Called Ryder soft.
Said if we didn’t strike back twice as hard, we’d invite predators.
“You buying The Hollow?” I say. “That was the final insult.”
Ryder nods once. “Going legitimate wasn’t the betrayal. Refusing to keep him as my hammer was.”
Zane pushes off the counter. “You didn’t leave him behind. You gave him a choice.”
Ryder’s mouth tightens. “He chose wrong.”
That’s Ryder. Clean lines. Clear consequences.
I drum my fingers lightly on the table. “He thinks you owe him.”
“For what?” Ryder asks flatly.
“For years of being your shadow,” I reply. “For doing the things you didn’t want your fingerprints on.”
Ryder meets my eyes without flinching. “I never asked him to enjoy it.”
“No,” I say. “But he did.”
Zane nods once. “He built himself around violence. When you removed the violence, you removed him.”
“And now he’s reminding us he’s still here,” I add.
Ryder leans back, thinking.
“What does he do next?” he asks.
“He won’t hit direct,” Zane says. “Not first. He’ll test the perimeter. Probe for gaps.”
“Like he did before the Marcus deal,” I say. “Remember? Small pushes. Territory disputes. Seeing how fast we responded.”
Ryder nods slowly. “He maps reactions.”
“And he adjusts,” I add. “He wants to see if we’re still the same men.”
Zane’s quiet. “We’re not.”
“No,” Ryder agrees. “We’re not.”
That’s the whole point.
“He doesn’t want a war,” I say. “War risks exposure. Police attention. Other clubs smelling blood.”
“He wants pressure,” Zane says. “Isolation.”
Ryder’s eyes flick toward the ceiling.
Aurora.
“She’s leverage,” he says flatly.
“She is. Even if Cole doesn’t have all the answers, he has enough.”
“Explain.”
