The chip moves from knuckle to knuckle, red and white stripes blurring together. I’ve made harder calls than this. Riskier plays. But something about Elizabeth makes every decision feel like I’m betting more than I should.
Ghost shifts in his seat at the table, his fingers drumming a quiet pattern against the felt. When I meet his eyes, there’s understanding there, a silent conversation that happens in the space between heartbeats. He knows what I’m thinking because he’s thinking it too. We’ve been brothers long enough that words aren’t always necessary.
But he speaks anyway, his voice low and careful. “The question is… what’s she going to do with the information?”
That’s the question, isn’t it?
The one that’s been gnawing at my gut since I made the call to trust her. Elizabeth Hale is a wildcard. Smart enough to be dangerous. Driven enough to be reckless. And after what we just told her about Marcus Delaney’s death, she’s armed with enough truth to either save us or bury us.
“She’ll do the right thing,” I say, but even I hear the uncertainty threading through my words.
Nitro snorts, resuming his pacing. “Therightthing according to who? Us? The cops? That corrupt fuck Rourke?” He drags a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. “I get that you’ve got athingfor her, Pres. Hell, we all see it. But trusting her withthis?With whatreallyhappened to Marcus? Damn, that’s playing with fire.”
“We’realwaysplaying with fire,” I snap, the chip stilling in my palm. “That’s the life we choose. The question isn’t whether it’s risky. Every-fucking-thing we do is risky. The question is whether the risk is worth the potential gain.”
Ghost leans forward, elbows on the table. “And is she? Worth the risk?”
The chip starts moving again, faster now. “She’s the key to bringing down Rourke. She’s got credibility and connections with media outlets. If she decides to go public with what we just told her, she becomes our greatest asset.”
“And if she decides to twist it?” Nitro challenges. “Make us look like we’re covering our asses? Or worse. What if she goes straight to the cops with it?”
“Then we deal with it.” My voice goes hard, the president in me taking over. “Like we deal with everything else. But I don’t think she will. She came here looking for a story about us. We just gave her a story about corruption that goes deeper than this club. Now she knows the real enemy isn’t wearing a cut, it’s wearing a badge.”
The silence that follows is thick, weighted with unspoken doubts and half-formed plans. But I see the moment they accept it, the way Ghost’s shoulders relax a fraction, the way Nitro’s pacing slows.
“All right,” Ghost says finally. “So, what’s next?”
“Next, we remind the brothers why they follow me.” I pocket the chip and straighten, feeling the mantle of leadership settle heavy across my shoulders. “Call Church. Full attendance. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
***
Twenty minutes later, the Chapel is packed.
Bear’s massive frame fills his usual spot, and Koa’s sharp eyes miss nothing from across the table. Deek is trying to look serious, but there’s that ever-present glint of mischief lurking underneath. Mace sits stone-faced, probably still feeling the bullet graze he took during the Alliance attack. Axel has his arm in a sling, but he’s here, refusing to miss Church despitethe fresh wound. Flint is back in action after his injuries fromOperation Darkfire. Fucker took quite the hit when we helped Los Angeles take out their enemies in an abandoned gold mine. Warden and Hash are standing at the back of the room, chuckling about some shit, as Nitro and Ghost sit at the head of the table with me.
They’re all here because I called. Because that’s how this works. That’s the weight of the patch, the responsibility of the gavel.
I stand at the head of the table, hands braced against the worn felt, and look at each of them in turn. These men are my family. My blood in every way that matters. And right now, they’re hungry for revenge.
“Brothers,” I start, my voice carrying the authority of the room as they quieten down. “We all know why we’re here. The Hidden Hand Alliance disrespected us. They attacked our home, our sanctuary. They put bullets in our brothers and fire on our walls.” A rumble of agreement moves through the room. Mace’s jaw clenches, his good hand curling into a fist on the table. Koa’s fingers tap against his thigh in a rhythm that speaks of barely contained violence.
“They think they can roll up on our territory and walk away,” Nitro adds, his voice tight with fury. “They think we’re weak. That we’ll just take it and move on.”
“So, we hit them back,” Deek says, leaning forward with that wild energy he gets before violence. “We hit them hard. Show them what happens when you fuck with Vegas Defiance.”
More voices join in, a chorus of anger and bloodlust. They want retaliation. They want the Alliance to bleed for what they did. And part of me, the part that’s all sin, fury, and fire, wants the same thing.
But the president in me knows better.
I let them vent.
Let them get it out.
Leadership isn’t just about making the hard calls. It’s about letting your brothers feel heard, letting them know their anger matters even when you can’t give them what they want.
After a few minutes, I straighten, drawing their attention back. “I hear you. Every single one of you. And you’re right to be pissed. But we’ve got eyes on us now.”
“Because ofyourjournalist?” Warden asks, his voice rough with pain and suspicion.
