"A supply run." Hawk nodded slowly. "Not their staging area. Not their warehouse. Just the shipment in transit."
"Exactly. We intercept, we see what they're carrying, and we send a message that Phoenix territory has teeth. But we're not attacking their base. We're not escalating beyond what they started. We're gathering intelligence and protecting our interests."
"And if they resist?" Blade's question hung in the air.
"Then we make sure they regret it."
The room considered that. I watched the faces around the table—anger banking into calculation, the primal need for vengeance shaping itself into something more strategic.
"When?" Hawk's voice was sharp.
"Tomorrow night. They move every Wednesday, like clockwork. Their arrogance is their weakness."
"Then we exploit it." Hawk straightened, hisexpression hard. "This is recon in force. We intercept, we see what they're carrying, we make sure they understand that what happened today has consequences. But we don't kill unless we have to. The goal is intelligence, not massacre. Not yet."
"And Tyler?" Blade's gaze shifted to the empty chair beside me.
"Tyler comes with us." The words came out before I'd fully thought them through, but they felt right. "He knows Cross's methods, knows how federal operations work. And after today, he's earned the right to hit back."
"He's not a member." Blade's voice was neutral, but I heard the question beneath it. "He's not even a prospect."
"He was almost killed on our property by our enemy." I met Blade's eyes, held them. "That makes him ours to protect. And to avenge."
Silence stretched. Then Hawk nodded.
"He comes. Tank, you're responsible for him. Keep him alive, keep him useful." Hawk looked around the table. "Tomorrow night, we ride. Rest up, check your weapons, get your heads right. This is the first real move we've made against the Wolves. It needs to count."
The meeting broke. Members filed out, conversations starting in low murmurs.
Tomorrow night, the war would truly begin.
And Tyler would be riding beside me into whatever came next.
I found him outside as the sun was setting, standing at the edge of the lot where the Sportster had been.
The debris had been cleared away, the crater filled with gravel, the scorched pavement hosed down until it almost looked normal. Almost. If you didn't know what had happened, you might not notice the dark stains that hadn't quite washed away, the slightly wrong texture of the ground where fire had melted asphalt, the subtle wrongness that would take years to fully fade.
But we knew. We'd always know.
Tyler didn't turn when I approached, but his shoulders shifted slightly—acknowledging my presence without demanding anything. The golden light of sunset caught his profile, softened the sharp edges of his face, made him look younger than he was. More vulnerable.
"Church is over. We move tomorrow night."
"I know. Hawk told me." He paused. "You shouldn't have argued for me to come. You're injured. You should be recovering, not?—"
"I'm going. And so are you."
"Tank—"
"You want to sit here while the rest of us ride out to face the people who tried to kill you? Wait by the phone like—" I stopped myself, took a breath. "That's not who you are. You don't hide. You don't run. I’ve watched you for over three months, Tyler. I know exactly who you are."
He turned then, something flickering in his expression that I couldn't name.
"Do you?"
"Yeah." I moved closer, close enough to see the faint tremor in his hands that he was trying to hide. "I do."
The silence stretched between us, thick with everything we weren't saying. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of blood and gold, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote called—a lonely sound, wild and untamed.
