The others were quiet, but I could feel the tension winding tighter around us. Bronc rubbed his hand across his mouth, considering. “We’ll need to move fast. Get to Mayfield before Declan makes a play.”
I nodded, relieved to have him on board. “Soon as we’ve got Skeeter locked down, we ride to Alabama.”
“Better not wait too long.” Bronc’s voice was clipped, the authority in it clear. “Wrecker, find out if Declan’s sniffing around. We’ll have to face him once we start informing packs about theirloved ones. Word will get out about us scuttling that lab. We may already be out of time.”
The lights buzzed overhead as silence settled again. Wrecker shifted, pulling out his tablet and scrolling. “Got chatter on Declan,” he reported. “Uptick in movement, but no specifics. He’s trying to keep the search for his daughter on the down low. Keeping it real quiet.”
Bronc cursed under his breath. “Doesn’t sound like him. He usually goes big. He must be pretty embarrassed his little girl slipped out from under his thumb.”
“Maybe he knows we’ve got Savannah,” I said, a chill running through me at the thought.
“Can’t take chances,” Bronc replied, his voice steel. “We have to get to Mayfield.”
The decision felt like a live wire in the room, buzzing with risk and desperation. I stayed rooted at the table, jaw tight, wondering how much time we really had. Bronc pushed to his feet, his chair scraping back. “We go to Alabama after Skeeter,” he said, his voice final.
We went over our plans to nab him. That’s the easy part. He’s right here, every day, all day. We just had to get the job done. Harder part might be breaking him.
Bronc repeated the plan to meet with Mayfield, as if saying it would make it easier. The others nodded, but their faces said otherwise.
The sun hung low, bleeding orange across the asphalt as we rolled up to the shop. My cut felt heavy on my shoulders, the club patch itching like a brand. Behind me, Bronc and Arsenal and the others killed their engines, the silence sudden and sharp. No need for speeches. We all knew why we were here: two years of missingcash, inventory logs thicker with lies than grease, and Skeeter’s shaky hands at the center of it.
Juliet’s spreadsheets had painted him guilty weeks ago—entries “miscounted,” shipments “lost,” pennies skinned into thousands. Axle’s old fingerprints were all over it too, but that bastard had already eighty-sixed us. But Skeeter? He wasn’t smart enough to run a game this slick alone. Someone else was pulling his strings. And tonight? He’d sing for us or choke on his silence.
We all strolled in like it was a regular Thursday night. Skeeter stood frozen by a gutted engine, grease smeared up his arms like war paint. His eyes darted—left to right, exit to exit—but Big Papa was already blocking the door, arms crossed. Wrecker ran his finger across the front counter like he was giving it the white-glove treatment.
“Hey fellas. Place was pretty scarce today.” Skeeter stammered, backing into a tool rack. Wrenches clattered to the floor. “Just Maddie and me most of the day.”
“Appreciate the hard day’s work,” Bronc spoke as he stepped slowly towards him. “Busy day, otherwise?”
Skeeter was glancing around the shop, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. “Not too bad. Got that Gold Wing in over there. And trying to finish this Street Glide is all. Everything okay, Bronc?”
There was Bronc’s opening. Skeeter continued to use hand wipes to clean his hands.
“Well, now that you mentioned it, Skeeter. Thereissomething we need to discuss.”
He flinched. Sweat glazed his face even in the shop’s chill. Scared, I noted—not of us, though we could make it quick if we wanted—but of whatever shadow had its claws in his spine. His throat bobbed as Arsenal tossed me zip-ties from across the room; they landed in my palm with a slap that made Skeeter twitch again. Eyes wide, he seemed to realize what was happening as he hung his head.
I gave a small laugh. “Ahh, the lightbulb might not be the brightest one in the pack, but it finally turned on. Put your arms behind your back you traitorous piece of shit.”
He did as I instructed.
Bronc continued, “Twenty years, Skeeter. You’re going to betray your pack after twenty years?”
I led him over to Arsenal by his elbow. He wasn’t slinging bullshit like usual now. Didn’t fight when Arsenal shoved him into the van outside. Just slumped against the metal floorboards, staring at nothing, mouth sewn shut by fear. Not much worse than betraying the Alpha of your pack.
Chapter 7
Savannah
The cabin was almost obscene in its warmth. Juliet and I settled in the dining area, where pastries and coffee sat waiting, ever the perfect hostess. She pushed a stack of porcelain plates in my direction and gave me a sweet smile that set my pulse sprinting. My thoughts tumbled between my father and Menace, between honesty and terror, until her Luna intuition broke the silence.
“What’s going on, Sawyer? It’s not like Menace to drop you off like an Amazon delivery.”
My hands trembled. I barely tasted the pastry as I bit into it, chewing on it and her question at the same time. The courage to answer was in short supply.
I wondered if she knew already. If Menace had said something to Bronc. If word had spread through the pack, through the town, like a wildfire set to consume us. What would they do to me once they knew?
“I don’t know where to start,” I finally said, a hollow laugh escaping my lips.
