Page 57 of Ruger's Rage

The harsh truth should be enough for me to put distance between us, but I won’t. "You think I don't know that? You think I'm not doing everything possible to protect her? But to be fair, Aunt Ellie, she had a target on her back before she even got here. We all know it."

"You know what I think," she says more gently, "that you're falling for her. And that complicates everything."

"It's not—" I stop, unable to finish the lie. "Yeah. It does."

Ellie's expression softens. "Funny thing is, I think she's falling for you too. Girl was blushing six ways to Sunday when I mentioned your bike this morning."

Something warm unfurls in my chest at the thought. "She's not like the others."

"No, she's not. Which is why this conversation is happening." She reaches across the desk, taking my hand in hers. "You're a good man, Ryan. Better than your uncle ever was. But this life you've chosen—it costs people. Especially the women in it."

I know she's thinking of her own scars, the price she paid for loving Striker. "I would never hurt her."

"Not intentionally. But what about the enemies you've made? The ones you're making right now?" She squeezes my hand. "What happens to her if this thing with the Vultures escalates?"

"I'll protect her." The words come easily, instinctively.

"And if you can't?"

The question hangs between us. I've buried brothers before, men I'd sworn to protect. The thought of burying Tildie is unbearable.

"I'm not letting her go," I say finally. "Not unless she wants me to."

Ellie studies me for a long moment, then nods as if coming to a decision. "Then I expect you to do better by her than any man ever has. That includes keeping her in the loop, not just shielding her from hard truths like the oldies used to do before you."

"I’m being as honest with her as I can, Aunt Ellie."

"Good." She stands, smoothing her skirt. "Because that girl's like a daughter to me now. You hurt her, President or not, I'll tie you up on the clothesline by your damn ear."

The threat, coming from my five-foot-four aunt, should be laughable. It isn't.

"Understood."

She moves to the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth, you two make sense together. Both carrying too much, both too stubborn for your own good." A small smile touches her lips. "Reminds me of your parents sometimes."

The comparison stuns me.

My parents had the kind of love that survived club life, that thrived even when it shouldn’t have, until my mother's illness took her.

It's the highest compliment Aunt Ellie could ever say to me.

"Thanks, Aunt Ellie."

She nods once, then slips out.

By evening, the clubhouse becomes command central. Maps cover the walls, tracking Grim Vultures' movements against our own. Security footage from Amity plays on a loop as brothers study it for clues.

Maddox and Bloodhound return with more intel, confirming our suspicions—this was a professional hit designed to look like amateur work.

It’s the kind of job that requires insider knowledge and meticulous planning.

The evening stretches into night as we review all the intel we’ve gathered and plan our next moves.

Every hour that passes without the Vultures retaliation makes me more anxious, not less.

They're planning something—I can feel it.

I glance at my phone. Tildie's shift ended half an hour ago. She should be here by now.

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