“Not exactly.” Her voice shook, not from fear, but from cold, or maybe even defiance. She adjusted her satchel and squared her small shoulders. “I’m Dr. Wren Callahan with Wildlife Services. I’m supposed to meet a man named Rhett Dawson. He was going to take me to the restricted zones along the Churchill River. There’ve been reports of wolf poaching and?—”
“Rhett’s dead,” Buck interrupted. That stopped her rambling. The wind filled the silence between them, snapping snowthrough the air. It was the kind of silence that could break things if you stood in it too long.
She swallowed and lifted her chin. “Then who’s in charge here?”
Buck took a step down from the porch, boots thudding against the wooden steps. “That’d be me. At least, I’m in charge until our Prez, Gorgon, gets back from his honeymoon.”
The way her eyes swept over him—careful but unflinching—told him she was cataloguing everything. His size, the ink curling under his collar, the weight of the chain around his neck with the King’s insignia on it. She didn’t seem to be stupid. He could tell that she knew what an MC was, but he had a feeling that she hadn’t realized where she’d wandered.
“What did you say your name was?” Buck asked.
“Wren,” she said, steady this time. “When will your Prez be back?” she asked.
Buck ignored her question. It wasn’t her business to know where Gorgon was or when he’d be back. Hell, he didn’t even know all those details. He rolled her name around in his mind before speaking. “Like the bird?”
Her lips twitched. “Like the woman.” Something about her answer hit him straight in the chest. Brave—too brave for someone standing in King's territory after dark.
The clubhouse door opened behind him with the creak of old hinges, spilling light and noise onto the porch. Laughter, music, and the heavy tread of Ghost’s boots.
“Who the hell’s drivin’ a junker through our gate this late?” Ghost’s voice cut through the wind before Buck answered. When he stepped out, cigarette dangling from his mouth, his smirk was pure trouble. “Well, I’ll be damned. What’s this? A fed in lipstick?”
“I’m not a fed,” Wren said sharply, turning to face him. “I’m with Wildlife Services. I’m here to investigate illegal poaching. Rhett Dawson?—”
“Dead,” Ghost interrupted, echoing Buck’s earlier word with a rough chuckle. “Guess you’ll have to take that up with our VP here.” He tilted his head toward Buck. “You always did have a soft spot for strays, brother.”
Buck ignored him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he told her.
“I didn’t have a choice.” She looked up at him, eyes flashing with what he assumed to be anger. “Every official map marks this territory as open government land. If someone’s poaching wolves out here, I’m the one who has to stop it. That’s my job.”
“Your job,” Buck muttered, “is going to get you killed.”
She bristled. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“It’s a warning.” He stepped in closer, enough for her to see the tattoo peeking from his collar—a skull wearing a crown—Kings of Anarchy. Her breath hitched, and he could almost see the realization hit her. But instead of running, she stood her ground.
“Then maybe you should tell your people to stop killing wolves,” she said quietly.
Ghost barked out a laugh, smoke curling from his lips into the frozen air. “Oh, she’s got claws. Careful, Buck. You might like this one.”
“I don’t like anything that bleeds trouble,” Buck muttered. He kept his stare locked on her, even though something inside him already knew that it was too late to deny that she was just his type. He’d known it the moment she looked at him like he was just another obstacle to move past, not a man used to being obeyed.
The snow thickened, swirling between them as the storm closed in. “You’ll stay the night,” Buck said finally. It wasn’t a question.
“I can drive back to town?—”
“No, you can’t. The roads will ice over in thirty minutes, maybe less.” He jerked his chin toward the clubhouse. “You’ll freeze before you make the first mile.” Wren hesitated, seeming torn between pride and reason. Buck could practically feel her weighing trust against fear. Finally, she nodded and followed him when he turned toward the door.
Ghost fell in beside him, voice low. “You sure ‘bout this, brother? Bringing her into the den might not be a good idea.” Buck didn’t answer right away. He let the door swing open, and the heat of the clubhouse rushed out, the sound of laughter, clinking metal, and life filling the void the storm left behind.
Inside, things would get complicated. Ghost always said Buck had a habit of protecting things that didn’t belong to him. That was the problem. Nothing had ever belonged to him—not like he wanted someone to. That was his fault, though. He never let anyone in. He never told any of the guys that he was bisexual or that he had always thought about being in a relationship with both a man and a woman. He was pretty sure that most of his brothers would pretend to accept him for who he was, but he just couldn’t risk them rejecting him. Not now, after he’d built his relationships with his brothers.
So, Ghost was right, because he would protect anyone who belonged to him. And as Wren stepped into the light, shaking snow from her hair, the word mine echoed somewhere deep inside of him, where reason didn’t live. He’d only had that thought about one other person in his life—Ghost and that was something he planned on taking to his death. Buck Lawson didn’t believe in fate. But tonight, he almost did.
Wren
The air inside the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse hit her like a blow to the gut. It was too warm, too loud, and just too much. Smoke curled with the scent of oil, whiskey, leather, and fire, all of it crowding the doorway as she stepped in after Buck. The storm shut out behind her with a slam, and for a heartbeat, she wished it hadn’t.
Every man in the room turned to look at her. Their laughter faltered, and the music dimmed under the low rumble of engines idling somewhere out back. Pool cues hovered mid-strike. Wren felt the pressure of their eyes—assessing, cataloguing, and deciding what to do next. But it wasn’t curiosity she heard in the silence. It was ownership. She was trespassing on their territory, and she was sure that they didn’t like it one bit.