Page 21 of Torgash

"Drop it."

"Can't. This is too good." He swings his boots off the table and leans forward. "The great territorial Ash getting possessive over a badge-wearing human."

My temper stirs. Restless and hungry, and completely inappropriate for what Nova Reyes represents to this operation. I've spent years building control, learning to channel violence into legal victories instead of body counts.

But something about her strips away those hard-won layers. Exposes the ten-year-old orc who learned that caring brings weakness.

It turns you into prey.

The old memory claws its way up. Always does when I'm feeling too much. I'd screamed for help that day in the camps.Cried while that bastard carved his initials into my face over a piece of stale bread. Waited for someone—anyone—to give a damn that a kid was bleeding out in the mud.

No one came.

So I stopped screaming. Stopped waiting. I built myself into something that never needed rescue again.

Now I'm watching Nova fight the same battles, carry the same weight, and instinct demands I step in. Except she's not some helpless kid. She's a smart woman with a gun and the attitude to use it.

She doesn't need saving.

But I still can't shake the image of her in that courthouse. Shoulders squared, chin up, facing down a room full of strangers while using me to ground herself. And when I’d cornered her yesterday, demanded to know why she'd looked at me like that, she'd deflected. She talked about getting through her speech instead of answering the real question.

Why me? What made her think an orc in a leather cut would offer anything but more danger?

"She won't accept protection," I tell Diesel, keeping my voice level. Like this is about club business instead of how her scent made my hands shake. "Too proud. Too independent."

"So?"

So if Royce makes a play, she'll face it alone." The words taste bitter. True. "Fight it without backup. Maybe suffer alone because she's too stubborn to ask for help.

Diesel studies my face with uncomfortable perception. He sees too much. Always has. "And that eats at you."

It does. Damn, it does. But admitting that means admitting I care about more than keeping our legal counsel functional. It means admitting I want Nova Reyes in ways that have nothing to do with strategy.

"It's practical," I lie. "We need that badge functional, not martyred."

"Right." His smile turns knowing. Dangerous. "Practical."

My phone buzzes before I can tell him exactly where to shove his observations. Santos's number flashes on the screen, and my gut clenches.

Never good when Santos calls.

"Ash," I answer.

"We've got a problem." His voice carries tension that makes my pulse race."Had a guy come by the station this afternoon asking questions about Sheriff Reyes. Said he was from some law firm in Atlanta, wanted to verify her employment history."

My blood goes cold. Ice cold, like someone opened a vein and let winter in.

"What kind of questions?"

"Personal stuff. Where she lives, what cases she's working, who she's been talking to." Santos pauses, and I can hear him choosing his words carefully. "Not the kinds of questions a real badge would ask so I called the firm he claimed to represent. They've never heard of him."

Shit, Nova. What kind of trouble are you in?

"Description?"

"Mid-forties, expensive suit, he drove a dark sedan with tinted windows. Polished, but something felt off. The way he studied the building was like cataloging security measures."

Royce. Has to be. Testing defenses, gathering intelligence.

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