I had called him Asher.
I open my eyes.
Pops is looking at me steadily.
Holt is leaning forward in the armchair. Spur's hand is still on my neck. "Pops."
"Yeah?"
"I want him dead."
"I know, baby girl."
"I want to be in the room when it happens."
A few moments pass between us.
Pops doesn't say no.
Holt, from the armchair: "She's a Lyle, brother."
"I know what she is, Holt."
"Then she's in the room."
Pops looks at me for a long time. Then he nods once. "All right, Dakota. You're in the room."
The rest of the morning is brothers on phones.
Pops calls Uncle Cash in San Antonio. Uncle Holt calls Wells and Tread who are at the bunkhouse.
Spur calls Banshee at the round pen.
Rogue is in the kitchen at Marlena's table with three laptops open, running Asher Addison's name through every database he has access to.
The intel comes in fast.
Asher Addison Stock Contracting LLC, registered in Big Spring, Texas.
Federal tax ID. A truck registered to the company—white Ford F-450 dually, current plates.
A property in Howard County—a small ranch with a stock barn and pens. A bank account.
A phone number that matches the burner he's been using to text me.
He's not hiding. He never had to.
He buried the road name and built a life under his real one, and the Shotgun Saints never thought to look for him because they thought he was gone.
He has a wife. Holt finds it in a county record.
Married in 2019. No children. Wife's name is Loretta Addison. Lives at the Howard County address.
"He has a wife," I say from the couch.
Pops, on his phone with Cash, holds up one finger at me. In a minute, baby.
Holt comes over and sits on the coffee table where Pops sat earlier. "Yeah, baby girl. He has a wife."
