But it was more than that.

I respected her.

That was rare.

Maddox knocked once, then barged in. “Prez, we got a situation.”

“What kind?”

“Some outsiders sniffing around. One of them asked about the new girl.”

That set me off like a shot.

“Where?”

“Gas station off Highway Nine.”

I grabbed my cut. “Tell the boys to saddle up.”

“You think she’s in danger?”

“I think anyone asking about Riley without permission is asking for a bullet between the eyes.”

He whistled low. “You’re serious about her.”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

We rolled out five deep, and when we got to the gas station, the outsiders were long gone.

But the message was clear.

Someone was looking for her.

And whoever it was?

They were gonna wish they hadn’t.

Riley had been heredays now, and she already moved like she belonged.

Behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, working faster than half the regulars. Never once complained about the hours, the sweat, the mess. She joked with the boys, kept her head down when she needed to, and knew when to bite back when someone pushed too hard.

But it didn’t sit right.

Not completely.

Women like her didn’t just roll into towns like this. Not with nothing but a backpack and a beat-up car that ran on borrowed time.

Not unless they were running from something.

And I’d seen that look in her eyes—more than once.

So that night, after she’d finished cleaning the bar and went to bed, I called in Diesel.

“Need you to run a quiet trace,” I said, leaning over the counter. “Nothing official. Just dig around. Find out who Riley really is.”

Diesel frowned. “You think she’s a plant?”