Page 20 of Torgash

"I never asked you to care."

This maintains the confrontational dynamic while varying the language and reducing the repetitive "decided" pattern.

"I know." Regret crosses his features. "Believe me, I didn't plan on it either."

We stand there, too close in the narrow alley, tension shifting to something more complicated.

"So what now?"

"Now you do your job. I do mine." He glances toward the alley entrance. "And if people are watching, we give them nothing to see."

"And if I don't agree?"

His head shakes. "Doesn't change anything." No room for argument. "Diesel or one of the others will keep an eye on things whether you like it or not."

The presumption reignites my temper. "You don't get to assign me a babysitter."

"Call it what you want." Ash turns toward the alley entrance. "Just don't mistake distance for disinterest."

He walks away without looking back, his shoulders set in a rigid line, which means he's made up his mind. I watch him go, torn between fury and frustration.

I wait five minutes before following. By the time I reach my cruiser, my sheriff mask is back in place.

This is smart. Distractions are the last thing I need when I'm building a case against Royce. My focus needs to be on justice, not on an orc who acts like I'm something worth defending, then pushes me away "for my own good."

I pull out of the parking lot, heading back to the station. Work will clear my head.

But as I drive, I scan my rearview mirror, looking for the black motorcycle I expect to be following at a distance.

The street behind me is empty.

I tell myself the hollow feeling in my chest is relief. And almost believe it.

Chapter Five

Ash

The war room reeks of Diesel's latest attempt at cooking. Something that might've been pasta before he murdered it. He's sprawled across the couch like he owns the place, boots propped on the strategy table, scrolling through security feeds while I pretend to focus on property deeds.

Pretending being the operative damn word.

I’ve been staring at the same Bauer family eviction papers for twenty minutes. Same page. Same words that might as well be ancient Greek for all the good they're doing me. Because my brain keeps cycling back to yesterday. Outside the diner. Cornering Nova in that alley because I couldn't handle the tension, couldn't stop myself from crowding her space. The way she'd gone still when I pressed closer—not surrender but survival instinct.

Hell. Why do I feel the need to make her fear me?

"You're gonna wear a hole in that file," Diesel says without looking up.

I flip another useless document. My jaw’s clenched so tight it aches. "Royce is moving money through shell companies faster than we can track it. Each time we get close, another layer appears."

"Uh-huh." His tone says he's not buying my bullshit. "This got anything to do with why you looked ready to murder Santos at the courthouse the other day?"

My pen snaps between my fingers.

Black ink bleeds across the Garcia family eviction notice—another family Royce screwed over while Dawson looked the other way. The kind of calculated destruction that should have my full attention. Would have my full attention if I wasn't losing my damn mind over a human sheriff who's been in town all of five minutes.

"Santos was standing too close," I mutter, reaching for another pen.

"To his boss. At a public meeting. In broad daylight." Diesel finally looks up, his gold eyes sharp with amusement. "Real threatening behavior there, brother."

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