Church convenes that afternoon.
The photos of Leah are spread across the table, and every man in the room is staring at them with murder in their eyes.
These aren't just threats against me anymore.
This is Virgil declaring war on everyone I love.
On everyone connected to this club.
The chapel is tense, the air thick with rage between all of us.
Ruger sits at the head of the table, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jumping.
Coin keeps glancing at his phone, probably checking on his girls.
Bracken is fidgeting with his lighter—click, click, click—a nervous habit that sets my teeth on edge.
Maddox is still as stone, but there's something dangerous in his eyes.
Something that says he's ready to hurt someone.
"He's escalating," Ruger says, his voice grim. "First Vanna. Now Leah. He's trying to pressure Blood into doing something stupid. Trying to make him break."
"Or he's testing our security," Ounce adds. "Seeing how we respond. Looking for weaknesses. Trying to figure out how far he can push before we push back."
"He found one." I tap the photos of Leah, spreading them so everyone can see. My sister's face, captured without her knowledge, her privacy violated by a monster. "My sister lives alone. Works odd hours at the hospital. She's not connected to the club—not directly. She's an easy target."
"Not anymore," Ruger says. "We put someone on her. Around the clock, until this is done. She doesn't leave her apartment without a shadow."
"Already told her. She agreed—reluctantly." I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. "But this changes things. Virgil isn't just watching anymore. He's actively hunting. If he's willing to go after Leah, he'll go after anyone connected to us. Tildie. Aunt Ellie. Kinsey." I look at Coin. "Your girls."
The mention of his daughters makes Coin's face go pale.
Wrenleigh and her younger sister—teenagers, innocent, with no idea what kind of danger is circling their father's world.
"I'll pull them out of school," he says, his voice tight. "Keep them at the compound until this is handled."
"Do it," Ruger agrees. "Today. Don't wait. And someone needs to talk to Kinsey too. Make sure she knows what's happening, what to look for."
"I'll handle Kinsey," Bracken offers. "She trusts me."
"What about the timeline?" Porter asks. He's been quiet until now, doing what he does best—thinking, calculating, working the angles. "We were waiting for Ounce to nail down Virgil's location. But if he's getting bolder?—"
"Then we need to move faster." Ruger turns to Ounce. "Where are we?"
Ounce pulls a folded paper from his pocket and spreads it on the table.
It's a map of Morgantown and the surrounding area, marked with red X's and handwritten notes.
"Virgil's got a few regular spots," he says, pointing. "This warehouse on the east side—he uses it for storage. Drugs, mostly, but sometimes girls too. He's got a house out past the county line, real isolated, where he does most of his... business." His jaw tightens on the word. "And he's been spending time at this motel on Route 7. Meeting with buyers, I think. Setting up transactions."
"Which one's the best hit?" I ask.
"The house. It's remote, no neighbors, easy to control. But he's not there every night. We'd need to watch it, wait for him to show up."
"How long?"
Ounce shakes his head. "Could be days. Could be weeks. His schedule's irregular—probably on purpose."
