"You can stay here in Vegas, under the Reapers’ protection. We've got numbers, we've got territory, we've got resources. But that starts a war between our clubs and theirs. Vegas isn't neutral ground—it's our turf." He pauses, letting that sink in. "Or you go back to Texas, handle it on your home ground. Shotgun Saints territory. We'll back you up if you need it, but it's your fight."
I glance at Grace.
Her face is pale, but her expression is determined.
"Grace's safety comes first," I say firmly. "Everything else is secondary."
"Agreed." Damon nods, respect in his eyes. "So what's the play?"
I'm about to answer when Damon leans forward, his elbows on the table.
"Before we get into strategy, I got a question for you. You got exiled from Shotgun Saints. You planning to fix that?"
The question hits me like a punch. I tense, my jaw going tight.
"Don't know if it can be fixed."
"Phantom's a good man. Respected Prez. I've known him for years—our clubs have history, we've done runs together, traded intel, backed each other up." Damon's watching me carefully. "He's pissed now, I'm sure. But he loves his daughter. He'll come around."
Grace squeezes my hand under the table, hopeful. I can feel it radiating off her—that desperate want for her father to forgive me, for things to be okay again.
"He kicked me out," I say flatly. "Made it clear I was done."
"Because you lied to him. Made him look like a fool in front of another club, in front of his brothers." Damon's not pulling punches, and I respect him for it. "But you did it to protect Grace. Once he calms down, thinks it through, he'll see that."
Shiver pushes off the bar, coffee cup in hand. "I could call him. Explain things. Make him understand."
"No." The word comes out harder than I intended. "Not yet. Not while the Copperhead Kings are still a threat. I won't ask him for help after what I did."
Damon shakes his head slowly. "Pride's gonna get you killed, brother."
"Maybe. But Grace's safety comes first. We handle the Copperhead Kings. Eliminate the threat. Then I deal with Phantom and whatever consequences come with that."
Grace looks like she wants to argue, but she doesn't.
She just squeezes my hand tighter.
Damon sighs, but he doesn't push. "All right. We'll table the Phantom discussion. For now. Let's talk strategy."
We spend the next hour and a half going through options.
Scenarios. What-ifs.
The reality is simple, even if the execution isn't: we can't hide forever.
Can't let the bounty stay active—every lowlife and mercenary in the Southwest is looking for Grace now, seeing an easy fifty grand.
Can't negotiate with people who genuinely believe they own my wife.
Which leaves one option: eliminate the threat.
"You're talking about killing Flint," Dixon says. It's not a question.
"Yeah."
Damon doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. "You kill Flint, Venom's gonna want blood. He already lost one son. You take another? That's a blood debt to him, regardless of what Flint did."
"Let him want it."
