Page 42 of Torgash

"Tomorrow," I tell him. "Keep the station locked tonight. And Santos? Keep your radio and your phone close."

As soon as I finish giving the instructions, Diesel's bike rumbles into the lot. He parks where he's clearly visible from the street, then settles against it like he's got all night. The timing is too perfect to be a coincidence—Ash has been coordinating this since I alerted him of the possible threat.

Santos glances between the bikes, finally reading the tension. "Yes, ma'am." He heads inside, and I know he'll lock up tight.

From there, Ash leads me on another route to the clubhouse, more expert countersurveillance that reveals just how much thought he's put into keeping everyone safe.

By the time we reach the clubhouse, my hands are steady but my mind is racing. Every "random" call from county. Every "routine" question about my location and activities. Every piece of information I've shared with dispatch, thinking I was coordinating with fellow law enforcement.

How much have they learned? How much of our investigation has been compromised?

Back in the war room, I slam the door harder than necessary, frustration boiling over into panic that makes my hands shake. Days of careful progress, witnesses scheduled, evidence compiled—all potentially worthless if Royce knows exactly what we're planning.

"They've been fishing," Ash says, settling into his usual chair. "Testing our response protocols, mapping our movements. Professional intelligence gathering."

"How long?" I demand, pacing the small space. "How long have they been listening to dispatch calls, monitoring my location, tracking every move I make?"

"Does it matter?"

The casual question stops me cold. "Does it matter? Of course it fucking matters! If they know everything we've planned—"

"Then we change the plan." His tone stays level despite my rising panic. "Adapt. Improvise. Use their intelligence against them."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's failed every family counting on me for justice. The Bauers, the Hendersons, the Garcias—they trusted me, and I've been so determined to prove I don't need help that I missed what was right in front of me. Too proud to ask the right questions, too stubborn to admit I was in over my head."

His expression darkens. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm tired of pretending this is a partnership when you've been managing me from day one. You knew I was outgunned, didn't you? Knew Royce had resources I couldn't match, but you let me stumble around playing sheriff while you watched from the sidelines."

Ash goes very still. "You’re not stumbling, Nova. And I'm only keeping you safe."

"You're keeping me controlled." I turn to face him fully, done with careful diplomacy. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" He stands, and suddenly the room feels smaller, the air thicker. "Because from where I'm standing, they're the same thing."

"Of course you'd think that." Tension crawls up my neck, anger and awareness making my pulse race. "Control disguised as protection. Dominance wrapped in concern. It's probably how you justify everything."

His stare narrows to amber slits. "Careful, Nova."

"Or what? You'll prove my point?" I step closer, challenging him with proximity. I'm using his own game against him. "Show me exactly how much control you think you have over me?"

For a moment, he doesn't respond. Just stares at me while his hands slowly clench into fists at his sides. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my pupils, and I see the exact moment his control starts to crack.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he says, words rough with warning.

"Don't I?"

My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. Days of dancing around this attraction, pretending careful distance could contain what's been building since that first night at Murphy's parking lot.

But I'm done pretending. Done fighting battles on every front while denying the one thing that might actually make me feel less alone in this war.

"You think I don't see what this is?" I continue, closing the distance between us with deliberate steps. "You think I don't know you've been protecting me not because the club needs a clean sheriff, but because you can't stand the thought of anything happening to me?"

His hands clench into fists. "Nova—"

"Say it." I'm close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, to catch the subtle shift in his breathing. "Say you want me."

For a heartbeat, I think he might walk away. Might rebuild those impenetrable walls and pretend this moment never happened.

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