We had one quiet spot out there. A contingency. Nothing fancy. Not many people even knew it existed. Fewer still had keys.
If I could get the bike there without picking up a tail, we’d be twice as ghosted as we were now.
If.
I swung a leg over the bike and settled into the seat. The leather molded under me like a hand. My thumb hovered over the ignition. I hesitated long enough for Blackjack’s disappointment to land on my shoulderslike a physical weight.
“Sorry, Prez,” I said softly. “You can yell at me later. Better to ask for forgiveness later then for permission.”
I twisted the key.
The engine rolled over once, then caught. The hum hit again, right down my spine. The overhead lights vibrated as if the frequency shook the bulbs. I squeezed the clutch, dropped it into gear, and eased toward the door.
Outside, the night was waiting. Quiet. Cold. Empty.
I opened the side door just enough to slip through and rolled out into the yard. Gravel crunched under the tires. The air smelled of exhaust and something metallic I couldn’t name.
Behind me, Redline’s door closed with a soft, final sound.
I hit the throttle.
The black bike leaped forward like it was hungry. The hum rose, wrapped around my ribs, and we shot out into the dark, aiming for a safehouse closer to a line we weren’t supposed to cross.
Closer to the Shore Vipers turf.
Closer to the part where I knew that everything was soonabout to change.
Three
Jersey Boy
The clubhouse felt wrong when Miami wasn’t in it. It was too quiet. Too sober. Like somebody turned the volume down on the whole world and forgot to tell us why.
Church at night always hit different. You could feel it in the air the second you walked through the doors. No music, no laughter spilling from the bar, no pool balls cracking. Just the low murmur of brothers filing into the back hall, boots heavy on old wood, leather creaking, patches catching yellow light.
The chapel room sat at the end of the hall. Long table, twelve chairs, plus the prospects’ bench near the wall. Club flag on the back, our patch painted big: skull, horns, ace cards. Gauntlet room door just off to the side, where grievances got settled with fists instead of feelings.
Ace was already at the table with his notepad when I walked in, pen tapped on the blank page. Mirage stood at the coffee pot in the corner, adding just enough whiskey to make it honest. Spade leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, glare fixed onnothing in particular. Snake Eyes sat near the end, rolled a toothpick between his teeth and stared at the tabletop like the future was hidden in the scratches.
Miami’s chair was empty. Too empty. That’s where the wrongness lived.
Turnpike, Jackal, Badger, and Raptor lined the wall. Prospects together. Hands loose at their sides. Faces serious. Turnpike looked like he was witnessing a funeral. Raptor still had that wide-eyed edge he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried. Blackjack ran his MC different then other’s. Prospects mattered, their choice was made. Names were given, but patches still needed to be earned. They were just as much family as everyone else, so they got to sit in church and participate when spoken to. Everyone mattered here. All ideas and opinions counted.
Priest came in behind me, big shoulders brushing the frame. He slapped my back once, heavy. “He’s fine,” he said, even though I hadn’t asked. “Pretty boys bounce.”
“Like your tab,” I said.
He snorted and dropped into his chair, beads on his wrist clicking.
8-Ball came next, eyes tired, jaw shadowed. He moved like a man who’d been grinding his teeth since we left the docks. He nodded at me once. I nodded back.
Blackjack was last. He always was. Might’ve been a power move once upon a time. Now it was just how things went. He stepped in with thatslow, steady walk, gray beard braided tight, red leather cut worn like a second skin. Tank under it, tattoos crawling down his arms. Eyes hard and bright and pissed-off calm all at once.
He sat at the head of the table. The room shut up on instinct.
The doors closed, Blackjack lifted and tapped the gavel.
Ace cleared his throat. “Church is now in session.”
