Melissa’s face drained of color, her breathing shallow. “That’s... that’s horrible.”
Sinclair nodded, his voice rough. “Poseidon Innovation was part of Division, too. One side worked with the military, specializing in urban warfare. The other side waspharmaceutical. They even helped create the pandemic vaccine five years ago. The company’s worth trillions, but none of it matters—not compared to what Sylvia did.”
My hands trembled, cold sweat prickling my skin. All I could see was the shadow Sylvia St. James cast—her cruelty masked by elegance. The urgency burned in me. We weren’t just hunting a criminal. We were racing to stop a monster who’d built her empire on stolen lives.
Melissa pressed her palm to her stomach, looking pale and unsteady, as if the world had tilted beneath her feet. “I think... I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.
The air in the room felt thick, almost suffocating, with the faint scent of leather and old coffee lingering. Sinclair leaned forward, voice low. “I reached out to Mr. Ryabkin—he got back to me fast. He took Madigan and vanished again, but before slipping away, Ryabkin told me Mrs. St. James had lined up another scapegoat for her scheme.”
I turned to Sinclair, whose expression was as unreadable as an ancient statue. “Who?”
Sinclair’s words were clipped, almost mocking. “Jasper Michaels.”
My fists clenched, heat rising in my cheeks. I shot upright, voice echoing off the faded wallpaper. “Are you kidding me?”
Sinclair continued coolly, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond me. “Mrs. St. James is nothing if not meticulous. From my investigation, she’s collaborating with Arizona and Dakota Stone to preserve theSociety’slegacy. With Jasper Michaels tangled in her web, she’s targeting several children to guarantee her success.”
As realization hit, my breath caught. “So that’s what the Death Dogs war was about!” Sinclair nodded, a sardonic smile flickering on his lips, confirming my suspicion.
Melissa tossed her head, brow furrowed, her sneakers scuffing the worn floorboards. “Wait, wait—what does this biker war have to do with that lady? I mean, seriously, I’m not seeing it.”
Sinclair straightened, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced precision. His voice carried a hint of dry amusement. “Picture the underworld as a very well-run corporation. The Table is the executive committee; its members act as board directors, each overseeing a division, like finance or operations. The Biker Federation is the security team—the muscle. If someone misbehaves, the Table dispatches the Biker Federation to restore order, ensuring business continues smoothly. But when the Biker Federation is busy fighting itself—thanks to this engineered biker war—the Table gains free rein to conduct their affairs without interference.”
I leaned into the conversation, glancing at each of them. “So basically, St. James started the biker war to distract the muscle, letting the Table pull strings without anyone stopping them—and she’s manipulating all the pieces so theSocietysurvives, no matter how many lives get torn apart.”
“And,” Sinclair added, “with the biker war gearing up, no one will stop her from acquiring the particular children she’s singled out.”
Melissa’s eyes widened as she curled her arms around her stomach protectively and asked, her voice shallow, “Which children?”
“Children of the Biker Federation.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Melissa
My hands shook, knuckles white as I dug my nails into my palms. The air felt thick, pressing against my chest. “Which children?” My voice barely made it past my lips, brittle and low. Images flashed—Tabby’s shy smile as she hid behind her teddy bear; Charlie’s contagious giggle echoing from the corners of Silver Shadows’ clubhouse. They were more than just club kids; they were family. The thought of them in that cunt’s hands sent lightning bolts of panic down my spine. “Sinclair, I know you have the names. Tell me. Which kids is she targeting?” I forced out, urgency slicing through my fear.
Sinclair eyed me, his voice clipped and steady. “First, she’ll go after the ones who are easy to access. Children left unguarded.”
My breath stuttered. Chrissy in her faded pink hoodie. Tabby, with her innocent smile. Charlie, with her infectious joy. I remembered their laughter, their trust.
What if they vanished? What if we were too late?
Sinclair’s expression grew grim as he explained, “Then she’ll target the high-profile ones. Children of officers.” His words resonated, the implication clear: the threat was escalating.
My heart pounded in my chest. I forced myself to speak; the fear nearly choking my voice. “Like my daughter, Danika?” I asked, barely able to get the words out. Images of my daughter—her fierce spirit and boundless curiosity—flashed through my mind.
“She can fucking try,” Sinclair seethed venomously, then quickly collected himself. “But the one she’s really after is the one who’s gone missing.”
My whole body trembled. “Who?”
My question slipped out, raw and desperate.
“Emma Doherty. Reaper’s daughter and Montana’s granddaughter.” Sinclair’s answer was heavy with significance.
“Why her?” I demanded, trying to steady myself.
Sinclair’s voice was measured but intense. “Because Emma carries the legacy she needs. Conceived while in the clutches of theSociety, Emma was meant to rebuild theSocietybefore she was rescued and given to her father. If Sylvia can get her hands on Emma, she has the power to control the Golden Skulls and the Soulless Sinners. When you factor in her connection to the Silver Shadows, that gives her control over three of the most prominent biker clubs. With Emma, she can rewrite history and shape future generations to continue on theSociety’smain objective.”
