"So explain it to her somewhere else." Tank gestures at the door. "This is club business, not a social call."
I should be intimidated. Tank clearly outranks everyone except King, and his opposition to my presence is obvious. But after the past 24 hours? Nearly being robbed, discovering my inheritance is a ruin, witnessing a violent street fight, and fleeing the police on a motorcycle, my patience for male posturing is nonexistent.
"I just watched seven men try to kill your president outside my house," I say, stepping forward. "I'm already involved, whether you like it or not. And he needs stitches before that eye swells completely shut, so how about we skip the territorial display and get to the first aid kit?"
The room goes silent. Tank and Rage exchange glances that I can't interpret. Beast's eyebrows arch. And Tank... Tank looks like I just slapped him.
"First aid kit's behind the bar," King says into the silence, a hint of something that might be pride in his voice. "Tank, call everyone in. We need a full meeting."
Tank looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment of eye contact with King, some silent communication I'm not privy to, he nods curtly and pulls out his phone.
King leads me to the bar, where he retrieves a surprisingly professional-looking medical kit from a cabinet. "You always speak your mind like that?" he asks as he sets it on the counter.
"Only when I'm having a really weird day." I open the kit and start sorting through supplies. "Sit down so I can see that cut."
Remarkably, he obeys, sliding onto a barstool and tilting his face toward the light. I clean the wound with antiseptic first, relieved to find it's not quite as bad as it initially looked. The cut is deep but clean, and the bleeding has mostly stopped.
"This is going to need stitches," I tell him, preparing a suture kit.
"Do what you need to do." He doesn't flinch as I administer a local anesthetic, just watches me with those unnervingly blue eyes.
"You promised to tell me everything," I remind him as I begin stitching. "What happened back there, who those men were, what I've walked into."
King's gaze never wavers, even as the needle pierces his skin. "Those men were Iron Eagles. Rival MC. They've been moving west for months, absorbing smaller clubs and eliminating anyone who won't fall in line."
"And they're after you specifically."
"They're after all of us. But yeah, me in particular." His jaw tightens slightly, the only indication that my suturing might be causing discomfort. "Their current president, Vulture, has apersonal grudge. Five years ago, I killed his brother in a bar fight."
My hands freeze mid-stitch. "You killed someone?"
"Self-defense," King says calmly, as if discussing the weather instead of homicide. "Marcus Reeves, they called him Talon, pulled a knife during what should have been a routine territory discussion. I put him down before he could use it on me or my boys. Police ruled it justified, case closed."
"Except it wasn't closed for his brother."
"Exactly." King's eyes darken with something that might be regret. "Vulture disappeared after the funeral. Dropped off the radar for a couple years. When he resurfaced, he'd reinvented himself and the Iron Eagles. Started expanding territory, making alliances, eliminating competition."
"And now he's coming for you."
"He's been coming for us for months," King corrects me. "Today was just the first direct move in Blackwater Falls itself."
I resume stitching, trying to process what he's telling me. A blood feud between motorcycle clubs. Territory wars. Men who solve problems with violence instead of words.
"And my house?" I ask. "Was that just bad timing, or was there a reason they attacked there specifically?"
King is silent for a moment, and I can sense him weighing how much to tell me. "Your grandmother's property is strategically located," he finally says. "It sits on the edge of town where the forest begins. Controls access to several back roads. If the Eagles wanted to establish a presence in Blackwater Falls, that would be a logical place to start."
"So they weren't actually after you. They were after my property."
"They were testing defenses," he corrects. "Seeing how we'd respond, how quickly backup would arrive, what kind of resistance they'd face."
"And I just happened to be standing there when they did it."
"Bad timing," King agrees, his eyes never leaving my face. "Or good timing, depending on your perspective. If you hadn't been there, I might not have been either."
I finish the last stitch and cut the thread, stepping back to examine my work. "Keep it clean and dry. I'll take the stitches out in a week." I start cleaning his split lip, which thankfully doesn't need stitches. "So what happens now?"
"Now we have a club meeting." King gestures toward the far end of the room, where several men have entered while I was focused on my work. They're all wearing Savage Riders vests, all watching us with curiosity. "And you decide whether you want to stay in Blackwater Falls or get the hell out while you still can."
