Nodding, I motioned for him to follow me.
Walking over to a corner in the room, Firestride said, “Morpheus wanted me to pass along a message.”
Stiffening, I growled, “What?”
“He said, watch your back. He doesn’t trust the Gods of Mayhem.”
My eyes immediately went to the table where Zeus and Kronos were sitting, giving King a hard time. “He say why?”
Firestride shook his head. The cryptic warning, delivered with such gravity, gnawed at me. Trust was a currency I traded in sparingly, and Morpheus’ veiled words felt like a challenge to the very foundations of my allegiances.
Firestride’s expression remained neutral, a practiced mask that revealed nothing. “He didn’t elaborate, brother. Just that you should tread carefully. Especially around Zeus and Kronos.” He paused, his gaze drifting toward the table where the two men sat, their boisterous laughter echoing unnaturally loud in the suddenly tense air. “And he reminded me of a simple truth: blood is thicker than water. A reminder that family, even the blood you don’t claim, has its own complex currents.”
I grunted, the weight of his words settling like a stone in my gut.
Family.
A concept I’d long since learned to discard, to bury beneath layers of hardened shell and sharp steel. But Morpheus’ words, and the unsettling presence of Zeus and Kronos, planted a seed of doubt, a chilling premonition that the war brewing around us was far more personal than I had initially understood. The choices made by those I’d never known, the blood that flowed through my veins, their veins, demanded a reckoning, and I had a terrifying feeling that the price of that reckoning would be paid in blood.
I scoffed. “Tell him I said he can go fuck himself.”
Firestride’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing more. The weight of his warning hung between us, sinking deep into my chest. I glanced back at the crowd, searching among the faces Ithought I could trust, and for a brief moment, I felt more alone than ever.
Sheriff O’Rourke walked over with the file in his hand, his face hard as stone. “This file says that all the victims were related?”
“Yeah,” Firestride spoke up. “And with ties to Alabama. More specifically, the Satan’s Angels Motorcycle Club.”
“Turf war with another club?” Declan asked, flipping through the file.
“Detective Powell thought that, but he dismissed it because the victims were closely related.”
“And how are Karlyn Ingalls and—” Dec paused, flipping another page as Firestride spoke, finishing his thought, “Kyllian Ward, related to the victims?”
Declan nodded.
Sighing, Firestride looked past the sheriff at his woman as she talked with Banshee. “Cousins, either by blood or marriage to Joel Johnson, the former vice president of the Satan’s Angels.”
“And where is this Joel Johnson?”
I smirked. “Fucker is dead. Karlyn’s brother, Ink, killed him when he walked in and saw Knuckles fucking his dad. Ink’s dad and Knuckles were lovers. When Knuckles went after Ink, my brother shoved a pen in the asshole’s neck. Bled out right there. It was self-defense, and Ink was a minor at the time, but he still did time until he turned eighteen.”
“So this Karl Ingalls Sr. is a scorned lover?” Dec asked, frowning. “Why not just go after this Ink?”
“Because Ink is a brother in the Golden Skulls and not easy killed.”
Closing the file, Dec looked at the both of us, shaking his head. “I don’t like this. I don’t like the fact that there’s a serial killer on the loose in my town. Diamond Creek is a nice placeto live. The people here are mostly upstanding citizens, current company excluded.” He smirked, looking at his brother, who was still getting hazed at the table by Zeus and a few of the Silver Shadows. “And now, the only two remaining people connected to the victims are here in my town. What’s stopping this asshole from going on a rampage to get to them? Those two women need to be put into protective custody immediately.”
Firestride growled.
Smirking, I said, “I’ve got an idea, but you ain’t gonna like it.”
The sheriff and Firestride tensed, the weight of my suggestion settling like a storm cloud overhead. Firestride’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent, waiting. Dec shot me a glare, but I caught the flicker of understanding in his eyes—risky as hell, but maybe our best shot. Before either man could argue, the door to King’s office swung wide as Karlyn and the rest of the ladies walked out, her expression softening the second her eyes landed on me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Karlyn
“Jackson, why are we camping and not at the clubhouse?” I asked, looking around the thick forest as he kneeled before a pile of branches and twigs, stacking them in a pyramid.
