"Your old lady spotted someone watching the house," he said, not a question but a statement.His eyes, always watchful, had narrowed to dangerous slits."Socket filled me in.Said Mustang brushed it off."
"Like it was nothing," I confirmed, a fresh wave of anger heating my blood at the memory."Called it 'a woman's paranoia.'But Ophelia's survivor instincts are sharper than half our prospects'."
Fury's hand tightened on the wrench he'd picked up, knuckles whitening around the metal."She's club blood now.I'm there," he stated flatly, with the simple certainty that made him one of our most reliable brothers."Just tell me when."
"Already set up a rotation with Socket and Loch.Could use you in the mix," I said, watching his face for hesitation.There was none."But this goes deeper than just protection duty.It's about Mustang.About where he's leading the club."
Fury's expression remained unchanged, but recognition flickered briefly in his eyes.Or confirmation of suspicions he'd already harbored.He set the wrench down deliberately, the metal clanking against the workbench.
"Been waiting for someone to bring that up," he said quietly, glancing toward the closed door."What's your thinking?"
I chose my next words carefully, aware of the line I was crossing."The club needs to evolve.Needs leadership that recognizes family protection isn't a distraction from club business—it is club business.Mustang's stuck fighting yesterday's wars while new threats are circling."
"Like your old lady's ex," Fury supplied.
"Exactly.Tyler's connected—judges, cops, money.Not the kind of enemy Mustang knows how to fight.He's looking for rival clubs with colors and patches.Meanwhile, men in suits and badges could be closing in on my family."
Fury nodded slowly, processing."Been noticing things ain't right for a while," he admitted, voice dropping even lower."Martinelli deal last month—Mustang ignored intel about police checkpoints.Could've gotten brothers arrested or worse.And the territory dispute with the Heathens..."
"Two prospects in the hospital because he wouldn't adapt the strategy," I finished.
"Yeah."Fury wiped his hands again on the already filthy rag, a nervous gesture I'd rarely seen from him."So, what are you thinking?Calling for a vote?"
The question hung in the air between us, the club's formal process for challenging leadership.It wasn't done lightly—hadn't happened in over a decade.Men had ended up buried for less direct challenges to Mustang's authority.
"Not yet," I said, keeping my voice steady."Building support first.Taking the temperature of the club.Ace is with me."
Fury's eyebrows rose slightly—having the VP onboard changed the calculus significantly."Smart.Who else?"
"Socket, Loch.Screwball's leaning our way.Talking to Torque tonight."I hesitated, then added, "And reaching out to Pretty Boy.Hades Abyss needs to know we're handling the situation with Ophelia seriously, even if Mustang isn't."
"Bringing in outside support," Fury mused, not criticism but consideration."Risky play."
"Calculated risk," I corrected."This isn't just about club politics anymore.It's about—"
The distinctive sound of heavy boots in the corridor outside cut me off mid-sentence—the measured, deliberate stride that could only belong to Mustang.Fury and I moved with the synchronicity of men who'd worked alongside each other for years, both of us suddenly bent over the Softail engine, hands busy with tools, heads down as if deep in mechanical conversation.
"Pass me that socket wrench," I said loudly, my voice carrying to the doorway where a shadow now fell across the concrete floor.
Fury handed me the tool without looking up."Thinking this valve's shot," he responded, his tone casual but his body as tense as a drawn bowstring.
The shadow in the doorway lengthened, then paused.I could feel Mustang's eyes on us, searching for anything out of place.My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained steady on the engine parts, moving with the practiced confidence of a man who'd rebuilt dozens of bikes over the years.
"Progress?"Mustang's voice cut through the shop, the single word laden with more than just a question about the motorcycle.
"Getting there," Fury answered without looking up."Few more hours of work."
A moment stretched between us, taut with unspoken suspicions.Then Mustang's shadow receded, his boots continuing down the hallway toward the chapel.I waited until the sound had faded completely before straightening, muscles aching from the artificial position.
"He knows something's up," Fury said quietly, setting down his tools."Got eyes in the back of his head, that one."
"All the more reason to move carefully," I agreed, wiping grease from my hands."So.Are you with me?All the way?"
Fury's gaze held mine, measuring, assessing.Then he extended his hand, palm up, offering not the casual clasp of brothers but the formal grip of an alliance being cemented."All the way," he confirmed."Family comes first.Always has, always will."
As our hands clasped, firm and certain, I felt another piece of my plan falling into place.The path ahead remained dangerous, full of unseen pitfalls and potential betrayal.But with each brother who sided with family over outdated loyalties, the possibility of building a better club—a club that protected instead of endangered the people who mattered most—grew stronger.
"Tomorrow night, eight o'clock," I said, releasing his hand."My place.We gather everyone who's on board and make concrete plans."
