"Yeah. Looks like him too."
The Copperhead Kings approach the clubhouse entrance.
Thunder opens the door, standing aside to let them in but making it clear—this is our territory, our rules.
Venom enters first, his eyes sweeping the room, taking in our numbers, our positioning, the exits.
He's been doing this a long time.
"Phantom," he says, his voice gravelly. "Appreciate you meeting with us."
"Venom." Phantom doesn't stand, doesn't offer his hand. "Let's skip the pleasantries. What do you want?"
Venom's smile is thin. "I think you know. Four million dollars. Or what it bought."
The room goes colder.
"The arrangement died with Bronco years ago," Phantom says, his voice flat.
Venom moves to the table, his crew fanning out behind him.
Rattler on his right, Flint on his left. Moccasin and the others providing backup.
"We don't see it that way," Venom says, settling into the chair across from Phantom. "My son paid four million dollars for a specific arrangement. Marriage into your family. Alliance between our clubs. A future."
"Your son's dead," Phantom says. "Has been for a while now. No marriage happened. No alliance exists. The deal is void."
Venom's eyes harden. "Your club killed my VP. My son. Told us it was a rival MC—Scorpions out of Dallas, you said. But we've done our research, Phantom. That story doesn't hold up."
My blood runs cold.
Phantom's expression doesn't change. "You calling me a liar?"
"I'm stating facts." Venom leans forward. "Scorpions had no beef with us. Had no reason to hit Bronco at your clubhouse. And after his death? No retaliation. No follow-up. No war. That's not how rival clubs work."
Rattler speaks up, his voice smooth. "We think it was an inside job. Someone in your club killed Bronco and you covered it up."
The tension in the room ratchets up.
Thunder's hand drifts toward his weapon.
Blaze's jaw is tight.
Phantom's voice is ice. "Careful what you're accusing us of."
"We're not accusing," Venom says. "We're negotiating. Because here's what we want: return the four million. Or give us the man who killed Bronco. Or give us Grace to complete the original arrangement."
"None of those are happening," Phantom says flatly.
Flint speaks for the first time, his voice carrying an edge that makes my skin crawl. "Then we have a problem."
I study him, reading his body language.
He's too tense. Too eager.
This isn't just business for him—it's personal. Revenge. And something else.
He wants Grace specifically.
