“Patrick’s going to be vulnerable once his mom is taken down. We can’t sit idle, Rip. Once she’s behind bars, he’s going to run the fuck away and join Jerome. Whoever’s hiding that fucker has deep pockets,” I remind him, my voice tight with the frustration of being a spectator in our own war. “Once he’s gone, he’ll be gone with a capital G.”
Riptide’s jaw works as he stares at the amber liquid in his glass. He knows I’m right. Patrick is the weak link, a spoiled brat who’s spent his whole life hiding behind his mother’s political skirt. But Jerome is a different breed of predator—one who knows how to use a desperate man like a tool. If Patrick slips through our fingers, he becomes Jerome’s primary asset, and with the kind of financial backing we’re suspecting from that Dallas syndicate, they could disappear into the shadows and rebuild before we even know the net has been cut.
“We can’t let that happen, Slayer,” Riptide finally rumbles, setting his glass down with a heavy thud that echoes the finality in his tone. “We took out his father, we can take him out too. We just have to find the piece of shit first. The feds want a clean sweep, but I won’t let their timeline compromise the safety of this club. If Patrick looks like he’s ready to bolt, we move. Regardless of what the signal says.”
“Good,” I say, the word feeling like the first real breath I’ve taken since their return. The weight of the coming hours is still there, a constant pressure in my chest, but knowing that Rip is willing to take the shot when it presents itself gives me the focus I need. I’m done with waiting for the world to reach through and make us its bitch. I’m ready to be the one reaching out and snuffing the danger before it ever touches a single member of our family. I stand up and square my shoulders, ready to haul my ass to my woman. “See you in the morning, Rip.”
“See ya,” he says, waving his hand and dismissing me. His expression remains grim, the weight of the federal meeting still etched into the lines of his face. As I turn to leave the office, I can’t believe we’ve discovered there’s a third party organization involved. A group out of Dallas wasn’t on my radar, and until we have the specifics on them, I’m worried we have another enemy on our backs just when we thought we were closing the chapter on the ones we’ve known about.
I walk out of the clubhouse, my boots crunching on the loose, pebble stones as I head away from my brothers and tomorrow’s problems. The knowledge that a larger network is pulling the strings makes the safety of the compound feel more fragile than it did an hour ago. Every shadow seems deeper, every distant sound more menacing. I need to get inside, lock the door, and pull Jersey into my arms. She’s the only thing that can quiet the roar of my mind.
The next morning, we all find ourselves seated in church. Inside the room, the atmosphere remains thick with the smell of stale tobacco and a tension that’s rapidly reaching its breakingpoint. “So let me get this straight,” Rebel says, his voice a low, menacing rumble as he leaned his weight against the table, his knuckles popping. He looks from Riptide to the rest of the inner circle, his eyes burning with a localized fury that mirrors my own. “The councilwoman is going down because of the feds, but her son and those motherfucking Dragons are gonna be left unaccounted for? We’re just gonna let the real vipers slink back into the tall grass while we celebrate a political win?”
“No, that’s not what’s going to happen,” I correct. I lean forward, meeting Rebel’s heated stare with a calm that I don’t entirely feel. The room is silent, every brother leaning in, the weight of this situation pressing against the walls of the church. “We’re gonna let the government take care of that skanky bitch, but we’re going to be the downfall of Jerome, Patrick, and the rest of the Dragons.”
I lock eyes with Riptide, whose sharp, resolute nod confirms the plan. We’ve endured enough nights hunkered down behind these iron gates, guarding our women and little ones from the vultures who want to end us, to ever allow the true assholes to slink away. The councilwoman’s political demise is merely the opening act. While the government officials orchestrate their high-profile media circus, the Kings will be working in the grime and the grit, exactly where the Dragons mistakenly believe they’re untouchable. Jerome and Patrick have constructed a legacy fueled by violence and terror, and I’m more than ready to watch their kingdom burn. My mind drifts to Jersey, to the fragile tranquility she’s discovered, and that lethal promise I swore to her—that nobody fucks with what’s mine, because I am a King down to the marrow of my bones. If the feds lack the balls to finish this, the Kings sure as hell don’t.
“How are we going to remove Patrick from the equation?” Renegade asks, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. He leans forward, his hands clasped tightly, eyes reflecting the same hunger for justice that is currently clawing at my insides.
“We keep spying on their mansion, once the feds step in and remove the councilwoman in handcuffs, we make our move. We don’t give him time to get in touch with Jerome and disappear.” I let the words settle, the strategy clear and uncompromising. We have the intel on her corruption, her drug deals involving the governor’s son, and the syndicate ties in Dallas. Once her political shield is shattered by the arrest, Patrick will be exposed, a spoiled bully without his mother’s protection. We’ll be the ones waiting in the shadows to ensure he pays the price for the terror he’s helped Jerome unleash on our town.
“So we just sit on our hands?” Shade asks, the agitation clear in his throaty tone. He’s a man built for the hunt, his mindset a near mirror image of Icer’s lethal focus. While he hasn’t reached the frozen tundra of our enforcer, he’s damn close. I watch him grind his jaw, his fingers tapping out a restless staccato against the battered wood of the table. For a combatant like Shade, every heartbeat we spend in limbo is another second those Dragon fuckers are allowed to draw air, and I can tell his fuse is wire thin. He’s hanging on to his temper by a mere thread.
