He stares at me for a few seconds, then nods as if coming to a decision. "I need to show you something," he says, rising to his feet and offering me a hand up. "Something that might help you understand what we're up against."
I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. "What is it?"
King moves to his desk and unlocks a drawer, pulling out a tablet. His expression has turned grave, all the softness from our conversation replaced by something harder and more focused.
"What I'm about to show you isn't easy to watch," he warns, tapping the screen to pull up a video file. "But you need to understand exactly what kind of people the Iron Eagles are. What they're capable of."
He positions the tablet so we can both see it, then presses play.
The video appears to be security camera footage from a gas station. The timestamp shows it was recorded about three months ago in a town about fifty miles east of here. Two men in leather vests with Iron Eagles patches visible are confronting an older man in a mechanic's uniform.
There's no audio, but it's clear from their body language that the conversation is heated. The mechanic keeps shaking his head, backing away. One of the Iron Eagles grabs him by the front of his shirt, getting in his face.
"This was Earl Jenkins," King explains quietly. "Owned a garage in Millfield. Refused to pay protection money to the Eagles when they moved into town."
On the screen, the second Iron Eagle has pulled out what looks like a metal pipe. The mechanic's eyes widen with fear as he realizes what's about to happen. He tries to run, but the first Eagle catches him, throws him to the ground.
What follows turns my stomach. The two men take turns beating the mechanic with systematic brutality, targeting his knees first to prevent escape, then his ribs, finally his head. They take their time, almost casual in their violence, occasionally stopping to talk to each other as if discussing the weather rather than a man's murder.
By the time they finish, the mechanic isn't moving. A pool of blood spreads beneath his head on the concrete.
The Iron Eagles calmly get on their motorcycles and ride away, never hurrying, never looking concerned about witnesses or consequences.
King stops the video. "Earl was 62. Had three grandkids. His only crime was refusing to be extorted."
I realize I'm shaking, my hand pressed to my mouth. "Why haven't they been arrested? That's clear evidence—"
"They were identified and charges were filed," King says grimly. "Two weeks later, both men were released when the witnesses suddenly recanted their statements and the evidence mysteriously disappeared from police custody."
"How is that possible?"
"Vulture has connections. Law enforcement, judiciary, local government. Money goes a long way in dying towns where the tax base has dried up. Besides, they can just hurt any witnesses." King sets the tablet down. "This is what we're up against, Luna. Not just thugs with baseball bats, but a systematic operation that treats human life as disposable."
The implications hit me hard. If I stay in Blackwater Falls, if I rebuild Grandma's house, I'm potentially putting myself in the path of men like the ones in that video. Men who beat a grandfather to death for saying no to them.
King must see the fear in my eyes because he steps closer, taking my hands in his. "I'm showing you this not to scare you away, but so you understand the stakes," he says. "I will protect you with everything I have. The Savage Riders will keep you safe. But I need you to know exactly what you're choosing to stand against."
"Those men..." I struggle to find words. "They didn't even hesitate. Didn't show any emotion while they killed him."
"That's what makes Vulture different from other MC presidents," King says. "He doesn't recruit hotheads who enjoy violence. He finds sociopaths who feel nothing when they inflict it. It's just business to them."
I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to process everything I've seen and learned today. In less than 48 hours, my entire world has changed. I've gone from being a lonely ER nurse in Seattle to standing in the middle of a territorial war between motorcycle clubs, with people like the men in that video potentially targeting me just for being associated with King.
"Are you still sure you want to stay?" King asks quietly.
It would be so easy to run. To go back to Seattle, to the safe, predictable life I had before. To pretend I never saw that video, never met King, never felt what it's like to be truly alive for the first time in years.
But then I think of Grandma Emma, of her courage and determination. Of how she treated everyone who needed help, regardless of who they were or what they'd done. Of how she taught me that the things worth having were worth fighting for.
"I'm staying," I tell him, lifting my chin. "This is my home now. I won't be driven away by fear."
"Then we'll face it together," he promises, pulling me against his chest. "I won't let anything happen to you, Luna. That's a promise I intend to keep."
As I lean into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, I believe him. Despite everything—the danger, the violence, the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring—I feel safer with King than I ever have before.
Not because he's perfect or invincible, but because for the first time in my life, I'm not facing the hard things alone.
Chapter 9 - King
