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later, Alamo was at Wolves & Whiskey, sitting at the bar and enjoying a drink. He needed to start work the following week, but until then he wasn’t doing much. He’d done enough unpacking to get himself sorted. He had pots and pans, towels and soap, bedlinens and a pillow, and of course his tools, in case the bike needed anything. Food, rest, bath, and bike were all in order. The rest could wait. That left him with time on his hands and no woman to distract him. In most of his life, that would’ve been a recipe for trouble. He was hoping that wasn’t the case now. Seeing Dash stalking across the dingy interior of the bar, however, was leading Alamo to think that trouble was determined to find him.
    â€œI hear you picked Ellie up at my place,” Dash said, menace consciously in every bit of his body and voice as he walked up to stand next to Alamo at the bar.
    Alamo shrugged and said, “Mike said the girl needed a ride. I picked her up in some alley.”
    â€œShe was at my place.”
    Carefully keeping his attention on his beer wasn’t quite enough to keep his disdain hidden. He was new here, and he really didn’t want to be in a fight. He also really wanted to punch the idiocy right off Dash’s face. Instead, all he said was “Then maybe you ought to be the one driving her home.”
    â€œShe is off-limits to Wolves,” Dash stressed. “Stay away from her.”
    Alamo stood and turned to face Dash. There was a “favored son” air to him that made it clear that he expected people to obey him, but he wasn’t backing that with fists or skills. It was a coincidence of birth that he was the young prince of this chapter. Regardless of why , it still should’ve been reason enough for Alamo to mind his own business, but something about Ellen made him feel protective. There weren’t a lot of things that made Alamo want to take a swing at a man without provocation, but leaving a woman in tears was one of them. It meant that he’d disliked Dash before they’d even met. Now? Dash was only adding to the growing distaste Alamo felt. Being talked to as if he was an underling wasn’t ever particularly good for his temper. If someone had the authority to do so, that would be different. Noah Dash didn’t.
    They stood, neither speaking, neither backing up. Dash might have started this because he was an entitled prick, but he held his position like he could throw or take a punch. It raised Alamo’s regard for him infinitesimally. He grinned, and at his side, his hand curled into a fist.
    â€œEverything okay here?” Killer’s voice interrupted the tension, not erasing it, but inserting a pause.
    Alamo shifted his gaze to eye the man who had walked up behind Dash. He didn’t know many people here yet, but Killer had been present when he’d first reported to Echo. He seemed like good people when they’d talked—and he did have the authority to tell Alamo to step back.
    â€œJust clearing things up about Ellie,” Dash said, his voice much friendlier. “I don’t think the new guy knew she was under my protection.”
    â€œDoes Ellie know she’s under your protection?” Killer prompted in the same light tone. “I thought you two were . . .” His words faded.
    Dash said nothing, and Killer let out a low whistle.
    â€œWe had an argument or something, but she’s still Ellie.” Dash looked like he might be frustrated enough to try to throw a punch at both of them. Alamo almost felt sympathy for the guy. Clearly he had no clue what was going on if he wasn’t even certain whether they’d had an argument. That sympathy faded just as quickly as it had begun when Dash added, “She’ll calm down and come back. She always does.”
    â€œEllie’s got a temper on her that would send anyone smart into retreat when she’s all het up,” Killer told Alamo. Then he