Wren #2
Ghost must’ve read the fear on her face because his expression softened slightly.
“Hey.” He waited until she met his eyes again.
“You’re safe here.” The words should’ve comforted her; instead, they terrified her more because she believed him, and she was beginning to understand exactly what that protection might cost.
The clubhouse door slammed open suddenly, blasting icy wind through the room.
Buck walked in, and every conversation stopped instantly.
Wren’s breath caught as she looked him over.
Snow clung to his shoulders and dark hair while blood streaked across the knuckles of one hand.
Not his blood. His expression was carved from ice itself, hard and unreadable.
He looked around the room once before his gaze landed directly on her, and everything inside her tightened.
Buck moved toward her immediately, ignoring everyone else completely. “You okay?” he asked.
The rough concern in his voice did something awful to her chest. “I’m fine.” His eyes narrowed slightly like he knew she was lying, and Wren wanted to crawl under the table to hide from him.
Ghost stood from the table. “Well, this feels personal, so I’m gonna disappear before Buck starts growling.” He clapped Buck once on the shoulder as he passed. “Try not to scare her off completely, brother.”
Buck ignored him. Wren watched Ghost disappear down the hallway before looking back at Buck. “What happened outside?”
“Nothing good,” Buck admitted.
“That’s not an answer,” she insisted.
His jaw flexed. “The truck was abandoned about two miles south,” he admitted finally. “No prints, and there was nothing useful. The trail is cold.”
“But the message was for me,” she said.
“It was for us,” he challenged.
“No.” Wren shook her head. “It specifically mentioned me.”
Buck stepped closer. “Listen carefully,” he said quietly. “The Vultures are trying to get inside your head. Fear makes people stupid.”
“And if I already feel stupid for even coming here, then what?” she asked. Something flickered across his face then. It wasn’t anger, but something rougher.
“You’re not stupid,” he growled.
Wren laughed weakly. “I drove into outlaw territory chasing poachers and somehow ended up trapped in the middle of a gang war.” She looked up at him. “Feels pretty stupid from where I’m sitting.”
Buck stared at her for a long moment before pulling out the chair beside her and sitting down heavily.
“You know what the north does to people?” he asked suddenly.
Wren blinked at the question, not sure how to answer him.
“It isolates them,” he continued before she had a chance to answer.
“Storms hit. Roads close. Supplies disappear. Law enforcement stops showing up unless bodies start piling too high.” His gaze drifted toward the dark windows.
“Out here, communities survive because somebody makes sure they do.”
“The Kings make sure that people are safe,” she whispered. Buck shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, but she knew better. “You protect people,” she said quietly.
“We protect what’s ours,” he said. The possessiveness in the statement sent heat curling low in her stomach before she could stop it. God, this man was a problem.
“You keep saying things like that,” she murmured.
Buck looked at her slowly. “Like what?”
“Mine. Ours.” Her pulse jumped harder beneath his steady gaze. “Like ownership matters more to you than laws do out here.” A slow silence stretched between them, and Buck leaned closer. He sat close enough that she could smell winter and smoke and whiskey clinging to his skin again.
“Out here,” he said roughly, “ownership’s the only thing keeping people alive.
” The words settled heavily between them.
Wren should’ve pushed back. She should’ve argued; instead, her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, which was a big mistake because Buck seemed to notice instantly.
The air changed around them, and her heartbeat stumbled hard when his gaze darkened.
“Wren,” he said quietly. It was just her name, but the way he said it made her body feel warm despite the freezing cold outside. A loud whistle shattered the moment, and both of them jerked apart. Ghost stood near the kitchen entrance holding two beers with the most obnoxious grin she’d ever seen.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he drawled. Buck looked murderous, but Ghost ignored him completely as he walked over and handed one beer to Wren. “Thought you might need this after seeing our VP turn into a caveman over you all day.”
“I’m not—” Buck started.
“Protective?” Ghost interrupted. “Obsessed? One bad decision away from throwing her over your shoulder?” He smirked at Wren.
“Take your pick.” Heat flooded her cheeks instantly.
Buck looked ready to commit homicide, but Ghost just laughed and dropped into the chair across from them again like he had a death wish.
Then his expression shifted into something serious. “We got another problem.”
Buck’s attention snapped toward him immediately. “What kind of problem?” he asked.
“One of our southern contacts checked in.” Ghost tossed a folded paper onto the table. “The Vultures aren’t operating alone.” Buck unfolded the paper carefully. Wren watched the exact moment his expression hardened further.
“What is it?” she asked quietly. Buck didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he slid the paper across the table toward her.
Wren looked down, and her blood turned cold instantly.
It was a photograph of her that had to have been taken yesterday.
She was standing beside Buck’s bike outside the clubhouse gates.
Someone had been watching them long before the attack.
Scrawled across the bottom in black marker were three words that made her stomach drop.
brING HER SOUTH.