Inside, a long table dominated the room. It was heavy, scarred, and old, much like the four men seated around it. Each carried the weight of decades spent surviving wars, prison bids, and buried brothers. Though they once walked different paths, they wore the same muted colors. Dark flannels. Long leather coats. Neither had vests nor patches. Rings, watches, and scars told their stories instead. Hemsworth and Grim occupied the left side of the table. Hunter and Prophet sat across from them on the right.
Prophet.
He sat with gray touching his temples, his skin wrinkled and lined deep with age, reminding Crown of his late grandfather. The two men had once been inseparable, so close that people in the Hills swore they were brothers instead of best friends. Prophet had been a Knight back when the club was first built, serving as Vice President through its bloodiest years, standing shoulder to shoulder with Crown’s grandfather as the club carved its name into the city. He had even served under Crown’s father for a time before retiring, later taking a seat on the Council.
Crown saw the old man often, given how close their families were. Funerals. Family cookouts. Birthdays. Club anniversaries. But none of that mattered here. In this room, Prophet was not family. He was the Council. And with that title came no favoritism. Their gazes met briefly, and they nodded without smiles. They only gave respect and acknowledgement. Crown broke eye contact and shifted his focus across the room to Nico and Gunner. The looks they exchanged were sharp, heavy with tension, until a voice finally cut through the silence.
“Gentlemen,” Hemsworth said calmly, his hands resting on the table. “We’re here because the truce was broken. This Council already stepped in once. Lines were drawn. Orders were given. So, I’ll ask this one time. Why the fuck were those orders ignored?”
Hemsworth already knew the answer. This was not about gathering information. It was about ownership. But Nico did not answer truthfully right away. Instead, he stood amongst them arrogantly with one hand propped over the other as if he had done nothing wrong, eyes still locked on Crown, who spoke up.
“As I stated over the phone, Ravens broke the truce first, and with all due respect, Hem, when someone comes at us, we respond. I’m burying a prospect this weekend because they didn’t hold up their end of the deal and shot up my warehouse. I also lost a sister.”
Nico scoffed and stepped forward. “Before that truce was called, Gunner’s bike was blown up. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, letting that go makes us look weak, truce or not. Then my clubhouse was blown to pieces. You wanna talk about losing family? I had to bury my cousin in a fuckin’ closed casket. These muthafuckers—”
“Better watch yo’ mouf when you speak on mine, or it’ll be yo’ house that gets blown up next time.” Crown cut in calmly, keeping his tone measured out of respect for the Council, even as his blood boiled. “Yo’ cousin carried out the order that broke the truce. Or did you forget that part?”
“Enough!” Hemsworth cut in sharply.
The room froze as he turned his attention fully to Nico.
“You do not get to make decisions after the Council rules. I don’t give a fuck how it makes you feel or how you think it makes you look. Once the Council calls a truce, everything before it becomes irrelevant.”
He turned his attention back to Crown.
“And you do not get to retaliate when a truce is in place. You report to us when it is broken. Both of you were given direct instructions, despite the chaos already in motion, and you disobeyed! All because of your fuckin’ egos.”
Silence stretched across the room. A vein pulsed at Hemsworth’s temple as he clenched his jaw.
That was Grim’s cue.
The man known as the Grim Reaper and the youngest of the four reached out and tapped Hemsworth’s shoulder once, a quiet gesture meant to say he had it. Hemsworth nodded. Grim shifted in his chair and stood, his boots hitting the floor with slow, calculated steps as he moved toward the Ravens.
He stopped directly in front of Nico and Gunner, his gaze moving between them, weighing. Sensing the shift, Nico opened his mouth to speak, to apologize for past transgressions. However, Grim didn’t give him the chance to. He raised his gun in one swift motion and fired. The bullet struck Nico in the center of his head, and his body dropped to the ground.
Gunner reacted, a broken sound tearing from his chest as he lunged forward on instinct. But Grim’s gun snapped toward his head next as council guards emerged from the walls with their weapons raised. The room was now covered.
“Don’t,” Hemsworth warned, his voice low and final.
He stood, stepped around the table, and stopped in front of Gunner. He pointed down at Nico’s body.
“He failed to follow orders. That made him a liability. Leadership requires comprehension. Let’s see if you understand better. Effective immediately, you are stepping in as acting president until your club votes otherwise.”
Gunner stood frozen, his chest heaving, eyes locked on his fallen president. Rage, grief, and shock twisted his features. He knew the consequences would be severe, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Nico hadn’t seen it coming either. At most, theythought they would lose territory and maybe profit, something Nico was willing to sacrifice for retaliation.
“If you have more sense than your fallen leader, you’ll understand that this ends here. You are not authorized to take retaliatory action against the Knights or their affiliates without Council approval. If you forget that, you will join him.” Hemsworth added.
Prophet rose slowly, leaning on his cane as the room shifted its attention to Crown.
“The same applies to you. There will be no more explosions and retaliatory action of any kind against the Ravens or their affiliates without Council approval. Effective immediately, the Council has established a ten-mile buffer around all Ravens operations. The Knights are prohibited from conducting business or holding meetings within that zone. Violate those orders, and you or your vice will be on the ground next.”
Crown’s nostrils flared as he and Danger exchanged a glance. The Council knew exactly what they were doing. Every man in the room knew his chop shop sat inside the newly drawn radius. The order hit him where it hurt. His fucking pockets. Parts they had already shed blood for would now sit untouched, and deals already in motion would stall, making him appear unworthy. Money would dry up while he was forced to relocate, bleeding every step of the way. Not to mention, niggas would break in and steal his shit, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. It was a brutal, calculated move, and Crown could feel the weight of impending losses pressing down on him.
“Furthermore,” Hemsworth added, “The Knights’ clubhouse on Blackward is now Council property. You are barred from it effective immediately. And to be clear, you’ve lost the privilege of operating beyond our sight.”
It was Danger’s turn to feel the impact of those words.
His eyes snapped to Hemsworth, fury igniting within him. The private clubhouse, built by Crown, was the last place he had seen Lil Mo alive. They had gone there that morning to drop off supplies for her birthday party before parting ways. The next time she returned, she was dead. He had left flowers, balloons, her helmet, and her bike there as a tribute to her. Now, the Council was stripping that place away from him.
