“Here,” he said, thrusting the phone forward.“This is it.This is where he said he sometimes hung out.”
Wolf didn’t take it.He stepped closer instead, glancing down long enough to memorize the address.He noted the street, building number and unit.
“Good,” he said.
Smith sagged, as if the word itself had taken weight off his shoulders.Wolf stepped back.This better not be a wild goose chase, Wolf thought.
“Sit,” Wolf ordered.
Smith obeyed automatically, dropping back into the chair like his strings had been cut.Wolf picked up his tablet, already moving on, and already recalculating.
Callahan had taken from the club.That wasn’t a mistake—Callahan made that decision.Wrong decisions had consequences.Anyone stupid enough to steal from the MC got their just desserts. Wolf turned toward the door.One of the men stationed there straightened immediately.
“Lock him in,” Wolf said.“I’ll deal with him later.”
Smith made a small sound.It sounded like a protest, but Wolf didn’t look back.Smith was already a solved problem.A variable accounted for.There was only one piece left that mattered.Callahan.
Wolf stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind him with a solid, definitive click.The noise cut off whatever Smith might have said next, sealing it away where it belonged.Smith had become irrelevant in his eyes.
He walked without hurry, his mind already several steps ahead.He thought of routes, timing, and possibility.If Callahan ran, where he’d go, who he’d contact.How long he’d think he had before anyone noticed.
Wolf pulled his phone from his pocket as he reached the end of the hall, dialing without breaking stride.His boots hit the concrete in a steady rhythm, measured, unhurried, even as his mind was already moving three steps ahead.
It rang once.
“Yeah,” came King’s, the MC president and his boss, voice.His voice was rough and direct, as if he was already expecting trouble.
Wolf didn’t slow.“Smith talked.”
“And?”King asked.“What did you find out?”
Wolf pushed through the EXIT door, the cool evening air hitting his face as he stepped outside.The lot stretched ahead, bikes lined up, a couple of men lingering near the far end.Normal.Routine.
“Smith says he was being threatened,” Wolf said.“By Derek Callahan.”
“Who the hell is that?”King demanded, irritation threading through his tone.
“Small fry,” Wolf replied.“A middleman who got comfortable.”
He crossed the lot, gaze flicking once, automatically, taking in everything.Nothing out of place.
“Callahan’s been skimming,” he continued.“Not large withdrawals.Nothing obvious.He and Smith were shaving off the top of routed payments.Small amounts.Easy to hide if no one’s looking too closely.”
King didn’t interrupt.
“Recently,” Wolf added, “he changed the pattern.Took ten grand in one go.”
A beat.“Ten?”King’s voice sharpened.
“Ten,” Wolf confirmed.“Smith said Callahan called it an emergency.Needed it immediately.Pushed hard enough that Smith folded.”
Wolf paused briefly near a parked bike, resting a hand against the seat without really thinking about it.
“Sloppy,” he went on.“Doesn’t fit his usual pattern.Either he got desperate ...or he thought he wouldn’t get caught.”
A low, humorless sound came through the line.
“Yeah,” King said.“Well, he was wrong.”
