"Good, because if you go after these people without a plan, you're all going to disappear. And I mean that literally." He pauses. "Be careful, Ice Pick. Whatever you're into, it's bigger than the club."
"Noted. Thanks, Condor."
I hang up and relay the information to Falcon and Ava. Her face pales slightly, but her jaw sets with determination.
"I'm not backing down," she says before either of us can suggest it. "This is exactly the kind of story that needs to be told. The kind that powerful people try to bury."
"And the kind that gets people killed," Vulture counters. "You sure you're ready for that?"
"I've been ready since I started investigating. The question is whether you're ready to help me finish it."
Falcon and I exchange a look. We both know what this means. Taking on the Reapers is one thing. Going after the people who bankroll them, who use them as muscle for their trafficking operation, that's declaring war on an enemy we might not be able to beat.
But looking at Ava, at the fire in her eyes and the conviction in her voice, I realize we don't have a choice. Not anymore.
"We're in," I say, and Vulture nods his agreement.
"Then let's get to work," Ava says, pulling her laptop closer. "Because we're going to need a hell of a strategy to pull this off."
We spend the next three hours going through every piece of evidence she's collected, cross-referencing names and dates, building a timeline of the Reapers' operation. The more we uncover, the clearer it becomes that this isn't just about one club. It's a network, carefully constructed and protected by people with enough money and influence to make problems disappear.
By the time we break for lunch, my head's pounding and my patience is wearing thin. Ava's no better, rubbing her temples and staring at her screen like she's trying to will the answers to appear.
"Take a break," I tell her, standing and stretching. "You're no good to anyone if you burn out."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted. Come on, let's get food."
She follows reluctantly, and we head to the kitchen where someone's set out sandwich fixings. I make two, piling on meat and cheese, and hand one to her without asking if she wants it.
"Bossy," she mutters, but she takes a bite anyway.
"Practical. You need to eat."
We eat in relative silence, the weight of what we're facing settling over both of us. Finally, Ava sets down her sandwich and looks at me.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Depends on the question."
"How does the club afford all this? The compound, the security, the resources you're throwing at helping me. You said you run guns, but that can't be enough to fund an operation this size."
It's a dangerous question, the kind that could get her kicked out or worse if she asks the wrong person. But she's asking me, and after everything I've told her, after the way she held me when I talked about Elena, I find myself wanting to answer honestly.
"Guns are part of it," I say carefully. "We also run security for local businesses, protection services. Some of the brothers have legit jobs, pool their earnings into the club fund. And yeah, we deal in some gray areas. Stolen goods, occasionally moving product for people who can't do it themselves. Nothing that hurts innocents."
"That's a fine line."
"It is. But it's our line, and we don't cross it." I meet her eyes. "We're not saints, Ava. But we're not monsters either."
"I'm starting to see that."
“Tess runs a bar,” I add, watching her expression. “Legit money. Legit eyes. And Cara’s got a whole pipeline helping women who get out; jobs, housing, and paperwork. That takes cash, and we fund it because we don’t leave women to rot after the rescue.”
The moment stretches between us, charged with something I'm not ready to name. Then the kitchen door bangs open and Zip walks in, his scarred face splitting into a grin when he spots us.
"There you are, Ice Pick. Vulture wants us all in church in ten, something about the Reapers making noise."
