Rev grins. “Occupational gift.”
“More like nosy bastard disease,” Blade mutters without looking up.
Rev ignores him. “So? Did you beat up some wannabe tough guys in Harlan?”
I take a slow drink of coffee. “I handled a problem.”
“That sounds like yes.”
“It is yes,” Riot says from the doorway.
He walks in holding his phone. His dark hair is still damp like he came straight from a shower, and his expression looks alert in that wired way he gets when he’s been digging into something for too long and found more than he expected. Roman always looks polished compared to the rest of us, like he could step out of a boardroom and into a bar fight without changing clothes or expression.
That alone is unsettling as hell.
He lifts the phone slightly in my direction. “I’ve got names.”
Now everybody looks up.
Blade straightens a little. Rev pushes away from the bench. Jax folds his arms and watches Riot with the kind of expression he gets when he’s already half expecting trouble.
Riot keeps talking.
“The guy in front was named Travis Bell. The two with him are Cory Mendez and Nolan Pike. They’re not locals. They’re out of Beckley.” He glances at me. “And before you ask, no, they’re not independent.”
That gets everyone’s attention sharper.
I set my mug down on the nearest surface. “Who are they with?”
Riot’s mouth flattens. “A guy named Lyle Voss.”
“What’s Voss’s deal?” I ask.
Riot steps closer and sets his phone on the bench so we can all see the screen. A picture of a thick-necked man in his forties fills it. He’s wearing an expensive watch, but he has cheap eyes.
“Runs a security company on paper,” Riot says. “Unofficially he’s been leaning on bars, small businesses, and cash-heavy places in a few towns south of here. He mostly targets smaller spots that don’t have the money or the appetite to fight back.”
Jax swears under his breath while Blade’s expression goes flat and cold in a way that means someone is about to have a bad week.
Rev shakes his head. “Protection racket.”
“Looks like it,” Riot says. “He sends guys in first to test the ground with intimidation, friendly offers, and a few little threats. If the owner folds, Voss gets a cut. If the owner doesn’t fold, accidents start happening.”
My jaw tightens.
I picture Wayne behind the register wiping that same stretch of counter while pretending his shoulders weren’t locked tight. Then Rae pops into my head, planting both palms on the bar and telling that asshole he walked into the wrong place.
Mason walks in before anyone says anything else.
The second he crosses the threshold, the room shifts around him like it knows exactly who just stepped inside. He takes one look at our faces and knows something landed.
“What’ve we got?”
Riot repeats the important parts about the names, Voss, the security front, and the extortion pattern.
Mason listens without interrupting. One hand rests on his belt, and his expression stays unreadable until Riot finishes. Then he looks at me.
“They come back?”
