Chapter 3
No one spoke after the video ended.
The bar felt smaller.
Hotter.
The walls seemed to lean in.
Mule is a cop.
The words hung over us like a lit match near gasoline.
Silas grabbed my phone and played the clip again.
Cal’s face.
His shaking breath.
His eyes trying to tell me more than his mouth could.
“Mule is a cop.”
Reaper cursed under his breath.
I turned to Silas.
“Who is Mule?”
His face stayed hard.
But I saw the flicker.
He knew.
Or suspected.
“Prez.”
Silas slid the phone into his pocket.
“Mule has been moving things for us for six months.”
“What things?”
“Information.”
“From where?”
His silence was the answer.
Police.
The club had a cop feeding them checkpoint locations, raid schedules, names of undercover units.
And that cop had just turned.
Or maybe he had always been playing both sides.
I stepped closer.
“You let a dirty badge into club business and somehow my brother ends up tied to a chair?”
Silas’s jaw tightened.
“Careful.”
“No. I’m done being careful.”
Reaper barked a laugh.
“You were never careful.”
I spun toward him.
“You added Cal to that chat.”
His face twisted.
“I didn’t know this would happen.”
“But you did it.”
He looked away.
That was the first time I had ever seen Reaper ashamed.
It did not help.
Silas slammed his fist on the bar.
“Enough. We get Cal first. Blame comes after.”
He pointed at Jessa, the bartender.
“Pull camera feeds.”
She moved fast.
Jessa had been behind that bar for seven years and saw more than men ever knew.
She opened the office laptop and started pulling security footage from the lot.
I stood behind her, every muscle screaming.
At 8:12 p.m., Cal’s old pickup pulled into the lot.
At 8:19, Reaper walked outside and spoke to him.
My hand curled into a fist.
Reaper held up both hands.
“I told him to go home.”
At 8:27, Cal left.
At 8:34, a black SUV followed him from across the street.
Jessa zoomed in.
No plate.
But a sticker on the rear window.
Blue star inside a circle.
Silas went very still.
“What?” I asked.
He did not answer.
Reaper did.
“Sheriff’s department.”
My heart pounded once.
Hard.
“Which cop?”
Silas turned away.
I grabbed his arm.
“Which cop?”
Bear moved toward me.
Silas lifted a hand to stop him.
“Deputy Chief Warren Pike,” Silas said.
The name hit the room like a heavy door slamming.
Pike.
The man who smiled at charity rides.
The man who shook our hands during toy drives.
The man who let certain trucks pass and certain men vanish.
Mule.
I laughed once.
It sounded nothing like humor.
“You put a deputy chief in the chat.”
Silas’s voice dropped.
“He came through people above me.”
“Above you?”
The president of the Red Valley Riders looked old suddenly.
Not weak.
Just cornered.
“There are men using this club for routes I never approved.”
The room stirred.
“What routes?” Reaper asked.
Silas looked around.
“Not here.”
I stepped forward.
“No more secrets.”
Silas stared at me.
Then nodded once.
“Fine. Weapons. Cash. Fake IDs. I thought we were moving bike parts and off-books liquor. Then I found out last month Pike was using our road crews for bigger loads.”
My stomach turned.
“And you didn’t stop it?”
“I was trying to trace who inside us was helping him.”
“And my brother?”
Silas looked at my phone in his hand.
“Cal must have seen something.”
The front door shook.
Three hard knocks.
Everyone froze.
A voice called from outside.
“Police!”
Silas’s eyes met mine.
Too soon.
Too clean.
Pike had come for the witness.
Or for me.
Jessa’s laptop beeped.
A new camera feed appeared.
Back alley.
A patrol SUV.
And beside it, Cal’s pickup.
May you like
Empty.
My brother had been brought back to the bar.
