Property of Hulk

The bastard started crying before Hulk even touched him, and that was disappointing. The man hung from a steel beam in an abandoned warehouse outside Winnipeg, tears streaming down his face as he begged for mercy. The smell of rust, oil, and fear filled the cold air—mostly fear.

Hulk stood in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest. At six-foot-six and nearly three hundred pounds, he didn't have to do much to intimidate people. Most men took one look at him and started talking—or crying. This one was doing both.

"Please," the man sobbed. "I told you everything." Across the room, Buck leaned against an old tool chest, his expression hard.

"No," Buck said. "You told us what you thought we'd believe."

The man shook his head frantically. "I swear—" The crack of bones echoed through the warehouse, and the scream that followed bounced off the concrete walls. Buck sighed and walked across the room. Hulk rolled his shoulders, knowing that the man had forced his hand. His VP hated wasting time. The Kings of Anarchy didn't enjoy violence the way outsiders thought they did. Violence was simply a tool. Sometimes it was the only language people understood.

Hulk crouched in front of the man; his broken finger bent at an unnatural angle. "You sold information to the Black Vultures."

The man's eyes widened. "I didn't—" Hulk grabbed another finger, and the man screamed before he even applied pressure. Guilty men were always predictable.

"You were saying?" Hulk asked.

"I did it!" the man yelled. "I did it!" He finally got the truth out of the guy, and Hulk felt a smug satisfaction about that.

Buck pushed away from the wall to stand in front of him. "Who were you working with?" Names started pouring out of the guy’s mouth. He filled them in on meeting locations, payment information, phone numbers, and drop sites. They had everything they needed. The rat sang like a choirboy.

Ten minutes later, Buck tucked his phone into his pocket and nodded at Hulk. "We've got enough."

The traitor immediately started crying harder. "Please," he begged. "Please don't kill me." Hulk didn't react because men like him always wanted mercy when consequences finally arrived.

Buck walked toward the exit. "Hulk,” he called back over his shoulder.

"Yeah,” Hulk asked.

"Make it quick,” Buck said. The warehouse door slammed shut behind him, and silence settled over the room. The man started praying, and Hulk stood there and listened for a few moments before pulling his knife out of its sheath.

The traitor's eyes widened. "No—" All it took was one movement, clean and efficient, to make the prayers stop. Hulk wiped the blade clean and slid it back into its sheath. Another problem was solved, but it gave him no satisfaction or regret, because this was about duty. Being the club's enforcer wasn't about enjoying violence; it was about protecting his brothers, and sometimes that meant doing things nobody else wanted to do.

Hulk grabbed his jacket and headed outside as snow drifted from the dark Manitoba sky. Winter was settling in hard. Most sane people had already parked their motorcycles for the season, but Hulk had never been accused of being sane. The ride back to the clubhouse helped clear his head as the cold wind bit through his leather kutte, but he welcomed it, because pain kept a man sharp.

The Kings of Anarchy compound came into view forty minutes later, and the place always felt like home. The clubhouse lights glowed against the darkness, warm and inviting, and for a man like Hulk, it was the closest thing he'd ever had to a family. He parked his bike and headed inside, letting the familiar sounds greet him immediately. Music and laughter filled the room as pool balls cracked and the scent of beer and fried food hung in the air. They were his brothers—his family.

A prospect behind the bar slid whiskey toward him without being asked, and Hulk took a long swallow.

"Rough night?" He turned to find Wren sitting at the far end of the bar. She sat with her laptop open, surrounded by spreadsheets and paperwork. Since becoming Buck and Ghost’s woman, she'd somehow become everyone's accountant, therapist, and general pain in the ass.

She peered at him over her coffee cup. "You have murder face."

Hulk snorted. "I always have murder face."

"True,” she agreed. She returned her attention to the computer screen. "Leah says hi.”

His grip tightened around the glass, and damn it, Wren noticed immediately. Of course she did, because the woman missed nothing. "Okay,” he breathed as though just the mention of Leah’s name didn’t make him hard.

A slow smile spread across her face. "Oh, that's interesting." Hulk stared into his whiskey. The last thing he needed was Wren poking around in his personal business, not that there was any business to poke around in. Leah Sinclair wasn't his, and she never would be. She worked with Wren at the local Canadian Wildlife Service office in town, and every time Hulk saw her, he forgot how to form complete sentences. It was irritating the way that the woman was beautiful without trying. Her dark hair, bright eyes, and smile that could bring a man to his knees got on his last nerve. Unlike most women, she wasn't intimidated by him. She treated him like he was just another person, and that made her dangerous.

