Page 19 of Wrecker

He gave a rundown of a couple of minor club issues—nothing urgent. Then he turned to me. "Deviant filled me in on some of it, but I want to hear everything. Tell me about Peyton."

I laid it all out. The garage, her research, the collapse patterns. I told them about her thesis, how she’d been digging too deep and got herself noticed. The minute I mentioned shoddy materials and the signs of charges, every man in the room sharpened. Like predators scenting blood.

"You think she was targeted?" Fox asked.

"Yeah. She was askin’ questions someone didn’t want answered. And those buildings? They didn’t fall on their own. Some of ’em were rigged. I’d bet my patch on it."

Deviant nodded. "I’ve started tracing permits and supplier invoices. Already flagged a couple of anomalies."

Fox leaned back, gaze heavy. "Then we hit this from all angles. Legal, digital, boots on the ground. Stone’ll handle any legal pressure. Deviant, keep digging. The rest of you—eyes open. If anyone comes sniffing around, I wanna know."

I looked around the room and felt something settle in my chest. Not peace. Not calm. But purpose. These men—my brothers—weren’t just lethal. They were loyal. This was blood, just not by birth. We weren’t clean, but we had limits, honor, and a code. Our own brand of justice.

In certain circles, it was well-known that we protected those who couldn’t protect themselves by any means necessary. And when it called for blood, we made sure justice bled out on the floor.

They’d have my back on this.

When the meeting broke, I jumped to my feet, ready to get back to Peyton, but Hawk grinned like he’d been waiting the whole meeting just to run his mouth. “Runnin’ off to take care of your woman?”

I sighed, knowing what was coming. And that I deserved it.

He barked a gruff laugh. “You talked all that shit when I fell for Gemma. What was it you said? That I was whipped so hard I squeaked when she looked at me?”

I scratched my jaw and let out a grunt. “Yeah. And turns out I was a fuckin’ idiot.”

A few of the guys laughed, low and rough. Maverick shook his head, a ghost of a smile cutting across his usually unreadable face.

“Hell,” Hawk said, his mouth curved smugly. “Didn’t think I’d live long enough to hear you admit that.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I growled.

Racer stood and walked over to stand by Fox’s desk, shit-eating grin in place. “So we calling it now? Wrecker’s officially owned.”

The room went still for half a second—just long enough for Fox to cut in, voice calm and cool with steel underneath. “Careful, Racer. One more word like that, and you’ll be eating it.”

Racer blinked, clearly not expecting that. “I was just joking?—”

Storm smirked. “Yeah, and the last guy who joked about mine ended up limping for a week.”

Whiskey chuckled, shaking his head as he sipped from a chipped mug. “You keep flappin’ your mouth, kid, and you’re gonna jinx yourself. Next time we blink, you’ll be writing poetry and makin’ your woman breakfast in bed.”

“I don’t—” Racer started, but Maverick cut him off with a slap to the back.

“Oh, you will. Mark my words. You’ll be next. And when it hits? It’ll drop you to your fuckin’ knees.”

“Like the rest of us,” Whiskey added, deadpan.

I couldn’t help chuckling as I headed back to my woman.

Maverick caught me just outside the door. "Want me to get a property vest made?"

"Yeah," I said without hesitation. "She’s mine."

Back in my room, the light filtering through the blinds was soft. Peyton was curled in the sheets, her breathing uneven like she was caught between sleep and waking. When she shifted restlessly and whimpered, I kicked off my boots, removed my shirt, and eased onto the bed before pulling her against me. She made a soft sound and tucked her head beneath my chin before settling.

It happened a few more times, so I didn’t let myself fall asleep. I wanted to make sure I was alert in case she needed me to soothe her nightmares.

As I stared down at her beautiful face, a wave of possessiveness crashed over me.

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