Chapter 8
STRYKER
By Saturday morning, the Rutledge Ranch carried visible evidence of what happened when I decided a problem belonged to me.
The back door locked properly, the porch step that had shifted beneath Jacqueline’s weight had been rebuilt, and the barn had new locks, reinforced points of entry, and a security system capable of telling me when someone breathed too close to the property line.
Jacqueline had watched the work with the kind of fascinated amusement that made my hands want to keep finding things to fix just to see what expression she’d give me next.
She’d stopped asking me why I was doing all of this, which told me she was practical enough to recognize a losing battle when one stood in front of her with a drill.
More interesting than that, she had stopped pretending she didn’t like when I moved her where I wanted her.
Each time she leaned into my touch instead of pulling away, the possessive thing inside me started making long-term plans without consulting the rest of my brain. Not that it had any objections.
Today, I put repairs on hold to take her to the compound.
I wanted Jacqueline to have another layer of protection.
She needed access codes, an emergency contact list, and a physical understanding of where to go if something went wrong and I couldn’t get to her.
The men operating the guard stations would know her name and face, but I wanted her to be able to get through the gates in case someone new was on duty.
The road to the compound wound deeper into Sable Canyon than the ranch.
Once we were through the front gate, the compound revealed itself gradually, with layers.
The main road curved through oak-lined washes and past dry ridges until the clubhouse, garages, and outbuildings appeared beyond the final controlled turn, motorcycles lined near the front.
Jacqueline looked through the windshield, taking in the buildings, the brothers moving around the yard, and the quiet order underneath the rough exterior.
“It’s bigger than I expected. Grandpa always talked about the club like you were just a bunch of men with motorcycles who also happened to own everything within driving distance. ”
“Not everything,” I drawled, parking near the clubhouse while Hawkeye, Ghost, and Cipher looked up from a workbench beside the garage. “We leave room for the illusion of civic independence.”
A soft laugh slipped out, filling the cab with warmth that had nothing to do with June in California. When I helped her climb out of the truck, I didn’t have to look to know we’d caught the attention of every man within twenty yards.
Though they didn’t yet know the depth of the meaning, they knew enough to understand I was making a statement.
Hawkeye wiped his hands on a rag and walked over first, his gaze moving from Jacqueline’s face to my hand at her waist before his mouth curved with the kind of satisfaction that usually preceded a conversation I didn’t want to have. “Welcome to the Black Crowns compound.”
“Thank you.” She offered him a small smile that softened something in his expression despite the amusement he aimed at me. “I hear I need codes, escape routes, and maybe a map so I don’t accidentally wander into something that requires a waiver.”
Cipher snorted from behind Hawkeye. “Everything here requires a waiver.”
Ghost nodded. “Mostly because Judge got tired of telling grown men not to do stupid shit.”
She looked around thoughtfully, but her tone was impish when she replied, “Good to know. I’ll lower my expectations accordingly.”
Hawkeye looked at Jacqueline like she had just passed some invisible test, then glanced at me. “She’s funny. That’s gonna be inconvenient for you.”
“I’ll survive,” I drawled, letting my thumb brush once against Jacqueline’s waist. “You’re the one testing your odds.”
They knew exactly how little space I’d ever made for anyone outside the club, and watching me hand a woman access to our world was apparently too valuable to waste in silence. Ghost grinned into his coffee, but he was studying me in a way that most likely meant he was about to piss me off.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Wasn’t gonna say a word.”
“Bullshit.”
Cipher coughed to hide a laugh.
I let my gaze move from Ghost to Hawkeye to Cipher, putting enough edge under it that all of them knew where the line sat. “Keep it up, and I’ll put you on the rear fire road tonight with the coyotes and mosquitoes.”
Ghost’s grin faded just enough to be satisfying. “That road’s boring as fuck. A graveyard with dust.”
“That’s why it’s punishment, asshole.”
Hawkeye’s mouth twitched as he glanced toward Jacqueline, clearly enjoying himself but not stupid enough to push much harder. “Could be worse. He could put us on prospect evaluations.”
