"These documents are solid intel." Chaos slides a tablet across the wooden table so the others, gathered for church, can see. "Bank statements, property deeds, wire transfers—exactly what we needed."
The table dominates the center of our chapel, as we call it—the meeting room where club business gets handled. Brothers sit around it according to rank, cuts on, patches displayed. Church is serious business.
"Not enough." Zeus barely glances at the phone before shoving it toward Jinx. His jaw clenches, eyes hard and flat. "We need names. Connections. Distribution routes."
“I agree.” Fuzzy nods, stroking his beard. “These financial records are helpful, but we could use some more operational details. Supply chains. Distribution networks."
"What we have is a good start," I counter, gripping the edge of the table. "We'll find another way in."
Chaos taps his fingers rhythmically on the hardwood, a habit when he's thinking. “Our allies are expecting a bit more. More info.”
The mention of our tentative allies in the criminal underground makes several brothers shift uncomfortably. The Black Kings control most of the east side drug trade, running their operation with military precision. The Chaldeans dominate liquor distribution throughout Detroit. Both want the cartel out as badly as we do.
"I was getting there," I defend. "One more night."
“Was.” Mayhem's deep voice rumbles from across the table. "Past tense now that you've gone and rescued the princess from the dragons.”
My shoulders tense. "She's not a princess.”
"She's a liability," Zeus snarls from across the table. His usual affability and easy smile are nowhere to be found anymore, replaced by the cold mask he's worn since he was forced to put a bullet between the eyes of Fiend, his former best friend, in order to save Rowan. "A complication we don't need."
"She was about to be sold like fucking cattle," I growl. "What was I supposed to do? Leave her there?"
Zeus slams his palm against the table. "Yes! That's exactly what you were supposed to do. The mission comes first. The club comes first—ALWAYS!”
"Fuck you." The words shoot out like a bullet.
All eyes in the room are on the two of us.
"Enough." Chaos's voice cuts through the tension. "We need solutions, not infighting.” He turns to me. "Fury, the fact is, you haven’t blown your cover. The club still exists. The operation still exists. Vincent Torrino can waltz back in there tonight like nothing happened. And likewise, the cartel may not even know Kayla's gone.”
My blood runs cold as I realize where this is heading. "No."
"Hear me out," Chaos continues. “If she shows up tonight as usual?—”
My chair clatters backward as I stand. "Absolutely fucking not."
"We could wire her," Jinx adds. “Or get her to plant bugs, maybe access files."
"She works there," Mayhem points out. "They're expecting her. She can walk back in for her shift with no one the wiser. Just for one more night.”
"I said no!" My voice rises to a roar. "She's not going back there. Not now, not ever."
"Since when does pussy trump club business?" Zeus sneers.
My fist connects with his jaw before I even register moving. He topples backward, chair and all, then leaps to his feet with murder in his eyes. We slam into each other like freight trains, grappling and swinging. It takes Chaos, Mayhem, and Jinx to pull us apart.
"I said enough!" Chaos bellows, shoving me back into my seat. “Sit your asses down, both of you.”
Zeus wipes blood from his split lip, dark eyes burning with rage. "We all make sacrifices for this club. Every single one of us. What makes you so fucking special?"
The question hits harder than his fists did. I've sacrificed plenty—blood, freedom, relationships—all for the brotherhood.
"Dean." Chaos uses my real name, which means he's dead serious. "Adriana is still in that hospital bed. Doctors say she might never wake up. How many more sisters, daughters, and sons end up like her if we don't stop Los Cuervos? How many more will OD on this shit?"
Low blow, bringing her up. But effective. The image of Adriana's pale face, machines breathing for her, floods my mind.
My stepsister was supposed to graduate pre-med this spring. She wanted to be a pediatric surgeon to save kids' lives. Now she'll be lucky if she ever opens her eyes again.