“Why wait?” Icer asks. “We know where he is, we know how to get in, why give him the chance to take off?” His voice is low, carrying the weight of a man who doesn’t believe in half-measures or federal timelines. He stares at Riptide, his icy blue gaze unblinking. Icer doesn’t care about the political fallout or the Dallas syndicate’s reach, he only sees the target in front of us and the tactical advantage of striking while they still thinkthey’re shielded by the councilwoman’s office. Every second of hesitation feels like a betrayal of the security we’ve promised our women and kids. If Patrick is the weak link, Icer is ready to snap it before the feds even get their handcuffs out.
“What do you propose, Icer?” Rip queries.
“We know when he gets his packages from Jerome. They come like clockwork,” Icer reminds us. “The courier doesn’t take a varied route. He’s arrogant, comfortable with that bitch councilwoman’s protection. If we intercept the shipment before it reaches the mansion, we don’t just take their supply, we take the man holding the keys to the castle.”
“We’re aware of that,” I state. “Intercepting a courier is one thing, Icer, but doing it without tipping our hand to the feds or Jerome is a different beast entirely. We need more than just the location, we need a way to make him talk before the Dragons even realize he’s missing.”
“You’re not getting me, Slayer,” Icer interjects, grinding his molars.
“What am I not getting, brother?” I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my veins. Icer is a man of few words, and when he starts elaborating, it usually means he’s already mapped out a path through the carnage.
“We intercept the delivery,” Icer explains, his eyes narrowing to cold, lethal slits. “The courier is soft, predictable. We take him out silently before he ever reaches the gates. Once we have his vehicle and his attire, we don’t just deliver the package, we become the delivery. We snap the fucker right out of his own house while he’s waiting for his fix, and before the Dragonseven realize the chain is broken, Patrick will be rotting in the catacombs.”
“We use him as a bargaining chip,” Shade tacks on to Icer’s explanation, his fingers restlessly tapping the hilt of the knife at his belt that’s peeking out of its sheath. “With the councilwoman’s son in our hands, we can dictate the terms of their surrender. Jerome won’t risk his secondhand man’s life if he thinks we’re ready to mail him back in pieces.”
“No, not a bargaining chip,” Icer refutes, his voice dropping to a guttural octave that silences the room. He shakes his head slowly, a grim finality in the movement. “Negotiations are for men who still have something to lose. We use him as bait. We use him to draw Jerome out of whatever rat hole he’s hiding in. Once Jerome thinks he’s coming to rescue his lieutenant, we close the trap and end the Dragons for good.”
“It’s a gamble, Icer. I’m not big on placing my bet on not being seen by the feds,” Riptide retorts. My president leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the scarred surface of the table. He’s the one who has to carry the weight of the fallout if this goes south. If the feds are already building a RICO case, our intervention could be seen as an interference that would bring the full, crushing weight of the law down on the Kings.
“Life’s a gamble, Rip,” Icer retorts. “It’s high time we took the upper hand.” Our enforcer doesn’t even blink as he stares Rip down. To him, the risk of some federal inquiry is just background noise compared to the safety of our family. We’ve been playing defense for months, dancing to Jerome’s tune while he cowered behind his father and that bitch councilwoman’s political skirt. With the feds about to rip that shield away, the opening is right there, and Icer is readyto snatch it before those Dragon fuckers can slink away and disappear.
Rip and I share a look, the heavy silence of the room vibrating with the gravity of Icer’s proposal. We’ve spent months upon months reacting to Jerome’s provocations, scurrying to keep our families safe from them and their malicious attacks. The idea of finally taking the initiative, of becoming the ones who strike first, is an intoxicating prospect that has my own blood humming with a dangerous, expectant heat. Icer isn’t just talking about a tactical maneuver, he’s offering us a way to reclaim the narration and prove to every low life in Canton that the Kings are still the ones holding the keys to this town.
“If we do this, there is no turning back,” Riptide rumbles, his eyes locking onto mine as if searching for any flicker of the hesitation I’m currently fighting to bury. “We’re not just snatching a spoiled brat, we’re essentially declaring war on whatever federal timeline is currently in play. If those agents find out we’ve interfered with their case, they’ll bury us right next to the councilwoman and her cronies.” He pauses, his hand hovering midair before combing his fingers through his hair and releasing a huffed breath. “But Icer’s right about the safety of our family. Jerome has already proven he has no soul, and if Patrick takes his mother’s place and becomes his primary asset with those Dallas fuckers, the threat to our women and kids will never truly go away.”
I think of Jersey back at the trailer, the way she finally found the courage to share her own dark history with me and the peace she’s discovered in our shared routine. I think of Boston and Carolina, their innocent wonder at the world around them finally blooming because they believe they’re safe. At this point, with the pieces of our enemy’s empire finally starting to fractureunder the pressure of the feds and our own intel, what do we really have to lose? We’ve already shed blood, paid our penance, and fortified our walls. If the only way to ensure their future is to step into the darkness and finish this ourselves, then I’m ready to be the monster the club requires. I look back at my president and give a single, sharp nod, the choice finally made.
“Let’s hunt some Dragons and snare them in our trap.”
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Jersey
