Page 40 of Ruger's Rage

"I know. Not saying you were wrong." Reed leans back. "Just saying, prepare for what comes next. Man lost everything—his club, his woman, his pride. That makes him dangerous."

The meeting continues as we plan countermeasures, but my mind keeps drifting to that photo of Santini.

To Tildie's fear when she mentioned her ex.

To the threats suddenly surrounding her from all sides.

When we finally break, the afternoon has turned into the evening.

Prospects scurry around preparing for Sunday dinner, the mood lightening as some brothers filter in with their flavor of the week.

Reed clasps my shoulder as we watch the transformation. "Staying for dinner?"

"If there's room at the table."

"Always room for you and your club," I tell him. "Besides, it’s good for everyone to see leadership united."

He nods, then adds conversationally, "Heard you bought that bar outside town. Backroads."

"News travels."

"Small community." He pauses. "Also heard there's a certain bartender catching your eye."

I shoot him a look. "You here to discuss business or gossip like church ladies?"

He laughs, the sound genuine this time. "When you've been at this as long as I have, you learn that a President with his head straight makes better decisions. Women can either steady you or shake you."

"She's not—" I stop, unwilling to lie. "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" His knowing smile reminds me he's seen countless club romances rise and fall over decades. "Bring her around tonight. Let me see for myself."

"If she comes. She's...cautious."

Understanding crosses his weathered face. "Smart woman. We'll be on our best behavior."

I check my phone—no new messages from Tildie.

The possibility she might skip tonight sits heavier than it should.

"I'll be back," I tell Reed, making a sudden decision. "You good for an hour?"

He nods, something approving in his expression. "Go get your woman."

The ride to Backroads takes fifteen minutes, but the fresh air clears my head.

I've spent the day reviewing threats, building strategies, and preparing for war that’s practically right at my front door.

But none of that stops the nervous energy building in my chest at the thought of seeing her again.

The bar is quiet when I arrive, but that’s no surprise since it’s already closed.

Ellie spots me first, shooting me a knowing look. "She's in the back," she says, not bothering with hello. "Inventory."

I find Tildie counting bottles in the storeroom, hair pulled back, bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

She jumps when she notices me. "Jesus! Make some noise, would you?"

"Sorry," I say, though I'm not. Seeing her rattled does things to me. "Doing inventory on a Sunday?"

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