Their cuts are fresh. Their boots, too.
I nod. None of them nod back.
I circle toward my Dyna, moving casual. My eyes trace the bike, checking for loose wires, for any sign someone's been at it. Nothing obvious, but that doesn't mean shit. A man who knows what he's doing can make a bike fail in a hundred invisible ways.
I turn, inhale again. Exhale. Think.
Three runs in a month gone sideways. Three times we've lost everything because we got hit.
Each time, Brick assignedmepoint position.
Each time, the routes changed last minute.
Each time, comms failed right when we needed them.
Movement catches my eye—a flash of blonde in the clubhouse window. Brandy, with her phone pressed to her ear, watching me with those empty doll eyes. She doesn't look awaywhen I catch her. Just keeps staring, keeps talking into the phone.
I take another drag, letting the smoke burn my lungs.
From behind, I recognize Diesel’s footsteps. "So… church," he says, stopping beside me. "Noon. Everyone’s bein’ called in."
I exhale smoke. "Yup."
"What did I tell you." Diesel's voice is carefully neutral as he turns to look at me. “There will be a next time, member that?”
Of course, I remember that.
“This is ‘next time’, Legion. I sure the fuck hope you’re ready. Because you will not have thirty-nine members with you today.”
The silence stretches between us, loaded with everything we're not saying. The last full church ended with eight members voting against me. Eight members who thought Savannah was a liability. Eight members who will have a say at noon about whatever the fuck is happening here.
"Who are these guys?" I ask, nodding toward the line of motorcycles.
Diesel's jaw tightens. "Nomads from out west.”
“Nomads?” I frown. “Since when? I’ve never heard about any nomads.”
“That’s because you were doin’ time, Legion. They came in about… oh, two years ago, maybe.”
“Came in? What’s that mean? What are you sayin’ here?”
Diesel looks at me, scoffin’. His words drop low, almost a whisper. “What the fuck do you think I’m sayin’, Legion? Think about it. New guys, new bikes, new cuts. And not a one of them ever came in as a prospect.”
So it’s true. Brick is a rat. He’s sold out. For protection, or money, or both. And these… nomads. They’re Feds. Brick is workin’ for the fuckin’ Feds.
“They’re gonna get a vote today?” I ask.
Diesel grunts. “You’ve got me, I’ll make it clear no matter the cost." He says it quiet enough that only I hear. “But I don’t know how many of the others will stand with us.”
“They all know?” I’m floored.
Diesel takes a drag, blows out smoke. Nods, just enough so I can see. “They know.”
Fuck. Infiltration two years ago. And Brick just… took the whole club along with him? That’s what these fuck-ups were about. Me. The new patch.
Brick needs me on board. So he made sure I’d go along by settin’ me up to take the fall.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Diesel says. Already reading my mind. “There were a lot of fuckin’ threats. But I’ve been taking precautions. Lots of us have. And I’m done with this bullshit.”
