Page 15 of Ruger's Rage

Copy that, Prez.

I close my eyes, picturing Striker's face that night.

The rage, the entitlement, the complete lack of remorse for what he'd done to my aunt.

Even after all this time, I still don't regret exiling him.

But his presence in Pittsburgh, just hours away, is concerning.

Pittsburgh.

Where Tildie said she was from.

Coincidence?

Maybe. But I've learned to question coincidences.

I return to my reports, but my mind drifts.

Tildie's careful movements, the way she positions herself with exits in sight.

Her reaction to my cut—recognition but also fear.

This woman's been around dangerous men before.

Tomorrow, I'll go back to that bar.

Part of it is club business—we need to establish a stronger presence to send a message to the Grim Vultures.

But mostly, it's about her.

I want to know what makes Tildie tick.

What shadows haunt those beautiful amber eyes.

Why a woman that stunning is slinging drinks in a dive bar instead of ruling some lucky bastard's world.

She's trouble.

Every instinct I've developed in thirty-two years tells me so.

She's the kind of trouble that changes everything, that makes you question everything.

But as I finally head upstairs to my room, all I can think about is chocolate hair and amber eyes, full lips and dangerous curves.

The way my skin burned where we touched, how her voice wrapped around my name.

I should probably run in the opposite direction.

Instead, I'm already planning what time to roll into Backroads tomorrow.

CHAPTERTWO

Tildie

My hands shake as I spray the bar with disinfectant, the chemical smell burning my nose.

It's barely dawn, and I'm already here, desperate to lose myself in mindless tasks before the lunch crowd arrives.

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