“I’m calling in Tripp and all the charters.”
A shocked murmur ripples.
No one calls that lightly.
It means war footing.
It means all hands.
It means every man in this room drops everything until the targets—our girls—are back safe.
Grinder speaks quietly. “You’re sure? I get it for Honey. That’s your daughter and Smoke’s once upon a time ol’ lady. But Holley, she ain’t yours. I don’t know that Tripp will pull all the resources for random pussy, Stud. And Smoke hasn’t claimed Honey in years. He threw that out when he went Nomad and tossed her off his property on the table that night.”
I inhale sharply. I remember that all too clearly. I should have killed him for it then. Right now I have to shake all of it off. The Hellions have a code and I know what I have to do.
Then I say the words I never thought I’d say again.
“I claim Holley. She’s mine.”
The room stills.
Completely.
Grinder’s eyes widen slightly. Miles stops breathing. Raff lifts his chin.
Smoke adds, voice cold and final: “And I claim Tiffany.”
Not romantic.
Not possessive.
But binding.
Like blood.
Like law.
Every patched Hellion has to answer the call for a claimed woman.
Country Boy, the brother who took over from me as President, steps forward. “Then this becomes club business.”
He looks at me carefully. “You’re leading this, Stud.”
“I’m retired. I hold no position to lead anything.”
“You’re still the best,” he says simply. “And this is your woman and daughter.”
I nod once, a sharp jerk of my head.
“Grinder,” I bark. “You take highways. Miles and Raff, check every gas station, back road, diner, and motel within thirty miles. Twitch is on it from the inside to scan and find any traffic cams or dark web news.”
“You got it,” they answer simultaneously.
“Smoke,” I say without looking at him, “you’re with me.”
There’s no argument. No pushback.
He falls in beside me like old times—before we hated each other, before the split, before life dug trenches between us.