“Still an option,” I threatened.
Cipher cringed. “Bishop told me yesterday that one of the guys applying to be a prospect asked if a tail gunner handles actual guns or just rides in the back looking mean.”
Bishop was the club’s secretary, and a part of his responsibilities was to monitor and keep track of prospects and their progress. That included vetting applications for new ones, a job everyone hated. So he was more than happy for any help I sent his way when someone pissed me off.
“Can’t blame a brother for being shocked,” Hawkeye goaded, falling in beside us. “Never seen you throw this many resources at anything that didn’t shoot back.”
“We’re going somewhere you’re not,” I groused, guiding Jacqueline toward the clubhouse while she looked up at me with laughter in her pretty eyes.
“Good choice,” Hawkeye shot back, opening the clubhouse door for her. Then his expression turned sly. “Except my office is right next to yours.”
Jacqueline stepped inside, and I slammed my heel into Hawkeye's solar plexus while her attention was on the interior, then shut the door in his oxygen-deprived face.
Jacqueline took in the walls first, the old photographs, patches preserved behind glass, framed shots of runs, fundraisers, and brothers who were gone but not forgotten.
I showed her the main room, the hallway to the offices, the emergency exit near the back, and the keypad beside an interior door that would get her into the secure corridor if she ever needed to reach the safe room.
When we reached the kitchen, a couple of old ladies, Mara and Dot, were pulling pies from the oven.
Both women were in their early fifties, were married to older patches who had joined under my mentor, and had been feeding brothers long enough to treat armed men as obstacles between them and a clean counter.
Mara saw Jacqueline first, and whatever she’d been about to say to Dot vanished as her face lit up.
“Well, aren’t you as pretty as a sunrise.
” Mara crossed the kitchen with a towel thrown over one shoulder, hugging Jacqueline before the girl managed more than a soft hello, then held her out at arm’s length like she was inspecting a prize filly.
“Otis’s girl. He talked about you every time I saw him in town, usually while pretending he wasn’t bragging. ”
Jacqueline’s expression softened at the mention of her grandfather, and when Dot appeared with a plate, the grief didn’t have time to catch because there was suddenly pie in front of her.
The slice was thick, golden, and still steaming.
Jacqueline looked at it, blinked, and settled onto the stool Dot nudged toward her.
“You good here with Mara and Dot for a bit?”
Jacqueline looked at the pie, then at the two women already beaming at her, and finally back at me with sweet seriousness. Reaching for the fork, she murmured, “I’ll try to survive.”
I chuckled, and Mara froze with both brows high while Dot’s jaw hung slack as both women stared at me.
Ignoring them, I looked at the woman who had faced three thieves with a shotgun, accepted cameras on her property, and had apparently just dismissed me for dessert. “Good to know where your loyalty sits.”
Jacqueline took a bite, closed her eyes for half a second, then opened them with a blush that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the pie. “I’m sorry, but this is extremely persuasive.”
Mara shook off her shock, then turned her gaze to Jacqueline and made a delighted sound. “Oh, I love her.”
“That was fast.”
“So was you moving into her ranch,” Dot returned without missing a beat, obviously over her surprise as well.
Jacqueline coughed on a laugh, and I tapped the center of her back until she recovered, my palm lingering there because she settled under the touch like she liked it.
“I have church.”
Jacqueline’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Wait, did you say church?”
Mara snorted, and Dot giggled because they knew how that sounded to outsiders.
I rested my hand at Jacqueline’s waist and turned her stool slightly so she faced me instead of the plate that had clearly become my competition. “Club meeting, baby. We discuss business, patches, protocol, problems, and anything that needs a vote.”
Her eyes filled with understanding, but a smile tugged at her mouth, saying she wasn’t done with me. “So not a chapel.”
“No.”
“No hymns?”
“Closest thing you’ll get is everybody cussing in unison.”
She laughed, making my mouth curve up again before I bent and pressed my lips to Jacqueline’s forehead. Her lashes lowered as she leaned into the kiss, and the small movement of acceptance hit me on the left side of my chest.