"Don't start,” he grumbled.

Wren's grin widened. "Oh, you're definitely interested in her."

Hulk drained the rest of his drink. "I'm going home." Before Wren could continue tormenting him, her expression changed, and the teasing vanished. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

Wren closed her laptop. "Leah got a call today."

Every muscle in his body tightened because he could tell that she was about to tell him something that was going to piss him off. "What kind of call?"

"A bad one,” she said.

The cold feeling that settled in his chest had nothing to do with the Manitoba winter. "What happened?"

Wren shook her head. "She wouldn't tell me much. Just that somebody from her past found her." Hulk didn't like the sound of that—not one damn bit. Before he could ask another question, the clubhouse door swung open and a blast of freezing air swept through the room. His attention shifted automatically, and then he froze. Leah stood in the doorway as snowflakes clung to her dark hair. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and she had a heavy winter coat wrapped around her small frame. For one brief second, Hulk forgot how to breathe, and then he noticed her expression—fear, real fear. His stomach dropped because Leah wasn't the type to scare easily. Something was wrong.

The moment she spotted him, relief flooded her face. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and moved straight toward him. Conversation around the clubhouse began to fade. Even his brothers noticed the tension. Leah stopped directly in front of him, and he noticed that her hands were shaking. That alone told him how serious this was.

"Hulk,” she breathed.

His pulse thundered. "What happened?" For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then she grabbed the front of his leather kutte, and the contact sent a jolt through him.

"I need help,” she whispered. Three simple words, but the fear in her voice hit harder than any punch he'd ever taken. In that moment, Hulk knew one thing for certain—whoever had put that fear in Leah Sinclair's eyes was about to learn exactly why the Kings of Anarchy made him their enforcer.

****

The second Leah grabbed his kutte, every protective instinct Hulk possessed roared to life. The clubhouse disappeared along with the loud music, conversations, and laughter. None of it mattered. All he could see was Leah—the fear in her eyes, the tremble in her hands, and the way she was looking at him like he was the only person who could fix whatever had gone wrong. That realization hit harder than it should have.

"Hulk.” Her voice cracked, and something ugly settled in his chest. It was the kind of anger that usually ended with someone bleeding.

"Come here,” he ordered. The words came out rougher than he'd intended. Without thinking, he guided her toward one of the empty tables near the back of the room. Buck was already following them, and so was Gorgon. Their Prez appeared beside them with his wife, Kimi, by his side. Wren joined them, and the concern on her face was palpable.

"What happened?" Gorgon asked.

Leah swallowed hard. "I got a package." Hulk pulled out a chair for her, and she sat immediately, which was a sure sign she was rattled. Normally, Leah would have argued about being fussed over.

"What kind of package?" Wren asked softly. Leah reached into her purse, as her hands shook, and she pulled out a large manila envelope. The sight of it made Hulk's skin crawl. She slid it across the table, and Gorgon opened it. His expression darkened instantly before handing it to Buck. He muttered a curse before Hulk took the envelope from him. The first photograph nearly shattered what little patience he had left. It was Leah walking into her office. Another photo showed her leaving a grocery store. And a third photo had been taken outside her apartment building. Hulk could tell that the newest picture had been taken yesterday from the timestamp in the corner. Someone had been watching her for a while now.

His grip tightened until the photograph crumpled. "What else?" Leah flinched, and the movement punched him right in the gut. It wasn’t because she feared him but because she was scared enough to jump at everything.

"There was a note,” she admitted. Buck pulled it from the envelope when she handed it over, and the room went silent as he read it. When he finally set it down, Hulk snatched it. There were three simple words.

I FOUND YOU.

Something inside him snapped, and he pounded the table. It groaned as the wood cracked beneath his hand. Nobody commented because they'd all seen him break things before—just usually not over a woman.

"Hulk," Gorgon warned.

He forced himself to breathe. "Who sent it?"

Leah shook her head. "I don't know."

"You have an idea, though, don’t you?” Hulk asked. The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Leah looked away. That answer was enough for him. "Fuck,” he growled.

Wren sat beside her, holding her friend’s hand. "Tell us who sent this to you, Leah,” she said.

For several seconds, Leah stared at the photographs but finally spoke. "My ex-husband." The room went completely silent, and Buck leaned back in his chair.

"Tell me about him,” Hulk insisted.

Leah closed her eyes. "My name wasn't Leah Sinclair back then." That seemed to get everyone’s attention.

"What was it?" Wren asked.

"Leah Beaumont." Hulk committed it to memory immediately. He was determined to remember every detail, every word, and Leah’s every breath, because this mattered—she mattered.

