Not a question, but an accusation.I met his gaze steadily."I am protecting her.That's why I'm here."
He took a long drag of his cigarette before speaking again."She says someone was watching the house.Says you're building support in your club against your president."His eyes narrowed."Sounds like internal drama that could put her at risk."
"Or internal restructuring that will keep her safer," I countered, leaning against the workbench opposite him."Mustang's leadership is compromising club security.Not just for Ophelia and Dante, but for all our families."
Pretty Boy studied me through a haze of smoke, his expression unreadable."You've been married what—a week?Already staging a coup?"
"Not a coup," I corrected carefully."A necessary evolution.And yes, it's been accelerated by my concern for Ophelia, but these problems with Mustang have been brewing for months."
"Convenient timing," he observed, but the accusation in his tone had softened slightly."Tell me about the threat.What exactly did Ophelia see?"
I recounted what she'd told me—the birds going silent, movement in the tree line, the metallic reflection of light."She survived that bastard ex of hers by recognizing danger before it struck.When she says someone was there, I believe her."
"So do I," Pretty Boy said immediately, his jaw tightening."Lia's always had good instincts.Saved both our asses more than once growing up."
The nickname—Lia—caught me off guard, a reminder of the history they shared that predated my presence in Ophelia's life.Pretty Boy noticed my reaction and almost smiled, a brief softening of his vigilant expression.
"Still getting used to being a husband, aren't you, Calculator?"The use of my road name carried a hint of mockery, but not malice.
"Learning as I go," I admitted, seeing no point in pretenses."But I know enough to take her safety seriously.I've got brothers on rotation watching the house—Fury, Socket, Loch, Pierce.Torque's joining the detail tonight.”
Pretty Boy raised an eyebrow."Half your club."
"The half that matters," I confirmed."The half that understands family comes first."
He nodded slowly, grinding out his cigarette on the workbench."And Mustang?He's not on board with this protection detail?"
"Mustang thinks it's a waste of resources," I said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice."Calls it 'a woman's paranoia' and wants us focused on the Martinelli shipment instead."
Understanding flickered across Pretty Boy's expression, the hard look in his eyes easing for a brief second as if he knew exactly what this kind of fight cost.He pulled out his phone, thumbed through contacts, and made a call.
"It's me," he said when someone answered."Need Eagle and Tech at the neutral garage.Now."He hung up without waiting for confirmation, turning his attention back to me."This isn't just club business anymore.This is family."
The declaration—the same words I'd been repeating to my brothers all week—carried different weight coming from him.We might wear different cuts, pledge to different presidents, but in this, we were aligned.
"I've got seven brothers on my side now," I told him, laying out my position plainly."Ace is with me—that's significant.When the time comes to challenge Mustang formally, I'll have the votes."
"But not yet," Pretty Boy surmised.
"Not yet," I agreed."Need to secure family safety first.Then deal with club politics."
He paced the length of the workbench, thinking."What do you need from us?"
"Intelligence," I said immediately."Your club has better tech than we do.Better surveillance equipment, better contacts in law enforcement.We need to know if Tyler or his family are making moves to find Ophelia."
"That we can do," he nodded."Tech's our surveillance expert.Eagle's got contacts in three counties' police departments.They'll be here in fifteen."
I outlined what we already knew about Tyler, his judge father, his police chief uncle.Pretty Boy absorbed the information with narrowed eyes, his expression darkening at the mention of Tyler's connections.
"Rich boy with badge and gavel backup," he muttered."Worst kind of enemy."
"Exactly," I agreed."Hard to fight through conventional channels.And that's where Mustang's strategy falls short—he's still thinking in terms of territory disputes with rival clubs, not legal threats from men in suits."
Pretty Boy's associates arrived while we were still talking, entering without knocking—a tall, broad-shouldered man with the watchful eyes of former military, and a younger guy carrying a laptop bag who immediately began setting up equipment on a side table.They nodded to me with the reserved respect of allied but separate clubs, then turned to Pretty Boy for instructions.
"My sister's being watched," he said simply."Potential threat from her ex—judge's son with police connections.Need intelligence, surveillance, early warning systems."
The tech guy—his cut identified him only as "Wizard"—immediately began typing."Got facial recognition software running through traffic cams in a fifty-mile radius," he said, fingers flying across his keyboard."Can set up remote access to security feeds around the property too."
