently. “Oh, my God.” The gates opened cautiously while several Kings approached the truck with guns drawn.
Buck moved instantly, stepping in front of her before she could follow. “Stay back here,” he shouted, but she barely heard him. She could only focus on what was spray-painted across the side of the truck in bright red letters. It was six words that made ice flood her veins.
WE KNOW SHE’S WITH YOU NOW.
The wolf’s empty eyes haunted her. Even after Buck dragged her back inside the clubhouse, even after the gates slammed shut and armed men disappeared into the storm, Wren still couldn’t stop seeing the blood frozen into the wolf’s silver fur.
WE KNOW SHE’S WITH YOU NOW.
The words replayed in her head over and over.
They had to be about her, but Wren couldn’t figure out why anyone would be tracking her.
Her job wasn’t normally dangerous. Sure, she had faced her share of danger over the years, but nothing like this.
This felt personal, and that scared the hell out of her.
“You’re pale.” Wren looked up sharply from where she sat at the long wooden table. Ghost dropped into the chair across from her, his lighter clicking softly in his hands as he lit another cigarette.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Mm.” Smoke curled from his mouth. “You look like you’re about three seconds away from either puking or punching somebody.
” Honestly, both sounded reasonable to her.
The clubhouse buzzed with tension around them.
Men moved in and out carrying weapons, radios, extra fuel, and maps.
Nobody laughed anymore. Nobody drank. The easy atmosphere from yesterday was completely gone.
War had changed them, and somehow she was in the middle of it.
“This is my fault,” she murmured before she could stop herself.
Ghost’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No.”
“They came here because of me,” she insisted.
“They came here because they’re stupid enough to think threatening the Kings is smart.” He leaned back in the chair, studying her carefully. “The difference matters.”
Wren rubbed her hands together, trying to warm fingers that suddenly felt numb again. “They know who I am.”
“Probably,” he said as though it wasn’t a big deal.
“How would they know me?” she asked.
Ghost shrugged one shoulder. “You rolled into northern territory waving government credentials around and asking questions about dead wolves.” His mouth twisted faintly.
“Word travels fast up here.” A knot formed in her stomach.
Had someone been watching her the entire time?
Had they noticed her checkpoints or the motel she’d stayed in two nights ago?