"I lived in Saskatoon,” she continued. Her voice sounded distant now, like she was reliving it. "I met Derek when I was twenty-one." Hulk already hated the man, and he didn't even know what he'd done yet.

"He was charming,” Leah insisted. That made Buck snort, because everyone knew how these stories started. "He owned several businesses, had money, and connections."

"Was he a criminal?" Gorgon asked.

Leah laughed bitterly as she nodded her head. "Eventually, I learned that." Hulk's jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet. "He controlled everything," she continued quietly. "Where I went. Who I talked to. What I wore."

The anger in Hulk's chest grew. "He hit you." It wasn't a question. Leah's eyes found his, and he had his answer. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot, and way too crowded. Hulk pushed back from the table as his chair nearly toppled to the floor.

"Easy," Buck warned. How could he take it easy when the woman he'd been secretly in love with for months had been abused by some piece of shit? Easy wasn't happening.

"He nearly killed me,” Leah whispered. Every thought he had stopped. Even Hulk stopped moving as Leah stared at the table.

"He found out I was planning to leave him,” Her voice broke, and Wren immediately pulled her in for a hug. "He beat me so badly I ended up in the hospital. When I got out, I disappeared." A humorless smile touched her lips. "I changed my name."

"And moved from Saskatoon to Winnipeg?" Buck asked.

She nodded. "Then eventually Manitoba."

"How long ago did this happen?” Gorgon asked.

"It’s been five years now,” Leah said. Hulk wanted to hit someone or something. For five fucking years she'd been looking over her shoulder and carrying this alone. Hulk hated that more than he could explain.

"He never found me before now,” she insisted.

Gorgon folded his arms over his chest. "Until today."

Leah nodded. "Until today." Silence followed as Hulk reached for the photographs. He studied each one carefully—the locations where they had been taken, the angles of the camera, distances, and patterns. It was the same way he would study an enemy, because that's what this was about—an enemy. Someone was hunting Leah and threatening her—someone stupid enough to think he'd get away with it.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Hulk asked.

Leah looked confused by the question. "My apartment."

"No,” Hulk breathed. The word came out instantly.

She blinked up at him. "What?"

"You're not going back there,” Hulk insisted. Leah straightened as a little fire returned to her eyes. That worked for him because fear didn't suit her.

"I wasn't asking permission,” she spat. Buck looked suspiciously entertained, and Gorgon outright smirked. Traitors.

"Hulk—" Leah started.

"No,” he growled again, leaning forward to practically cage Leah between his body and the chair. "Whoever took those pictures knows where you live."

"I can't just—" Leah began to protest.

"Yes, you can,” he insisted.

"Hulk,” she breathed.

"No." The room went silent again. He could tell that his brothers were definitely enjoying this. Leah stared at him, huffing out her breath, but he stared right back. For once, he wasn't backing down—not where she was concerned.

Finally, Buck cleared his throat. "Actually, Hulk's right." Leah groaned.

"You'll stay here tonight," Gorgon said.

"And tomorrow we'll figure out next steps,” Buck offered. Leah looked around the table at each person standing there, and when she seemed to realize that no one there was willing to argue with Hulk, Buck, or Gorgon, she finally sighed.

"Fine,” she spat. Relief hit him so hard it nearly staggered him, and nobody noticed, except Wren. The woman smirked at him, but Hulk ignored her.

Leah stood. "I'm exhausted."

Wren rose immediately. "I'll show you to one of the guest rooms." Leah nodded and looked back at Hulk, just for a second.

"Thank you,” she breathed. The words were quiet, but sincere. They made something warm settle in his chest. Something he'd spent months trying to ignore. She disappeared down the hallway with Wren, and the second she was gone, Buck burst out laughing. Hulk glared, only causing Buck to laugh harder.

"Oh, you've got it bad,” Buck drawled.

"Shut up,” Hulk shouted.

Gorgon shook his head. "Our enforcer is in love." The room erupted into a chorus of laughter, and Hulk considered murder—several murders. Hell, he wanted to take them all out. Instead, he grabbed the photographs.

"I'll start tracking him,” Hulk insisted.

Buck's smile vanished immediately. "Think he's local?"

"Doesn't matter,” Hulk said as he studied the latest photo and the timestamp. A predator recognized another predator, and one thing was crystal clear—Leah’s ex hadn't come to Manitoba to just see Leah. He'd come to take her. That was too bad for him, because now he'd have to go through the Kings of Anarchy to do it. And more importantly, he'd have to go through Hulk. God help the bastard when that happened.