“Your choice,” I said, turning to go. “But if you let her slip, the next time the Council meets I might be the person holding all the aces and you’ll have no choice but to fold.”
He watched me walk away. “You’re colder than your reputation, Rowan.”
I glanced back, letting the mask slip for just a second. “That’s because I don’t have a soul to burn, Maltraz. Remember that.”
As I merged back into the crowd, Olive fell into step beside me, voice low. “What did you tell him?”
I smiled, savoring the bitter aftertaste. “Enough to kick him into gear.”
The chamber was emptying; the night outside was deeper than sin. I paused at the exit, listening to the bickering of two centuries’ worth of monsters, and felt—just for a second—the old, exhilarating certainty of having the upper hand.
Let them chase the bait. Let them tear each other apart.
When the dust cleared, I’d be the one left standing.
And the weapon in my hand would be enough to have them all on their knees before me.
Chapter 6
Big Papa
The mornings always came early at the Iron Valor compound, but today, the cold bit straight through to the bone. The sun was barely a hint behind the scrub of mesquite and winter-bare hackberry, but the lot was already full. Chrome glinted under a skin of dew; exhaust from the warm-up runs hung above the bikes like prayer smoke. It felt right. The way the world froze and burned at the same time reminded you that life was always close to the edge.
I shook the frost off my boots and walked up to the clubhouse, the sound of my steps lost in the low drone of a half-dozen men talking at once. Someone’d fixed the front steps sincelast week; the boards didn’t creak under my weight. It was the kind of detail most people missed, but I made a habit of noticing the small things. It’s what kept the brothers alive, more often than not.
Inside, the conference room was already humming. Bronc had claimed the head of the table, eyes bright and blue and scanning every man as he filtered in. His hands were steepled in front of him—his tell that this wasn’t going to be a bullshit session, but a meeting where you left with a job and probably an ulcer. Arsenal and Gunner had the left and right flanks, hands busy with mugs of black coffee, plates of bacon and eggs, and the pack’s daily banter. Doc, always punctual, sat with his black-framed glasses perched on his nose, reading a patient’s chart while he waited. Wrecker was late as usual, but his voice echoed from the hallway, carrying some foul joke about what happened if you crossed a succubus with a dairy cow.
I sidled in, catching Juliet’s scent from the open kitchen. She was there, back straight, hands on hips, giving the griddle hell. The woman ran a tight ship. She saw me and nodded once, a signal that she’d have a plate out in a minute. I nodded back and turned my attention to Bronc.
He didn’t say a word until every chair was filled. Then he leaned forward and, without preamble, spoke in that low growl that always demanded respect.
“We got word from the council last night. King Rafe delivered the news himself.” His gaze went around the table, pausing on each man like he was checking for cracks in the foundation. “We know Maltraz worked with Silas on the poisoning. His sigil on the bottles wasn’t proof enough for the Council.”
Bronc’s jaw clenched. “Council isn’t taking action. Say they can’t prove it was actually him and not some rogue in hisorganization. They want us to keep the peace, bide our time, and let the proper channels work.”
“Always the fucking same. Proper channels?” Arsenal spat, voice soft but loaded. “We lost seven people. Almost lost our Alphaandour Luna.”
Gunner stared into his coffee, the anger in his eyes sharp enough to skin a man. “They won’t be satisfied until Iron Valor is burned to the motherfucking ground.”
I felt the old, familiar tension run the length of my spine. It was never rage with me, just a slow, building pressure, like the earth settling before an earthquake. “What about the bank hits?” I asked, careful to keep my voice level. “Anything on that?”
Bronc nodded. “Rafe sprung that on him.” He shot a look at me. “Said that was worth the look on Maltraz’s face. He hadn’t figured out we’d put the screws to him there. He still thought those transactions were real. Guarantee he ran from that room to check on those accounts only to find out they actually stole zero dollars from us.”
Wrecker wore a shit eatin’ grin. “My little bird leaving a backdoor open for us saved us a shit ton of money there. Although I guess I need to keep an eye on her. He’ll know she’s the one who screwed him on the bank transaction side.”
Bronc got serious. “We’ll keep an eye oneverything. Maltraz is gonna be pissed he failed on all sides.”
Juliet walked in with a tray, cutting the tension in half just by existing. She set plates down with more force than strictly necessary and topped off everyone’s mugs. “Y’all are welcome, by the way,” she muttered, and I caught the flicker of pride in her eyes when Bronc reached for his plate first.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he said, his voice overflowing with affection. The gratitude wasn’t just for the food.
Gunner had just swallowed a bite of food. “So, what’s the verdict on the bakery hottie? I may or may not have strolled bythere yesterday and took a peek in the window. Holy shit! Girl’s got curves for days! Does she bake as good as she looks?”
I had to grit my teeth. I wanted to take Gunner’s eyes, so he’d never be able to look at Aspen again. “Hey asshole, how ‘bout some respect.” I growled at him.
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, sorry, man. Just making an observation.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I cleared my throat. “She’s an excellent baker.” I continued like I hadn’t just acted like I wanted to remove his head. “Of the choices, the lemon was definitely the best. I’m going by there today to pick up a sample cake for everyone.”
