CHAPTER 5: BUSH
I lead Zara out of Chrome’s office and down the hall to Mode’s sanctuary. He’s still recovering from a beatdown delivered by a club traitor. He’d been in a coma, and we all worried that we were going to lose him. However, under Cicely’s care in the ICU, he eventually regained consciousness.
“Mode’s this way,” I tell her. “Try not to stare at the tech. It’s like catnip for civilians.”
She snorts softly but stays close to my side. I clock that. File it away. Zara is brave, but this place still isn’t her world.
Mode’s door is cracked open, light spilling into the hallway. I knock once and push it wider. The room is always several degrees colder than the rest of the clubhouse. He claims that it’s because of the computers. I wonder if he just keeps it close to freezing to keep everyone out. The smell of coffee permeates the room.
Mode’s sitting up in his bed. Laptop open on the rolling desk, pulled tight against the mattress, fingers flying. Two portable monitors extend on either side of the laptop monitor. We can’t see the displays from our vantage point, but Mode’s eyes flick between screens before focusing on us.
He still looks weaker than he did before the beatdown, but he’s getting better. He grins when he sees me.
“Good to see you, brother,” I say, bumping his fist. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting,” he says, deadpan. “See this bed? I’m in it, aren't I?”
Zara hovers in the doorway, unsure. I wave her in. “Mode, this is Zara. Zara, Mode. He’s the reason our enemies don’t get to sleep at night.”
Mode’s gaze flicks to her, sharp and assessing, then softens. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “Sorry about the ambiance. Got redecorated by a traitor recently.”
Zara’s mouth tightens. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m getting there,” he grins, then looks back at me. “What’s up?”
I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “Got word some of my old club brothers might be in town. If they are, they’re probably here for me.”
Mode’s fingers pause for half a second. That’s all. “Names?”
I give them—every single one. The air in the room shifts as Mode types, pulling files from places most people don’t know exist.
“I need to know where they’re staying,” I continue. “And how they got into the country. Most of them should have records that’d light up a border screen like Christmas.”
Mode nods, already working. “Give me a few hours.”
“You’re still recovering,” I say. “I don’t want you pushing—”
He cuts me off with a look. “Bush. I was in a coma. This”—he gestures at the screens—“is therapy.”
I exhale, defeated. “If you get tired—”
“I’ll tag in Maestro,” he finishes. “Byte told me to call him if I needed help.”
Zara watches him, something like awe in her eyes. I don’t blame her. Mode’s been knocked down hard, but he’s still exactly who he’s always been. He’s ready to give it all to keep his brothersafe. We know danger is coming, but thanks to him, we’ll see it before it hits.
I take Zara’s hand again and lead her upstairs to the top floor. Our clubhouse, a former furniture factory, has four floors. Our offices, the bar, and the common room are all on the first floor. The second floor is where the prospects and the kutte bunnies sleep. Patched members have rooms on the third floor, where we also house most of our guests. The fourth floor is strictly for the officers, although we have a few VIP guest rooms that we usually give to officers from other clubs. I led Zara to one of these rooms. She’s skittish, and I don’t want to expose her to the club’s rowdies.
I pause in front of my room and tap on the door. “This is my room,” I tell her before moving down the hall to the first guest room. Unlocking and opening the door, I usher her in and follow. Her suitcases sit on the bed. “You’ll be safe in here.” I hand her the key I used to unlock the door. “You can lock the door, and no one will bother you. I promise. The only people who come up to this floor are the officers, and they’re all trustworthy.”
I grimace when I think about our VP, Scorch. He’s the exception to the rule. Scorch knew we had a traitor in our midst, but he didn’t tell Chrome or me. His excuse was that the traitor, Trigger, was his blood. Scorch had brought him into the club, so he felt like Trigger was his responsibility. Of course, Scorch shared some of the same animosity toward the club his nephew felt. Scorch felt like the club was becoming soft. We respected women rather than used them. The fact that Puma had two female patched members worried a misogynist like Scorch. However, Scorch was safely locked up. The other officers weren’t like him. Zara would be safe. I was confident in making that promise.
“Thank you for letting me stay here tonight,” Zara says, taking in the room. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I could have slept at the hotel. Seeing Menace today…” she trails off with a shiver.
“You can stay here as long as you need,” I tell her.
“I can’t stay at the clubhouse,” she says finally.
It’s not defiant. Not dramatic. Just firm.
