"They're retaliating for us hitting their supply warehouse," Torch says, exhaling smoke. "We cost them nearly a million in product, and now they're showing us they can hit back."
I recall Tank leading that operation right before his sister and Amelia arrived. We destroyed one of the Eagles' main distribution centers, burning it to the ground after confiscating enough evidence to keep the cops busy for weeks.
"This isn't just about the warehouse," King says, his knuckles white against the table. "This is Vulture escalating. First he comes after me and Luna at her house, now he's bold enough to hit our headquarters. He's not going to stop until either we're wiped out or he is."
"How's security looking?" I ask, my mind running through vulnerabilities. "Any cameras catch their approach?"
"They shot out the street camera on the corner first," King says, jaw tightening. "Professional job. In and out in under forty seconds. But they made one mistake."
He slides a phone across the table. I pick it up to see a grainy image from what must be the gas station's security camera two blocks away. It shows one of the SUVs turning onto our street, the rear license plate partially visible.
"First three digits are KLP," King says.
"You think Amelia's ex might be feeding them information?" I suggest. "Derek's a cop with connections. He could have reached out to the Eagles after Tank ran him out of town."
Tank's expression darkens at the mention of the man who abused Amelia. "Possible, though unlikely. That piece of shit was too busy running back to Riverbrook with his tail between his legs. But I'll ask Amelia if he ever mentioned contacts with the Eagles."
King straightens suddenly, his control finally snapping. With a roar that seems too large for even his massive frame, he slams his fist into the table with such force that the solid oak cracks down the middle, both halves sagging toward the floor.
"NO ONE ATTACKS THE SAVAGE RIDERS!" he bellows, veins standing out on his neck. "No one comes to our home, endangers our women and children, and lives to tell the fucking story! I want these men found. I want them on their knees. I want Vulture to understand that coming after us means TOTAL FUCKING WAR!"
The room falls silent after his outburst. King rarely loses control, which makes his rage all the more significant. I remember when Vulture's men nearly killed King during the ambush at her grandmother's house. Only Luna's quick thinking and medical skills saved him. Now, with another direct attack, King's patience has finally snapped.
After a moment, he inhales deeply, straightening his cut.
"Gentlemen," he continues, voice steady again but no less lethal, "as of this moment, we are in full retaliation mode. We've hit one supply line. Now we take out the rest. I want eyes on every Iron Eagle property. I want their suppliers cut off, their protection rackets disrupted, their families watched."
"Their families?" Torch questions, raising an eyebrow. "That's not usually how we operate."
"We don't touch them," King clarifies. "But we watch them. They become our leverage if needed"
Tank nods in agreement. "We need to show force, but controlled force. We're not them."
"Precisely," King says. "We're not mindless thugs. We're soldiers. And soldiers follow strategy." He turns to me. "Beast,I need you to organize security here. Triple the watch rotations, arm everyone, including prospects. No one enters or leaves without clearance."
"Done," I affirm, already mentally drafting the schedule.
"Also," King adds, eyes narrowing slightly, "why were you and Jenny out together?"
Fuck. I should have known that would come up.
Before I can formulate a response, Tank interrupts. "That's a conversation for after we handle this threat." His eyes meet mine, communicating clearly: You're not off the hook.
King studies us both for a moment, then nods. "Fair enough. Focus on the Eagles now, domestic matters later."
The chapel door opens abruptly, and Steel strides in, his lean frame tense with urgency.
"Got something," he announces without preamble. "That SUV with the partial plate KLP? Registered to Vincent Kemp's brother-in-law."
"Kemp?" Tank straightens in his chair. "Vulture's right-hand man?"
"The same," Steel confirms, a grim smile playing at his lips. "And according to my source at the gas station, they filled up both vehicles twenty minutes before the attack. Paid cash, but the security camera got a clear shot of the driver—definitely Kemp."
King smirks. "Excellent. We have confirmation."
"We already know they're operating out of that old machine shop on the east side of town," Tank adds. "The one we've been watching for the past week."
"Time to pay them a visit," I suggest, already anticipating the blood that will flow.
