Then he stalked out of the office, slamming the door hard behind him. The sound echoed down the hallway like a warning shot. He strode out of the building, the album still clutched tight in his hand, and Junie’s safety the only thing on his mind.
She was his, and if he didn’t back off, Tanner would make damn sure Preston Lassiter never forgot it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tanner pushed through the heavy oak door of the Wild River Security building, jaw tight, the album in his satchel, feeling like a live grenade against his side. That kiss with Junie earlier had only sharpened everything. The raw need to protect her, the cold fury at whoever thought they could terrorize what was his, and the bone-deep certainty that she belonged to him. That she washisto keep safe,histo care for,histo discipline when needed, andhisto cherish every damn day.
The rest of the Wild Men were already gathered around the long conference table. Boone sat at the head like he was born for it, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Chance and Trace flanked him, while Wild River Security operatives Griffin Turner, Dutch Hallowell, Kai Beckett, Ryker Cross, Jude Decker, Slade Thatcher, and Grant Spicer filled the remaining seats. They were all former special ops, most of them men Boone had known and trusted for years.
Each one of them brought something different—Griff’s sharp mind and tech skills, Dutch’s no-nonsense grit, Kai and Ryker’s quiet lethality, Jude’s calm judgment, Slade’s raw power, and Grant’s steady loyalty. They were the best at what they did, and they had hisback without question. Tanner owed his oldest brother more than he could ever say for pulling him onto this team.
Boone had seen something in Tanner when he was still figuring out who he was after breaking his leg and having to leave the rodeo circuit. His brother didn’t have to do shit. God knew he’d never proved himself to Boone, or anyone else, for that matter. But Boone must have seen something in Tanner. And being a Wild Man had given him purpose, a place to belong, and now a way to protect the woman he loved.
Looking at these men, he felt a deep wave of gratitude. Junie was no longer just under his protection. She was now being protected by all of them, and there was not a damn thing in this world that would get past the Wild Men.
Coffee cups and notepads littered the scarred wood table. No one was joking around the way they usually did. They’d all known something serious was up the second they’d received his group text.
Tanner dropped into his chair, the weight of the album still burning like a brand in his mind. His Little girl was being stalked, frightened, and manipulated, and that was completely fucking unacceptable. He’d let this go on too long already. It was time to put his inner declaration of ending it now into action.
Boone lifted his chin in greeting, eyes sharp. “You look like you want to kill somebody.”
“Not yet,” Tanner said as he settled at the opposite end of the long table. “But I’m getting there.”
He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He laid everything out for the men—the endless flowers, the disturbing photo album with faces circled in red like some twisted trophy, the creepy notes, and how Junie kept downplaying it all because she didn’t want to “hurt Preston’s feelings”. Every word that left his mouth fed the cold, possessive fury simmering in his chest. By the time he finished, the entire room had gone dead quiet.
Chance leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Preston Lassiter? Harlan’s kid?”
“Yeah,” Tanner confirmed, the name leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “The one who was here for ninth grade. After I left to ride the circuit, Junie started at Wilder Community School.”
Trace let out a low whistle. “I remember that little shit. Skinny kid, always dressed like he was headed to a funeral. Talked too fancy for any of the other kids to want to get to know him. Got his ass handed to him every single day on the playground.”
Boone’s gaze sharpened, the big-brother look Tanner knew well. “So, let me get this straight. Junie was nice to this guy. Stood up for him more than once when the other kids were piling on. He followed her around like a lost puppy the whole year.”
Tanner’s jaw tightened until it ached. The thought of his sweet, soft-hearted Little girl defending that boy while he quietly built some sick fantasy around her made something dark and fiercely possessive twist hard in his chest. She had shown basic kindness, and that bastard had twisted it into obsession.
“She told me she felt bad for him,” Tanner said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. The expressions and nods around the table told him he hadn’t succeeded. “Said he didn’t have any friends.”
He flexed his fingers under the table, fighting the urge to put a fist through something. His Little girl had been kind to some dickwad who didn’t deserve it, and now that someone was scaring her.
Griff flipped open his laptop, fingers flying across the keys with that sharp, predatory focus he got when he was hunting down a threat. “That tracks. I started digging into him a few weeks ago after you first mentioned the name. Harlan Lassiter, Preston’s father, founded Wilder Wealth Management. Ultra-private wealth firm. They cater to the biggest ranchers, energy guys, and mineral-rights families in the state. Invitation only. You don’t choose them. They choose you. Harlan moved the family out here when Preston was thirteen. Thought the West was ripe for the picking.”
Dutch leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. “And the kid?”
“Graymore Academy,” Griff said. “One of those ancient ivy-covered hellholes in Connecticut. Old money hazing at its finest. Preston got shipped back East after one year here. From what I can tell, it wasn’t pretty. He went in soft and entitled. Came out… different.”
Tanner’s stomach turned, a cold, ugly knot forming low in his gut.Different how?
The words settled heavy in his chest. His sweet, soft-hearted Little girl had shown basic kindness to a boy the rest of the town had tormented, and now that boy had grown into something far more dangerous. The thought of Preston anywhere near Junie—watching her, sending her gifts, scaring her—made every protective, possessive instinct in him rise up like a storm.
His jaw tightened until it ached.No onewas going to terrorize what was his. Especially not his Little girl. Not while he was still breathing.
Griff turned the laptop so everyone could see the screen. “It looks like young Preston learned how to wear masks. Chameleons could take lessons from this guy. On paper he’s polished. Attended good schools, made good connections. To hear people talk, he’s a top-notch broker and an all-around great guy. But there are whispers. A couple of aggressive land deals where small ranchers suddenly sold out after holding on to ranches that had been in their families for generations. There were some complaints from women he worked with or dated that got buried. Nothing that stuck, but the pattern’s there.”
Slade cracked his knuckles, the sharp sound cutting through the room. “So the kid who got his ass kicked in Wilder learned how to be the one doing the kicking once he got back East?”
“Exactly,” Griff said. “And now he’s got his sights set on Junie again. The gifts, the notes, the way he’s circling her… he’s done it before.”
Dutch spoke up. “I have a list of names of some of the women he’s dated, and I used that term loosely. I’m going to be contacting them to see if I can get anything specific.”
