Page 9 of Property of Buck
Her chin lifted stubbornly. “Then I’ll leave.”
“No,” Buck practically shouted. The answer came too fast, too hard, making Wren blink. Ghost’s mouth curled slowly into a knowing grin, but Buck ignored him completely.
“You can’t seriously think I’m staying here,” Wren argued. “Those men are criminals. They kill endangered animals and traffic weapons through protected land. I need to report this.”
“You report it,” Buck said evenly, “and you’ll have every corrupt badge between here and Winnipeg asking why you were alone with the Kings of Anarchy.”
“I can handle myself,” Wren insisted.
“I know you think that,” Buck said.
“I know I can,” she spat.
Buck stepped closer before he could stop himself. “You almost caught a bullet today.”
“And you got shot,” she pointed out.
“It’s just a graze, and that’s different,” he said.
Wren’s eyes flashed. “Because you’re bigger than me? Because you wear a patch?”
“Because I know this world,” he growled. The air between them tightened instantly.
Ghost slowly pushed away from the doorway. “Welp,” he muttered. “I’m gonna go before one of you starts stripping or stabbing the other.” He pointed at Wren. “Fifty-fifty odds either way.”
“Get out,” Buck snapped. Ghost laughed under his breath and disappeared down the hall. Silence settled heavily after he left.
Wren crossed her arms tightly across her body. “He’s insane.”
“Pretty much,” Buck agreed.
“And you trust him?” she asked, nodding to where Ghost had stood.
“With my life,” he said. That seemed to catch her off guard. Buck sat heavily on the edge of the table, finally allowing her to clean the wound. The second her fingers touched his skin, his entire body tightened.
Fuck. She seemed to notice, too. Her movements slowed just slightly as she cleaned the blood from his arm with warm water. “You should’ve let me stay behind the bike,” she murmured quietly. “You exposed yourself pulling me down.”
Buck watched her carefully. “Wasn’t gonna let them take you.” The confession slipped out rough and honest.
Wren’s lashes lifted slowly as she looked at him. “Why?” she asked. He didn’t say all the things that were running through his mind. Like the thought of another man touching her made him violent. Or that the second he saw her standing in the snow, something inside him already decided that she was his.But most importantly—he left out the part about having already buried too many people and not wanting to add her name to the growing list.
Instead, Buck said, “Because you were under my protection.” Something flickered across her face then. Disappointment, maybe, or maybe relief. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more.
She wrapped the bandage carefully around his arm before stepping back. “There, you’ll live.”
“Damn, I was hoping for a tragic ending,” he teased. A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth, and Buck stared at it too long. She was dangerous like this. Not because she carried a weapon or knew how to fight—but because she made this place feel different. Lighter somehow—more human. And men like Buck didn’t survive by wanting human things.
“You recognized the symbol on the trap,” Wren said quietly after a minute.
Buck’s jaw tightened again. “Black Vultures,” he admitted. “Small crew out of Saskatchewan. They are smugglers, mostly. Guns, drugs, women—whatever pays.”
Her face paled slightly. “Women?”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“And they’re here?” she asked.
“They are now,” he admitted.
