Knight cleared his throat. “I have another idea. One that buries Reeves instead of us.” All eyes turned to him as he pulled something from his pocket. He laid a small, round object that looked like an ordinary button on the table in front of him. “We get him to confess. And we record him.”
“How the fuck do we manage that?” Hawk asked from his position by the door.
Knight’s tattooed lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Rancor arranges a meeting. Face-to-face. Reeves is arrogant. He’ll think it’s a surrender and that he’s won. Men like him can’t resist gloating.”
I nodded slowly, understanding forming. “And I wear this,” I said, gesturing to the button.
“Exactly. Military-grade recording with audio and video. It’s also a tracking device. Picks up everything within fifty feet. I’ve got the equipment to filter through the background noise.” Knight’s eyes met mine. “You get him talking about what he’s done to Cora, how he fabricated evidence against her and the club, his plans for the raid. I can take it from there,” Knight said. “If IA won’t do anything, I’ll take it to the press. Media just lovesa good scandal.”
Cora’s breathing had grown rapid beside me, her pulse visible at her throat. I placed my free hand on her lower back, feeling the shallow rise and fall of her ribs.
“It’s risky,” Hannah said, speaking for the first time. “Reeves could arrest him on the spot.”
“Not without blowing his own plan,” Knight countered. “He needs the raid to plant whatever evidence he plans on ‘finding’ here.” He made air quotes. “He has to have some kind of evidence before he can justify an arrest, and to find evidence, he needs to get into the compound. For that, he needs the warrant.”
“Meaning he can arrest Marcus, but it’s not likely the charges will stick until he collects incriminating evidence he’s likely going to plant during the raid when he executes the warrant.” Cora’s assessment was spot on.
Knuckles studied me across the table, his expression unreadable. “Your woman’s smart, Rancor. She’s gonna be good for you.” He gave Cora an acknowledging nod. “Your call, brother. It’s your woman he’s using as a pawn.”
I felt Cora tense at those words but kept my eyes on our president. “I’ll do it,” I said. “Let him think he’s got me backed into a corner. His ego won’t let him pass up the chance to rub it in.”
Knuckles gave a sharp nod. “Get on it.”
Knight passed me the button-shaped device across the table. “Battery lasts a week of continuous recording. Secure it to your vest and the bastard will never know it’s there.”
Minutes later, after a quick test to make sure the device was working the way Knight wanted to, I reached for my phone. I thumbed open a new message to Reeves, knowing he’d kept my number all these years, probably hoping I’d slip up and give him something to use against me.
We need to talk. Tonight. Just you and me. The old Byers warehouse district, loading dock three. 9 PM.
I hit send, knowing he wouldn’t refuse. Not when he thought victory was within his grasp.
Cora found my hand with hers under the table, her fingers cold against my skin. I squeezed gently, a silent promise that everything would be OK. Whatever happened next, I would bring Reeves down. For her. For us. For the future I was only just beginning to believe might be possible.
The spot was one meeting place of many we had set up throughout the city. This particular one was close to the compound. The location alone would be irresistible to Reeves. Any chance to get close to the compound would be one he’d take. Add to it I’d be out in the open and Reeves couldn’t resist.
I’ll be there. Leave your whore at home.
Oh, he’d pay for that remark. But not until I was ready. To do this, I needed a clear head. I couldn’t afford to be so blinded by anger and hate I lost my cool.
* * *
Now, the warehouse district stretched before me like a giant’s graveyard. Abandoned loading docks and empty buildings looming as silent witnesses to what was about to unfold. I pulled my bike into a shadowed alcove next to the meeting point, my boots crunching on broken glass and gravel as I dismounted. The night air carried the scent of rust and stagnant water, fitting for the rot I was about to confront. I checked the recording device disguised as a button on my jacket, waiting until the tiny red light in the back switched to green and blinked three times before going dark. The tiny earpiece Knight had insisted I wear sat snug and nearly invisible. “We ready?” I murmured, knowing Knight and Cora were listening from the surveillance van parked several blocks away.
“All good.” Knight’s voice came through. “Audio-visual’scrystal. We’re tracking you without interference.”
I moved through the shadows. My heartbeat remained steady, my breathing controlled. This wasn’t rage driving me now. What I felt was colder, more focused. More dangerous.
Loading dock three stood half-collapsed at the far end of what had once been a textile factory. Moonlight sliced through broken windows, casting prison-bar shadows across concrete stained with decades of industrial spillage. I positioned myself in the center of the open space, refusing to hide in darkness like Reeves surely would. Let him see me waiting.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“Wheeler.” Reeves’ voice echoed against corrugated metal as he stepped from the shadows, exactly as I’d expected. He called me by my last name. His face looked older than I remembered, deep lines carved around a mouth twisted into what he probably thought was a smirk of victory. “Or should I say Rancor? That’s what your little gang calls you, isn’t it?”
I kept my expression neutral, giving him nothing. “Reeves.”
He circled me slowly, keeping distance between us. He was stupid, but notthatstupid. “I was surprised to get your message,” he said, voice dripping with false casualness. “The mighty Rancor, reaching out to the cops. Must be desperate times at the compound.”
“You know why I’m here.” I followed him with my gaze only, refusing to turn my body as he circled. “It’s not the club you’re after. It’s me. Always has been.”
