Page 11 of Ranger’s Protection

"Touch that door handle and I'll break your other leg," I add.

He settles back against the seat. Still glaring but contained.

Beside me, Delilah has gone quiet again. I can see her processing this new information: that the man I killed was Vale's brother, that I'm now transporting a prisoner who has every reason to want revenge, that we're locked in a car together for another fifteen minutes.

She doesn't ask if we're safe. Doesn't second-guess my decision to bring him. She just... accepts it. Trusts that I know what I'm doing.

We pass the turnoff for Route 17 and take the smaller county road that leads toward the outskirts of Millhaven. Familiar territory now. The kind of back roads I could navigate blind if I had to. Another ten miles to the clubhouse, maybe twelve.

My phone buzzes again. I ignore it for now, probably Phoenix checking in again, or one of the brothers asking for an update. Nothing that can't wait until we're somewhere I can actually stop and respond properly.

"We're getting close," I tell Delilah. "Still about ten minutes out. When we arrive, there will be a lot of people. Bikers. Their women. A few kids. It's going to be overwhelming, but everyone there is a good person. Nobody will hurt you."

"Okay," she says.

"Eden, she's one of the old ladies, dating Canvas, she's a trauma nurse. She's going to want to check you over. Make sure you're not injured. Is that all right?"

Delilah nods. "I'm not hurt. Just scared."

"Being scared is smart right now. It means your survival instincts are working."

She almost smiles at that. Almost. "Is that what you tell yourself when you're scared?"

"I don't get scared," I say, then catch myself. "That's a lie. I get scared. I just don't let it stop me from doing what needs to be done."

"What scares you?" she asks.

Failing people who trust me to protect them. Watching good men die for causes that don't matter. The sound my father's belt made right before it hit skin. The look in Quinn's eyes the night I broke my hand saving her. The possibility that I'll become the kind of man who hurts people for reasons other than protection.

"Lots of things," I say instead. "But nothing we need to worry about right now."

A flash of movement in the rearview mirror makes every muscle in my body tense. Two motorcycles. Maybe three hundred yards back. Taking the same turn we just took onto this county road.

Could be coincidence. Could be random bikers heading the same direction.

Could be Vale's backup.

I don't believe in coincidences.

"Delilah," I say, my voice calm but firm. "I need you to listen carefully and do exactly what I tell you. Can you do that?"

She goes rigid in her seat, picking up on the shift in my tone immediately. "Yes."

"There are motorcycles behind us. Could be nothing. Could be something. Either way, I need you to get down. Slide down in your seat as low as you can go. Stay below the window line."

"Oh god—"

"Now, Delilah."

She moves, unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding down until she's curled against the footwell, making herself as small as possible. Good. Smart.

In the back seat, Vale is grinning. I can see it in the rearview mirror. The smug satisfaction of someone who knows backup is coming.

"Told you," he says. "Demon doesn't give up."

I ignore him and focus on the bikes. They're gaining. Riding fast. Riding aggressive. Definitely not a coincidence.

My mind shifts into tactical mode, processing options with the speed that comes from years of training. We're on a two-lane country road with fields on either side. No cover. No places to pull off and make a stand without being completely exposed. The sedan is faster than the bikes in a straight line, but motorcycles are more maneuverable. They can split lanes, take shortcuts, go places a car can't.