Chapter 4
JACQUELINE
My heart continued to hammer so hard I could feel it in my throat. The guys from the Black Crowns MC had taken down the three men who had broken into my barn without breaking a sweat. And now they bantered as though fights like this were an everyday occurrence.
But none of that was even why my pulse was racing. That was entirely due to the man who’d stepped between me and danger.
Even without the president patch on his black leather vest, his commanding presence would’ve made it clear he was a leader.
He was almost a full foot and a half taller than me, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His dark-brown hair was cropped short, his steel-gray eyes seemed to take in everything at once, and his square jaw was covered in neatly trimmed dark stubble.
He had two visible tattoos—a skull on his left forearm and a detailed piece on his right upper arm featuring eagle wings, a compass, and coordinates set against mountains.
I couldn’t help but wonder how many more were hidden beneath his clothes…when I probably should’ve been terrified.
He had broken a man’s arm right in front of me. But I couldn’t hold his violence against him when he’d only done it for my protection. That didn’t mean I should be lusting after him, though.
Unfortunately, my body hadn’t gotten that memo. A warm flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks, and all I could focus on was him.
My grandfather had always said I was made of sterner stuff, but I just about fainted when he hooked two fingers beneath my chin and tipped my face up until I stared into his eyes. His touch was gentle, but his voice was rough when he asked, “Why are you guarding your side?”
“I backed into one of the iron stall latches when I grabbed the shotgun,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing deeper. “It stung, but it’s nothing.”
“Show me.”
“It really is—”
“Didn’t ask whether it was nothing, Jacqueline.” He slid his hand from my chin to my nape, his thumb resting beneath my ear. “I said show me.”
I leaned toward him just the tiniest bit, but he still caught my reaction to his demand, and his lips tipped up.
Then before I realized what he intended, his hands were at my waist, and he was turning me around.
After he untied my grandpa’s flannel from around my hips and let it fall to the ground, he hooked his fingers beneath the hem of my shirt.
I drew in a quick breath when his knuckles skimmed the warm skin above my jeans, but I didn’t move away. His touch felt too good.
One of my hands moved to his forearm to hold on as he lifted the fabric high enough to expose the spot I’d struck.
“Looks like it’s gonna bruise, but you didn’t break the skin.”
I was just about to point out that I’d been right about not really being hurt when his palm spread across my stomach, and my breath caught in my throat. He traced my ribs, and my belly tightened beneath his touch, a small shiver moving through me when his thumb brushed over my skin.
“Breathe deep for me.”
I did as he instructed, entirely too aware of how inhaling lifted my breasts closer to his chest.
“One more.”
I took another breath while he checked each rib and followed the line of the forming bruise toward my back. The pain was minimal enough to fade in the background of the pleasure of having him touch me. Every point of contact made my pulse jump.
I had never reacted to anyone like this, my skin tingling wherever he touched. An injured man was still groaning on the ground ten feet away, yet all I could focus on was the heat of his hands on me.
He finally lowered my shirt but kept his hand wrapped around my hip. “No broken bones.”
It was more habit than argument when I murmured, “I told you it was nothing.”
“You also stood in front of three men with a shotgun and decided fear wasn’t a reason to step aside.” He turned me back toward him, his steel-gray eyes burning into mine. “Your judgment regarding nothing needs work.”
My lips pressed together, but the corners still twitched, most likely giving away how funny I found his grumbling to be.
For the first time, I was beginning to understand what my grandpa really meant when he said the Black Crowns were “good men.” They weren’t harmless, but they were good to the people they decided to protect. And now it seemed as though I was counted among those they looked after.
But I couldn’t explore how that made me feel because the crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of the police.
I turned as Bex’s dad stepped out of his cruiser, his familiar face a welcome sight amid the tension still crackling in the air.
He gave a short nod to the tall man beside me. “Stryker.”
The name hit me with a little jolt, and I mentally rolled my eyes at myself for mooning over a guy whose name I didn’t even know.
The two men regarded each other with wary familiarity, and I wondered how well they knew each other. Then the sheriff’s gaze landed on me, and his expression softened.
“Jacqueline.” He pulled me into a warm, fatherly hug, the kind he’d given me since I was a little girl tagging along after his daughter. “You okay?”
