Chapter 4
We didn't go to the police.
Jack said Rook owned half the department. "We go to them, the card disappears, and we both end up at the bottom of a lake. We need someone outside. Someone Rook can't touch."
He made a call. To a man named Agent Torres. ATF. He'd been trying to build a case against Rook for years. He'd been Jack's contact — the one honest federal agent within a hundred miles.
Torres met us at a safe house — a cabin in the woods, owned by a former Silver Ridge member who'd gone straight. He was young, intense, with dark eyes and a scar across his cheek. He looked at the card. At the files. At the photos. And he whistled.
"This is everything," he said. "This is the case I've been waiting five years for. But —" He looked up. "Rook will know we have it. He'll move. He'll try to destroy evidence. Silence witnesses. And he'll come after her." He nodded at me. "We need to keep you somewhere safe. Until the arrest warrants are signed."
"Where?" I said.
Torres looked at Jack. "The clubhouse. Rook won't attack Silver Ridge directly — not yet. He still thinks he can take control. And Jack's men are loyal. Mostly."
"Mostly?" I said.
Jack sighed. "Rook has been VP for fifteen years. He's made friends. Allies. Men who owe him. I don't know who I can trust."
So we went back to the clubhouse. But this time, Jack called a meeting. All full members. He stood in front of them — the old president, gray beard, leather cut, eyes like flint.
"Rook killed Daniel Carter," he said. "He ran drugs through this club. He used us. And now he's coming after Daniel's daughter — Claire. She's under my protection. Anyone who stands with Rook — leave now. Anyone who stands with this club — with what Silver Ridge was always supposed to be — stay."
For a long moment, nobody moved. Then one by one — men stood up. Walked to the back. Left. Seven of them. Rook's men.
The rest stayed. Twenty-two men. Including Jesse — Jack's nephew, twenty-six, broad-shouldered, with a scar through his eyebrow and kind eyes. He'd been quiet all night. Now he stood up.
"I'm with you, Uncle Jack," he said. "All the way."
Others murmured agreement.
Jack looked at them. At me. "Then we prepare. Rook will come. And when he does — we end this."
That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat on the roof of the clubhouse, looking at the stars. Jesse found me. He brought me coffee.
"You okay?" he said.
I looked at him. "My father was murdered. My mother ran. My aunt lied to me my whole life. And now a biker gang is using me as bait. How do you think I am?"
Jesse smiled. It was a nice smile. "Scared. Angry. And braver than you think."
I didn't answer. We sat in silence for a while.
"Your dad," Jesse said. "He was a good man. I was a kid when he died. But I remember him. He used to bring me candy. He taught me to ride a bike. He — he was the best of us."
I looked at the crescent mark on my arm. "I never knew him."
Jesse touched my arm gently — just his fingertips, near the mark. "You have his eyes. And his mark. And I think — you have his courage."
I pulled my arm away. But I didn't move from the roof. And I didn't tell him to leave.
May you like
Somewhere below, engines rumbled. Men prepared. And above us, the stars didn't care about any of it.
I closed my eyes. And for the first time since the diner, I felt — almost safe.
