"The fed could be the leak." Nash's voice is careful, testing. "She's got access, motivation to build a case, federal authority to justify anything she reports."
Anger cuts through me, sharp and immediate. "Monroe's not the leak. She's got nothing to gain by working with our opposition and everything to lose. She's building a case that proves we're innocent, not setting us up for additional charges."
"You're awfully protective of someone who showed up with a federal warrant to search the shop." Nash holds my gaze. "Makes a man wonder if your judgment's compromised."
"My judgment is fine." I keep my voice level, lethal. "Monroe spent three years undercover with the Devils MC in Nevada. She knows the difference between real clubs and criminal operations. She recognizes what we've built here, and she's putting her career on the line to prove we're being framed. That's not the behavior of someone working against us."
Will intervenes before the tension escalates. "Cole's assessment is sound. Monroe's actions support her stated goals. But we still need to identify how information is getting out."
Shaw shifts the discussion. "Axel's been around and may have overheard something he wasn't supposed to. Has access to the shop, sees shipping records, hears Brothers talking. He hasn't earned full trust yet."
Tate bristles immediately. "Axel's solid. Former Army, good work ethic, keeps his mouth shut. I'm his sponsor. I vouch for him."
"Vouching doesn't mean he's not a security risk." I pull up Axel's file. "He's been a prospect for close to a year. That's still not long enough to know where his loyalties really lie under pressure. Could have been approached, offered money or leverage. We limit his access until we're certain."
"You're talking about punishing a prospect for doing nothing wrong except being new." Tate's voice hardens. "That sends amessage to every man considering patching in that we don't trust our own."
"It sends a message that we take security seriously." Will's tone brooks no argument. "Axel keeps his prospect duties but doesn't have access to financial records or shipping manifests until this situation resolves. It's temporary, it's tactical, and it protects both him and us."
The vote passes. Tate abstains, leather creaking as he leans back in his chair, clearly unhappy but respecting the decision.
"Final matter," Will says. "If we confirm a leak from inside the Brotherhood, what's the response?"
The room goes quiet. Coffee cups stop moving. Someone's boot stops tapping the floor. Everyone understands what's being discussed. Betrayal from within destroys trust, fractures unity, makes every Brother question everyone else.
Shaw speaks first. "Patch-stripping and exile. No second chances, no forgiveness. You betray the Brotherhood, you lose everything that comes with the patch."
Agreement ripples around the table. The punishment is severe, but it has to be. The patch represents years of service, sacrifice, and earning trust. Betraying that trust means losing the right to wear it.
Will closes Church. Brothers file out slowly, tension still present but managed. Chairs scrape against concrete as some head toward the bar for drinks and decompression, voices low as they process what was decided. Others leave immediately, bike engines firing up in the parking lot.
Shaw stays. So does Will. I watch the last Brother exit before turning back to the two men who founded this club with me over a decade ago, who came home from Delta Force deployment and built something from nothing.
We don't talk immediately. Just move to the bar where Will pours whiskey into clean glasses. Brotherhood tradition afterdifficult Church meetings. Drink together, decompress together, remember why we started this.
"Fallujah," Shaw says quietly. The single word carries weight. A city where we learned what war really costs, where we lost Brothers and carried others through enemy territory while under fire.
"You carried me through hell with a sucking chest wound and a dislocated shoulder," Will says. "Told me the whole way that if I died, you'd kill me."
"You were heavy." I take a drink, let the burn settle. "And you wouldn't shut up about Sarah waiting for you back home."
The memory sits comfortable between us. Shared history that doesn't need elaboration. We survived things together that most people can't imagine, came home different than we left, built a club for men like us who needed purpose after war.
Shaw studies me over his glass. "The fed. You're in deep."
It's not a question. Shaw reads people the way I read electrical systems, sees patterns in behavior that others miss.
"Yeah." No point denying it. "Didn't plan it. Doesn't change the operational reality."
"Sarah got through my walls before she died," Will says. "Changed everything. Made me better, stronger, gave me reason beyond just surviving. Gemma's doing the same now. If Shelby's that for you, protect it. We'll handle club business."
"I'm VP. Security is my responsibility." I set down my glass.
"VP also doesn't have to carry everything alone." Shaw's voice is steady. "We're Brothers. We handle threats together. You focus on keeping Monroe safe and building the case that clears us. Will and I manage club security and Gemma's protection."
I want to argue. VP means being the one Brothers rely on when threats emerge, the one who manages responses and keeps everyone safe. But Shaw's right. Trying to manage everythingwhile protecting Shelby and working her investigation divides my focus when I need to be sharp.
"Appreciate it." Simple words, but they carry the weight of trust built over years.