I nodded against his uniform shirt. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Behind me, I heard a low, rumbling growl from Stryker. Instead of being irritated, butterflies swarmed in my belly at the sound. When Bex’s dad released me, he shot Stryker a warning glare, but he just stared back, completely unfazed.
Shaking his head, the sheriff turned his attention to the track loader that didn’t belong in my barn, and then to the three men on the ground. He crossed his arms over his chest and let out a low whistle. “Been waiting a long time to catch something solid on Wade’s crew.”
Stryker looked at the blond guy on the ground with narrowed eyes. “Wade Kessler is dirty, and you didn’t let me know?”
Bex’s dad shrugged. “The shit he’s into hasn’t impacted the Black Crowns since you’ve never hired his company, and he’s smart enough not to fuck with anything you own.”
“You know I like to be aware of what’s happening in my town,” Stryker growled.
“I do.” The sheriff tapped the badge pinned to his shirt. “But I didn’t have anything solid enough to make an arrest.”
“Now you do.” Stryker jerked his chin toward the men the deputies were tugging off the ground. “But it might’ve been sooner if you had brought us in.”
The sheriff quickly explained the local theft ring while his deputies cuffed the men.
They targeted equipment, trailers, ATVs, expensive tools—anything valuable that could be moved fast. They’d strip decals and tracking devices, alter serial numbers and plates, then haul everything out of the area to private buyers, using Kessler Hauling & Recovery as the perfect cover.
“Looks like they already started on the identification plates here,” Bex’s dad noted, crouching to inspect the loader. “Altered serials will slow us down, but we’ve got them on trespassing and attempted assault at the very least.”
I shivered a little, and Stryker stepped closer to me. “The charges better stick.”
“That’s Trent Kessler, Wade’s son. He’s not going to be happy.” The sheriff tipped his chin at the blond guy being loaded into the back of a squad car before warning, “Odds are he’ll push for bail, and he’ll be able to pay it.”
My shoulders slumped as I realized the danger hadn’t passed with their arrests. Stryker leaned in, his breath hot against my ear as he promised, “Nobody is gonna hurt you.”
Approval gleamed in the sheriff’s eyes, and it made me think the unspoken truce between him and the Black Crowns went even deeper than I realized. He hadn’t even asked about the man whose arm was bent at a painful angle. And Stryker never offered an explanation.
“They’re not going to scare me off this ranch, either,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest with a slight wince.
“And I’m not selling to that Brogan Rourke guy.
My grandpa left it to me because he knew I’d be able to make my dream come true out here on land that’s been in my family for generations. ”
Judge coughed, but it almost sounded like he was trying to cover a laugh.
“What’s your dream?” Stryker asked, drawing my attention back to him.
My voice came out softer than I wanted as I explained, “I’m going to offer horse rehabilitation and boarding on part of the ranch. The zoning allows for it already, and I have plenty of acreage.”
Judge nodded, his expression thoughtful as he began, “About the acreage—”
“Drop it,” Stryker cut in firmly, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.
I blinked, glancing between the men. “Drop what?”
Stryker’s steel-gray eyes locked onto mine. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something important here?”
A muscle jumped in his stubble-covered jaw. “I’m Brogan Rourke, Jacqueline.”
I gasped, unsure how to respond to the verbal bomb he’d just lobbed.
Before I could come up with any words, he spoke again.
“I’m not going to talk you into selling.
We wanted the land because we didn’t want a stranger living this close to the compound.
That would be a major security concern. Especially if it was a developer.
” I opened my mouth, but he shook his head and forged on.
“You’re not a stranger. You care about the land, and you’re smart enough to work with us on the parts that affect security. ”
Before I could fully process that statement, he turned to one of the men whose name I hadn’t caught yet. “Make sure a prospect brings over my bag from the clubhouse with the security equipment. I’ll be staying in the spare bedroom until the property is secure.”
I scoffed, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. “That’s really not necessary. I have a shotgun.”
Stryker’s gaze swung back to me, one dark brow lifting slightly. The look he gave me made me swallow the rest of my protest. “Already saw it.”
“And my grandpa taught me how to use it,” I added, lifting my chin.
“I’m sure he did.”
There was no missing the quiet certainty in his voice, but he still didn’t budge. And something told me that arguing any further would be pointless.