“I can drive back to town?—”
“No, you can’t. The roads will ice over in thirty minutes, maybe less.” He jerked his chin toward the clubhouse. “You’ll freeze before you make the first mile.” Wren hesitated, seeming torn between pride and reason. Buck could practically feel her weighing trust against fear. Finally, she nodded and followed him when he turned toward the door.
Ghost fell in beside him, voice low. “You sure ‘bout this, brother? Bringing her into the den might not be a good idea.” Buck didn’t answer right away. He let the door swing open, and the heat of the clubhouse rushed out, the sound of laughter, clinking metal, and life filling the void the storm left behind.
Inside, things would get complicated. Ghost always said Buck had a habit of protecting things that didn’t belong to him. That was the problem. Nothing had ever belonged to him—not like he wanted someone to. That was his fault, though. He never let anyone in. He never told any of the guys that he was bisexual or that he had always thought about being in a relationship with both a man and a woman. He was pretty sure that most of his brothers would pretend to accept him for who he was, but he just couldn’t chance them rejecting him. Not now, after he’d built his relationships with his brothers.
Ghost was right, because he would protect anyone who belonged to him. And as Wren stepped into the light, shaking snow from her hair, the word mine echoed somewhere deep inside of him, where reason didn’t live. He’d only had that thought about one other person in his life—Ghost, and that was something he planned on taking to his death. Buck Lawson didn’t believe in fate. But tonight, he almost did.
Wren
The air inside the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse hit her like a blow to the gut. It was too warm, too loud, and just too much. Smoke curled with the scent of oil, whiskey, leather, and fire, all of it crowding the doorway as she stepped in after Buck. The storm shut out behind her with a slam, and for a heartbeat, she wished it hadn’t.
Every man in the room turned to look at her. Their laughter faltered, and the music dimmed under the low rumble of engines idling somewhere out back. Pool cues hovered mid-strike. Wren felt the pressure of their eyes—assessing, cataloguing, and deciding what to do next. But it wasn’t curiosity she heard in the silence. It was ownership. She was trespassing on their territory, and she was sure that they didn’t like it one bit.
Buck moved ahead of her like nothing could touch him, like the weight of their stares meant nothing. He owned the space the way the cold owned the north, a man carved out of leadership and habit.
“Back to business,” he said, his voice deep enough to roll through the room. “She’s with me.”
That single sentence worked better than a gunshot. The men looked away, muttered to themselves, and went back totheir games. Wren wasn’t naïve enough to believe it meant acceptance. It just meant she was an unwanted guest. In some undefined and possibly very temporary way, she belonged to Buck.
Ghost fell into step behind her as they crossed the floor—the tall, lean man from outside whose grin was all blade, and no warmth. He was the opposite of Buck’s silent gravity. Where Buck carried control, Ghost wore trouble like a second skin.
She heard him chuckle under his breath, soft and amused. “Bringing strays indoors now, Buck?” he teased. Buck didn’t answer. His hand brushed her back, guiding her toward a door at the end of the hall. His touch was brief, almost impersonal, and yet Wren felt it spark under her skin.
The office he led her into was smaller, quieter. There was a wood stove in the corner, maps pinned to the walls, and the faint tick of thawing ice dripping from his gloves onto the floorboards. He tossed them onto the desk and rolled his shoulders like he’d been living under the same weight for years.
“Sit,” he ordered. It wasn’t a suggestion, but Wren stayed standing anyway, clutching her satchel strap tight across her chest. “I told you—I’m with Wildlife Services. I’m not?—”
“Fed, yeah, you said that.” Buck’s voice was rough, drawing gravel out of each word. “Still doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing out here alone.”
Her chin lifted. “My job. There’ve been reports of traps, primed bait sites, and several endangered carcasses near the reserve line. We’ve lost three collars in the last two months—wolves, tagged and tracked from Thompson to here. My department sent me to find out why.”
He leaned a hip against the desk. “And you figured you’d just wander onto MC territory without a clue whose ground you were standin’ on?”
“I didn’t realize anyone owned Manitoba,” she said tightly.
His gaze cut sharper. “Everything belongs to someone, sweetheart. Up here, mistakes get people buried.”
She held his stare, refusing to flinch even though her heart was hammering in her chest. “Then I guess I’ll tread lightly.”
Buck’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite—it was more like someone remembering what smiling used to feel like. “You’re either brave or stupid.”
“Probably a bit of both,” she teased.
Ghost’s voice came from the door before she could respond further. “Definitely both.” He strolled in, easy and unrushed, cigarette smoke trailing behind him. “She’s got city written all over her. Bet she’s never spent a night past the grid.”
Wren turned her head sharply. “I can handle more than you think.”
Ghost grinned, slow and taunting. “That right? Can you handle him?” He nodded toward Buck, lazy amusement gleaming in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hide under the big desk that sat in the corner of the room or if she wanted to admit that she could probably handle both of them. Images of what the two of them might do to her flashed through her brain, causing her to overheat.
She felt heat flood her cheeks before she could stop it. “You don’t know me.”
“I plan to change that,” Ghost said, smirking as he flicked ash near the doorframe.
“Enough,” Buck said quietly. It wasn’t loud, but it shut Ghost up. Authority lived in his tone. “Storm’s coming in heavier than expected, so she’s not going anywhere tonight.”
Ghost shrugged. “Just making conversation.”