Page 4 of Torgash

None of them speaks. Smart choice.

"You wanna press charges?" she asks, eyebrow raised in mock question. "Because I'll arrest you right now. Every single one of you. I've got the footage from the bar's outside camera, and I'm not in the mood to coddle your fragile fucking egos."

The ringleader's cocky grin dies. His buddies shift their weight, suddenly fascinated by their shoes.

"Didn't think so," she says, stepping forward with measured confidence. "Get the fuck out of here."

They scatter rapidly, leaving me alone with this woman still holding my gaze like she owns it.

The Glock lowers. Not because she trusts me, hell no, but because she's already done the math and decided I'm not the threat to neutralize right now.

She studies me, eyes raking down my body and back up—precise and detached but not uncurious. She's cataloging, profiling, and clocking how much damage I could do.

"You hurt?" she asks, the question surprising me with its directness.

I nearly laugh. "Why? You gonna patch me up?"

She doesn't smile. Doesn't react at all. "No. Just wanted to know if I need to call the meat wagon."

Most humans would've already put distance between us, but she's close enough that I can catch her scent–citrus, clean sweat, and something underneath that makes my blood heat. Close enough to grab. Close enough to ruin.

"You were holding back," she says, the observation landing somewhere beneath my ribs. "That's the only reason this didn't end with an ambulance and a crime scene."

I meet her gaze, refuse to look away first. "And you knew that when you aimed the gun at me."

She shrugs one shoulder, a casual gesture that looks deliberate. "Had to see what you'd do."

The realization sinks in —she tested me. Saw the killer beneath the surface and didn't flinch. Not because she's stupid, but because she wanted to know exactly what kind of monster she's dealing with.

"I know who you are," she continues, her voice level and controlled. "Ash Thornshade. Vice President of the Ironborn MC. You've got a reputation for playing by the rules until it suits you not to. And for making problems disappear permanently."

I tilt my head, fighting both irritation and unwanted appreciation. "You dig through that file yourself, or have one of your deputies read it to you?"

"Doesn't matter," she counters. "It was accurate."

I let my eyes roam her body, slow and deliberate. Intimidation? Maybe. But part of me just can't stop.

Strong legs. Sharp eyes. That mouth. Christ. That mouth.

When I meet her eyes again, I let the predator show through.

"You're a long way from Atlanta, Sheriff Reyes."

Her expression remains neutral, but her eyes betray her surprise that I've done my homework too.

"I hear you were on the promotion track," I add, the words casual. "Then suddenly... detour. Strange kind of ambition you've got."

The jab is deliberate, probing for weakness, for the truth behind her spotless record and mysterious relocation.

I'm baiting her now, poking back, digging for cracks in her polished mask.

But she doesn't bite. Just lifts her chin. Defiant.

"Strange kind of curiosity for someone who claims not to work with cops."

That actually earns her a smirk. Not cold. Not warm. Just... amused. And maybe a little impressed.

"You don't look like a cop," I say, the words coming out rough. "You look like someone trying very hard not to shoot me."

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