11
Ripper
It takes three days for Crimson Road to send a message. Not through words, but through actions.
Late in the middle of the night, they set Crossroads Ink ablaze, taking out one of our main sources of income. A tit for tat for the loss of money we caused by letting those women free.
Now we’re all sitting around the table, dealing with the aftermath.
Diesel’s burning hot, his expression saying it all. “Ruby’s in the fucking hospital.”
Leah says she’ll be fine. No burns, just some smoke inhalation. Still, it could’ve been far worse. Did they know the two lived above the tattoo shop?
Diesel should be there, too, for the burns on his arms, but he insisted on attending this meeting. To make his demands.
Judge made it pretty clear from the start that I’m not allowed to speak. So, I just watch and let the anger in the room do its magic.
Our president sits at the head of the table, his signature gavel looking more like a weapon in his white-knuckled grip. He’s a statue of controlled fury, but control is the problem.
He won’t be able to keep playing it safe. The fire might not have drawn the mayor’s attention yet, but it will if we let this stand.
I miss the man who happily spilled blood to make a point. The one who led with a snarl and his fists. What’s it going to take for that ghost to step back into the light?
“They’ll be scrambling to get more women,” Hammer says, his voice flat. His face is unnervingly blank, the kind of emptiness that comes from being stretched too thin for too long. He just looks exhausted. “Best to attack while they’re scrambling to recover.”
Diesel slams a fist on the table, making the glasses jump. “We hit them tonight. Burn their fucking clubhouse to the ground.”
From the other side, Stacks, our treasurer, runs a hand down his cheek, his face pale. “And the cost? We just lost a chunk of income. The recovery alone is going to bleed us dry.”
The room fractures as demands for vengeance clash with survival math. I sit amid chaos, the architect of this split, silent fury in my throat.
What is Judge trying to protect? What do they have to do to push him over the edge finally?
Oh.Ohhhh.
“You know.” My mouth curves as I catch his glare as my voice reaches him. “Now that we know that he intended to sell Eliza, we know what he’s capable of. If Hammer’s onto something, and they’re desperate to get their hands on some pretty girls, what’s to say they won’t try to takeourwomen?”
Yeah, we’ve got plenty of women who hang around the clubhouse, but I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the pretty twins who run the bar.
“Ripper.” There’s a warning behind his voice. “You’re already on thin ice.”
Three days ago, I thought I could’ve died, so why stop now? I’m going to poke the bear.
“Hear me out, Prez,” I say, light and conversational. “Raven’s got bite. She’s pretty, with a killer smile. Some men like that fire.” I lean in, elbows on the table, locking eyes. “Those who don’t… they’ll want Penelope. She’s sweet, innocent, and easy on the eyes,” I say, twisting the knife.
The room’s temperature drops sharply. Judge remains still, but the shift is dramatic. His mask breaks, revealing his murderous glare.
Oh, if looks could kill.
All because he knows I’m right. As much as I don’t want to be, I am.
“You going to let them take your girl?” Lowering my voice, the question’s just for him. I’m one of the few who know his weakness, and I’m sure a bastard like Blaze wouldn’t think twice about grabbing her to hurt him if he were to find out.
He growls deep in the back of his throat, and that’s all the answer I need.
Judge strikes his gavel, silencing the arguing happening around us.
“We wait until the heat has cooled down before we move.” He jerks his chin toward Diesel. “Get word with your sister. The shop needs to be prepared for an attack. Send a few prospects to run a nightly watch. The same goes for the strip joint.”
