Page 23 of Torgash

Except I'm protecting her, not targeting her. Right?

Shit. I run my hands through my hair, the realization making my skin crawl. Even I don't buy that bullshit.

"She's been working past midnight most nights this week," Diesel observes quietly. "Files, laptop, phone calls. The woman doesn't know how to quit."

I watch her rub her temples. The gesture is achingly familiar because I've done the same thing countless times, usually around two in the morning when legal briefs blur together and the weight of protecting an entire community settles on my shoulders.

But she's doing it alone. And anyone observing knows exactly when she's most vulnerable.

"That dark sedan," I say, voice tight. "Pull up yesterday's footage. Show me exactly where it was parked."

Diesel's fingers fly over the keys. The feed switches to yesterday evening, and there it is—the vehicle positioned with a perfect view of Nova's window. The same window where she sits now, unaware she's being stalked.

"Ash. Whatever you're thinking—"

“Tonight we make a move. She won't come to us, so we go to her.”

"You planning on asking permission?" Diesel asks.

The question hits wrong. It makes me realize I've already crossed from protection into possession - wanting Nova somewhere I can monitor every threat, control who gets close."

Hell. I'm exactly the monster she should run from.

But I'm done pretending distance will protect either of us from what's coming.

"Get me everything," I tell Diesel, grabbing the folder containing copies of the reconnaissance photos. Evidence she'll need to see. "Building layouts, security weaknesses, escape routes. If Royce wants to play games, we'll show him what experts look like."

Diesel studies my face, reading the shift in my demeanor. "This isn't just about club business anymore, is it?"

I don't answer. Can't afford to examine what's driving this need to insert myself between Nova and danger. But studyingher fight alone while Royce's people catalog her movements sends something savage through my chest.

It makes me want to claim her, whether she agrees or not.

Twenty minutes later, I'm checking the Bowie knife holstered under my cut while Diesel rattles off building schematics.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

"She'll bolt if she sees a pack approaching." I grab my helmet, my mind already mapping the fastest route to Nova's building. "One orc she might talk to. Five orcs looks like an invasion."

"And if it goes sideways?"

"Then you clean up the mess." I head for the door, pulse steady now that I'm moving toward action. "Keep monitoring those feeds. Any sign of that vehicle, you call me immediately."

The ride through Shadow Ridge takes eight minutes. Each second drags while I imagine Nova alone, unaware someone's been tracking her movements. Learning when she's home, how she lives, when she's defenseless.

That they're probably planning to use all that intelligence against her.

I park two blocks away, approaching her building on foot. The camera that gave us our view into her life sits mounted on a utility pole across the street. Innocent as a bird until you know what it's recording.

Her cruiser sits in its designated spot, engine ticking as it cools. She's been home less than thirty minutes. Barely enough time to decompress from whatever legal battles she fought at the courthouse today.

The front entrance to her building requires a key card, but the security system is a joke. Basic residential setup that wouldn't slow down trained operatives. I could bypass it with a paperclip and thirty seconds.

So could Royce's people.

I pause outside her door, listening. Muffled voices from the television, the clink of glass against wood—probably a wine glass hitting her coffee table. Normal domestic sounds that shouldn't make my chest tight.

But they do. Because behind that door is the woman who stepped between me and danger at Murphy's without flinching. Who used me as her anchor when she was drowning in that crowd, like she saw strength instead of a monster.

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