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Zander grins like he isn’t the least bit bothered by the threat. It’s almost as if he came here looking for trouble, and now he got what he was looking for. He releases me, brushing his hands together like I’m the one he needs to wipe himself clean of.

Only once Zander steps back again does Shane release his shoulder.

“Shane, right?” Zander stands up tall, fixing his vest as they face each other.

He doesn’t quite meet Shane’s height, but his arrogance fills any remaining space for him.

“I heard they were sending a new guy to Lanceleaf to replace what’s-his-name.” Zander snaps his fingers, pretending to think as he looks at his men by the door and raises his voice. “What’s the name of that last biker who showed up here, thinking this was his town?”

“Jackson,” one of his men answers.

“Right. Jackson. Sorry to hear about your buddy’s accident. I sure hope he’s doing well back home.”

Shane’s teeth clench, and I wonder if he knew Jackson, the biker who was run off the road a few weeks ago. Rumor has it he was the leader of the group of bikers moving into town until his bike crashed, breaking both his legs and various other bones. Doctors transferred him to a hospital out of town for better care. And while the cops declared it an accident, Zander and his friends were awfully happy about it.

Shane has no idea what he’s walking into. Bikers are dangerous, but ranch land is no better. Especially when they have plenty of empty space to bury bodies.

“Jackson will be fine,” Shane says in a surprisingly even tone.

Zander grins, seeing straight through him. “Good to hear that. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m having a chat with my fiancée.”

“Ex-fiancée,” I correct him. “And we’re done talking.”

Zander glares, his gaze shooting between me and Shane. It’s clear he wants to say more, but Zander is nothing if not careful when he has an audience.

“All right. We’ll catch up when you aren’t working, babe.” Zander winks and my stomach turns; then he looks at Shane. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“That you will.” Shane doesn’t take his eyes off Zander as he walks away.

It isn’t until Zander and his men are gone and the crowd goes back to their conversations that he finally turns to me, taking a seat.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask Shane, sensing that the tension has yet to leave his shoulders.

“Water.”

I pour him a glass, trying my best not to openly stare at him. And not just because his T-shirt is hugging his shoulders, or because his tattooed forearms pop with every clench of his fists. But because he stood up for me when he didn’t have to, and I can’t remember the last time someone did that.

Everyone else sat around and enjoyed the show as Zander grabbed me. Everyone except Shane.

“Is this what you do?” I set the glass of water in front of him, leaning against the bar as he takes a sip. “You wander around town playing the hero for unassuming damsels in distress?”

He chuckles. “First of all, you’re no fucking damsel, Harloe Harrison. And second, I’m here because you stole one of my trucks.”

I scrunch my nose, not bothering to bury my smile. “You noticed?”

“That a whole-ass vehicle was missing this morning? Yeah, I noticed.”

“For the record, I borrowed your truck. I was going to bring it back.”

“I’m sure you were.”

“I was. It’s right outside.”

He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and sets them on the bar. “I’d ask you for the keys, but clearly you didn’t need them.”

“My brothers taught me a few tricks growing up.”

Shane grins. “Like I said, no damsel.”