“Eat your pie.” I brushed my thumb along her jaw before straightening and giving her braid a quick tug.
“Yes, bossy,” she murmured, soft enough that only I should’ve heard it.
Unfortunately, Mara had ears like a surveillance array. “Oh, we are keeping her.”
I left before I smiled openly again and gave them a fucking heart attack.
The sound of Jacqueline’s laughter followed me down the hall, and walking into a meeting felt less like carrying weight and more like having something worth returning to when the doors opened again for the first time in years.
My office sat at the end of the hall, large enough to hold crowded meetings, but comfortable enough to take a break on a couch and have a drink when business gave me a fucking headache.
A heavy walnut desk faced the door, and a conference table sat off to one side, while the other side of the room held a leather seating area and bar.
My men were already inside, waiting for me.
I took a seat at my desk and waited for the conversation to die down before I spoke. “Situation changed at Rutledge Ranch.”
Judge leaned back in his chair. “That may be the shortest summary of an obsession I’ve ever heard.”
I ignored him and kept talking. “Most of you know the plan to purchase the ranch is dead.”
Nobody looked surprised. They knew enough about what had been happening over the past two days to figure out that buying the place had stopped being the objective the second I’d met Jacqueline.
“She’s keeping it. So we secure the ridge, run patrols, and keep eyes on the property until I say different. Make damn sure nobody steps foot on that land without her permission or ours.”
I paused, and my gaze hardened along with my tone. “I’m gonna be very fucking clear. Jacqueline Rutledge is off limits.”
Silence settled over the room for all of two seconds, then Cipher glanced up over the edge of his tablet. “How off limits?”
My expression was deadly. “Use your imagination.”
His mouth twitched, but he wisely stayed silent.
However, Zero decided to push his luck. “Do we define off limits as ‘don’t be stupid’ or ‘update your will before being stupid’?”
“The second,” I growled at our captain.
“Got it.” His eyes still held amusement, but there was also the understanding that fucking with me when it came to Jacqueline would end very badly for him.
From the looks of the faces around my office, everybody else did too.
Using the silence to shift to business, I informed them, “Trent Kessler and the other two made bail this morning.”
“We expected it,” Judge muttered, his voice dripping with disgust. “But I couldn’t help hoping Raines would find a reason to keep their asses in cuffs.”
I nodded because I’d been in the same frame of mind. “Law enforcement is working to identify the altered loader, but we’re not waiting on county paperwork to map Wade’s network.”
Cipher scowled. “Kessler Hauling & Recovery is cleaner than it ought to be. Legit trucks and construction contracts. Employees willing to lie for Wade when somebody starts asking questions. He’s buried the dirty business inside the legitimate one.”
Bishop tapped his finger on the table and narrowed his eyes. “Which means we stop focusing on the paperwork and start looking at the people.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“Wade’s survived this long because he keeps distance between himself and the stolen equipment,” Judge added, sliding a file down the table. “Shell subcontractors, cash drivers, auction contacts, and enough legitimate hauling to hide dirty movement inside normal traffic.”
“Keep digging through the legal shit.”
He lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
“Cipher, stay on the digital trail. Phones. Fleet tracking. Shell companies. I want Wade’s people. It’ll give Raines a stronger case.”
I spent the next few minutes handing out assignments to everyone else.
Local mechanics. Ranchers who’d reported equipment thefts.
Auction contacts. Tow companies. Feed-store owners.
Construction crews. We all knew this territory better than anybody wearing a badge.
And we had brothers, clients, veterans, and friends scattered from Sable Canyon to the coast. Everybody knew somebody, and someone always talked.
“And Wade?” Bishop asked. There was a sharpness in his gaze that said he was hoping I’d issue a kill order.
“Gotta play by the rules first, so Raines gets him.” My jaw hardened, and I snarled, “Unless the motherfucker comes anywhere near Jacqueline. Then he’s gonna learn the difference between stealing equipment and touching what’s mine.”
Hawkeye broke the silence first, pushing away from the desk. “Church is over. Get the fuck to work.”