“Birdie’s still on him,” Liberty added. “Mink’s got eyes on any law enforcement chatter that if anything even breathes near Shoreline or a clubhouse we’ll know.”
“Good,” Blackjack said. “I’ll send word when Roman moves. He’s going to start asking questions. When he finds something, I want us ahead of it, not chasing it.”
He paused.
“One more thing,” hesaid. “The contingency stands. You all heard it before. You’re hearing it again. If I ever go dark for real—not just this meeting, but anything that smells wrong—Eight takes the chair. Jersey runs teeth and declares war. You fall in. No debates. No martyr bullshit. Clear?”
“Yes,” 8-Ball said.
“Got it,” Turnpike said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Clear.”
“Atta boys,” he said. I could hear the smirk under it. “Try not to do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves the bar real low,” I said.
He laughed. It was short and warm and edged.
“Get that ledger locked up Liberty. Keep it safe and hidden where nobody can grab it, even if all hell breaks loose.”
Liberty lowered her boots from the top of her desk and leaned over the desk. “Will do. And Alice?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fucking die.”
A grunt sounded out from the other side. “I’ll do my best,” he replied.
The call ended a few beats later and Liberty leaned back in her chair.
Silence settled.
Then she looked at me.
“Bring me the bag,” she said.
I took it off and handed it to her.
“Let’s bring this down to the heavy locker,” she said, and with that, we all followed her out of her office.
The basement felt older than the rest of the compound. Older than the bikes. Older than the women who’d filled this place with new ghosts.
Concrete walls sweating cold. A smell of oil and dust and something metallic that clung to your teeth. One bare bulb swinging near the stairs, throwing long, slow-moving shadows over everything.
Liberty walked ahead, keys jangling at her hip. Valkyrie paced beside me. Rosé brought up the rear. Indigo stayed by the stairs, shotgun already in hand just in case shadows decided they wanted to be more than just shapes.
The safe sat in an alcove behind an old metal door that looked like it had belonged to a bank or a fallout shelter. Fireproof. Thick enough that I was pretty sure you could drop the whole building on it and it would still be sitting there, smug and untouched.
Liberty unlocked the outer door, each turn of the key echoing.
“Charming,” I muttered.
“We do our best,” she replied.
Inside, the safe took up half the wall. Matte black. No manufacturer’s logo. Just a keypad and a heavy handle.
“This used to hold a lot of other people’s money,” Liberty said. “Now it holds ours.”
