Page 28 of Torgash

How it would destroy the trust she’s working to build with the town.

"People will understand—"

"People will assume I've chosen a side." She cuts me off. "And you know what? They'd be right. Any case I build against Royce while living in an MC clubhouse becomes tainted evidence. His lawyers would tear it apart in court."

She's right, and I know it. Worse—I should have seen it immediately.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"I drag a hand through my hair, the realization hitting like a gut punch. I've spent years thinking ten moves ahead, and five minutes with Nova makes me stupid. Makes me forget everything I know."

"I want to bring down Royce as much as you do," she continues. "But the minute I walk into your clubhouse, I stop being an impartial law enforcement officer and become the MC's pet sheriff."

"So what's your solution?" I growl. "Pretend we're not on the same side?"

"You were right about maintaining distance. You share intelligence, I build the case, but we do it properly. Legitimately." She straightens, taking control again. "The way that ensures Royce actually goes down instead of walking free on a technicality."

The logic is sound. Infuriating, but sound. And it makes her refusal sting worse, because it's not just about independence—it's about being smart enough to see the trap I almost walked us both into.

"You stubborn, reckless—"

"Careful what you call me," she interrupts, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. "Because I'm not the one who just tried to blow up my own strategy."

My hands clench into fists, the urge to grab her and shake sense into her warring with the knowledge that she'd probably put a bullet in me for trying.

"You've had your five minutes," She adds. "Now, get out."

"I'm not leaving you here defenseless."

"You're not staying here either." She moves toward the door, opening it wide. "This is my home, my choice, my job. And I choose to handle this my way."

I don't move. Every instinct screams against walking away from her when she's in danger.

"Ash." Her voice drops, something almost gentle beneath the steel. "I appreciate the warning. I do. But I won't be managed, even by someone who thinks he's protecting me."

"This is a mistake."

"Then it's my mistake to make."

We stare at each other across her small living room. Two immovable forces locked in conflict. She won't bend. Won't break. Won't accept the protection I'm desperate to give her.

And part of me—the part that's been drawn to her since that first night at Murphy's—respects the hell out of her for it.

Even as it makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and drag her to safety, kicking and screaming if necessary.

"But when this goes to hell, when they make their move and you're alone and outgunned, don't come crying to me."

"I won't." The certainty in her voice stops me at the threshold. "I don't cry, Ash. Ever."

"I turn back, caught by something raw in her tone. For just a moment, her guard drops, and I glimpse the woman beneath the badge—someone who's learned that tears are weakness, that asking for help gets you hurt."

Someone who's been fighting alone for so long that accepting help feels like surrender.

Someone a lot like me.

But before I can process that revelation, her walls slam back up.

"Good night, Ash."

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