No one speaks. Hustler's jaw is tight, but he nods once, accepting the president's word.
"Good. Now here's what we're going to do. Ice Pick, you keep Ava close. Don't let her out of your sight. Zip, I want double patrols on the perimeter. Sterling, reach out to our contacts in the city, find out who's bankrolling the Reapers' trafficking operation. We're going on the offense."
"What about the Reapers' offer?" Rook asks.
"We send them a message. Tell them if they come near our compound or our people, we'll burn their clubhouse to the ground with them inside it." Vulture stands, signaling the end of the meeting. "This is war now, brothers. Act accordingly."
Church breaks up, brothers filing out with grim expressions. I stay behind, waiting until it's just me, Falcon, and Vulture.
"Knox was out of line," I say.
"He was honest. There's a difference." Vulture leans against the table, looking tired. "But he wasn't wrong about one thing. Your judgment might be compromised."
"It's not."
"Then prove it. Keep Ava safe, get the evidence we need, and don't let whatever's building between you two fuck up this operation." He meets my eyes. "Because if this goes sideways, it's not just her who'll pay the price. It's all of us."
I nod once and walk out of the room, finding Ava exactly where I left her, leaning against the wall near the chapel door. She straightens when she sees me, questions written all over her face.
"They know you're here," I tell her without preamble. "The Reapers are watching the compound."
Her face pales, but she doesn't panic. "What happens now?"
"Now? Now I don't let you out of my sight until this is over." I grab her hand, pulling her toward the stairs. "Come on. We've got work to do."
And if my hand stays wrapped around hers longer than necessary, if I pull her just a little closer than I should, well, that's nobody's business but mine.
Even if it might get us both killed. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I can already hear Vulture’s voice when he finds out the Reapers spotted her on my bike. Vulture doesn’t tolerate sloppy. If this goes wrong, it won’t just be my blood on the floor.
Chapter 4
Ava
Being stuck at the clubhouse under Ice Pick's constant surveillance is driving me insane. It's been three days since church, three days of being shadowed everywhere I go, and three days of feeling his eyes on me even when I'm just trying to work. And it isn’t just Ice Pick. The women notice too. Tess clocks everything from the common area. Cara watches like she’s measuring whether I’m a liability or someone worth protecting. Being here means being seen from every angle.
Ice Pick’s professional about it, keeping his distance, making sure I've got everything I need. But there's something underneath that professional exterior, something that crackles in the air between us whenever we're in the same room.
I'm not imagining it. I know I’m not imagining it when I catch him watching me with an intensity that makes my skin heat and my pulse quicken.
Right now, I'm in the common room trying to piece together the corporate structure behind the shell companies when my laptop decides to betray me. The screen flickers once, twice, then goes black. Around me, the clubhouse hums; club whores laugh softly, a couple of them curled into patched laps by choice, not obligation. No one touches without permission. No one crossesa line without consequences. It’s rougher than my world, but somehow clearer.
"No, no, no," I mutter, pressing the power button repeatedly like that'll somehow fix whatever just broke. "Come on, you piece of shit."
"Problem?" Ice Pick's voice comes from behind me, close enough that I can smell leather and something darker, more masculine.
I resist the urge to lean back into him. "My laptop just died. All my notes, all my research, everything's on here."
"Did you back it up?"
"To the USB drive, but that's encrypted and I need the laptop to access the decryption software." I resist the urge to throw the useless machine across the room. "This is a disaster."
"Let me see it." He reaches over my shoulder, his arm brushing mine as he takes the laptop. His hands are careful, surprisingly gentle for someone who uses them for violence, and I watch as he opens the back panel with a multi-tool from his pocket.
"You know about computers?"
"I know about a lot of things." He examines the internal components, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Battery's fried. Probably from age and overuse. You've been running this thing non-stop since you got here."
"I have work to do."
