“What the fuck is going on now?” my woman grumbled, lifting her head.
“Go back to sleep, Cupcake.”
“How can I with all the fucking noise?” she huffed, grabbing my pillow and covering her head.
Ignoring my cranky woman, I opened my bedroom door and walked out into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind me to find Gunner, Scribe, and Banks waiting.
“Savage just called me,” Gunner spoke first. “He’s locked down the Tennessee Chapter.”
Scribe nodded. “Gator’s done the same.”
“Where is Hawk?” Banks asked, concerned for our brother.
“If he’s smart, he’s sticking to the fucking plan,” I said, pushing past my brothers as I headed downstairs for church, where Phantom and Bullseye were sitting before the screens that connected us to the clubhouse in Diamond Creek. “What’s happening?” I asked, walking in and quickly taking my seat.
For days, we’d worked with Nav, Sypher, and Nano from the Brotherhood to set up a secure feed that would give us a bird’s-eye view of the clubhouse and surrounding area. While we were far from the action, Reaper tasked us with recording everything. He wanted proof that the Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels were working in conjunction with each other. Mainly, he wanted to know who the traitor was and who was backing the clubs, so when he convened the table again, he would have enough evidence to take over the Biker Federation and the table.
“Nothing yet,” Bullseye growled, his eyes glued to the wall of screens.
I scanned the feeds, watching for any sign of movement, tension running through me like a live wire. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional crackle from the speakers and the low hum of machinery. Everyone in the room knew that something was about to go down, but none of us could predict when or how it would start.
“There!” Phantom pointed, getting to her feet. “Movement.”
The camera zoomed in on a dark, hulking silhouette moving through the shadows at the edge of the tree line, accompanied by a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. It was unmistakably one of theirs, a Death Dog, the insignia stark even in the dim light. Then another appeared, and another, their movements fluid and predatory. The tension in the roomratcheted up another notch. “They’re flanking them,” Priest muttered, his voice tight. “They’ve got them surrounded.”
The figures on screen multiplied until I couldn’t count anymore.
It was going to be a slaughter.
The silence from our end was deafening, a stark contrast to the implied threat gathering just beyond the Silver Shadows’ thick stone walls. My hand clenched into a fist. The urge to be there, to stand beside my brothers, to help them fight, warred deep within me.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught my eye on the far-left feed. Not a Death Dog, and not a Satan’s Angel. It was a lone figure, moving with unnatural speed, weaving through the encroaching ranks with a purpose that was both terrifying and strangely familiar.
“Who the hell is that?” Scribe whispered, his voice barely audible.
My breath hitched.
I knew that gait. I knew that silhouette. “Hawk,” I breathed, a grim certainty settling in my gut. “He’s sticking to the fucking plan, alright. Just not the one we thought.”
“Fuck!” Banks shouted, jumping to his feet, his eyes glued to the screen. “What the fuck is he doing there?”
The screens flickered, showing Hawk, a blur against the backdrop of chaos. He wasn’t engaging the Death Dogs; he was moving through them, a phantom weaving a deadly path toward the center of the encroaching enemy. Banks’ roar of mingled disbelief and fury echoed in the tense sanctuary of church.
“He’s not fighting them, he’s... he’s meeting them!” Gunner exclaimed, his own voice strained with confusion. We watched, paralyzed by the unfolding tableau, as Hawk reached the core of the Death Dogs’ formation, a lone wolf amidst a pack, but not as prey.
The camera feed wavered, then stabilized, revealing a standoff. Hawk stood, not with weapons drawn, but with his hands held open, a defiant posture that spoke louder than any roar. The Death Dogs, for all their numbers and aggression, hesitated. Then, a chilling realization washed over me.
This wasn’t a distraction.
This wasn’t a desperate gambit.
It was a signal. A meeting. A betrayal so profound it threatened to shatter the very foundations of the Biker Federation.
My gut clenched, the grim certainty hardening into a cold dread. Reaper’s words echoed in my mind:“I need to know who the traitor is and who is backing the clubs.”And there, on the flickering screen, was part of the answer, stark and undeniable. Hawk, my former brother, not fighting the Death Dogs, but the traitor of this night, the key to whatever dark alliance had been forged. The air in church grew thick with unspoken accusations and the chilling weight of a truth we were not yet ready to comprehend.
Chapter Sixty
Indigo
