Page 45 of My Reckless Biker

"No. But it gives us options we didn't have yesterday. He's been operating assuming we don't know his structure. Now we do."

Around thirteen hundred, Clint calls everyone to the main table. Diesel and I sit with Clint, Cain, Tate, Holt, Knox, and several other brothers.

"Status update," Clint says. "Dutch survived the warehouse raid but he's in ICU at County General with severe injuries. Shattered orbital bone, broken ribs, facial fractures. He'll live but he's out of commission for months, possibly permanently depending on recovery. The two prospects we sent back to Crane delivered our message. Marrow's been quiet since then."

"Too quiet," Tate says.

"Agreed. When Crane goes silent, he's planning something." Clint looks at Cain. "What've we got from the intel work?"

Cain turns his laptop so everyone can see. "Sienna's documentation is comprehensive. We've mapped Marrow's entire financial structure, their distribution network, safe houses, key contacts. I've identified three major pressure points we can hit if we need to escalate beyond direct confrontation." He clicks through screens showing accounts and connections. "But the strategic value here isn't just knowing where to hit. It's understanding how Crane operates. Which brings us to the bigger question, what's his next move?"

All eyes shift to me.

I've been thinking about this since I woke up. Running scenarios based on everything I know about my father's pattern.

"He's going to go after your legitimacy in Bloomfield," I say. "Not just violence. He wants to break the trust between Vigil and the civilians here. Make it look like you're the problem instead of the protection."

"How?" Holt asks.

"I don't know the specifics yet. But if I were planning it, I'd stage something that looks like Vigil retaliation but actually harms civilians. Something public. Something visible. Something that makes the town question whether you actually protect them or just cause violence. He wants me back, which means he needs to make staying here impossible or force Vigil to give me up to restore peace."

The table is quiet while brothers process this.

"That's psychological warfare," Tate says. "Different than what we've been dealing with."

"My father's not playing by his usual rules anymore," I say. "He's angry. The photos of me with Diesel made it personal. When he's angry and personal, he gets creative. And he's patient enough to set up something complex if it serves his goal."

Clint leans forward. "If you're right, we need to be ready for something that targets our reputation as much as our operations. Increased watch on civilian areas. The Anchor, the school, businesses we're connected to. We need eyes on potential targets before Crane can stage whatever he's planning."

"I'll coordinate rotations," Tate says. "Two brothers per location, eight-hour shifts starting immediately."

"Do it." Clint looks around the table. "Sienna's prediction about Crane's strategy makes sense based on what we know about his pattern. We plan for it. Cain, keep monitoring communications. Any chatter about Marrow movements, I want to know immediately."

"On it."

Clint's attention settles on me. "You've got a seat at this table now. Officially. You predicted Crane would go after legitimacy instead of just using violence, and that's the kind of strategic thinking we need. When we're planning, you're here. Your insight into how your father operates gives us advantage we didn't have before."

I nod, feeling the weight of what just happened. Not just protected. Not just Diesel's woman. An actual contributing member of Vigil's strategic planning.

The church continues for another twenty minutes, logistics, watch schedules, communication protocols. I contribute where I can, details about my father's contacts who might help stage something, his preferred methods for public messaging, the timeline he usually operates on when he's angry.

Nobody questions my input. Brothers take notes. Clint factors what I say into tactical decisions.

When the church breaks, brothers disperse to their assignments and Diesel and I head upstairs as afternoon sun slants through the windows.

In our room, I sit on the edge of the bed feeling the exhaustion hit, not physical, but emotional. The weight of the last few days catching up.

Diesel sits beside me. "You did good today."

"Clint said I have a seat at the table now."

"You earned it."

"I didn't expect that when I walked through your gate four days ago."

"What did you expect?"

"To trade intelligence for protection and disappear. Maybe get a new identity and move to another state. Just survive somewhere my father couldn't find me."