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“Club shit,” I answer, keeping my tone clipped and final. I walk out, not turning around to see her face. Looking at her right now would crack the thin resolve I’m barely holding on to. “Stay in your room, my room or office—nowhere else. Prospects and members will be rotating in and out all day to stay on you.”

Sheets rustle sharply behind me as she sits up. “The fuck? Don’t you guys need me? And you?! You’re just walking out after last night like⁠—”

“Not now, Tatum.” I head straight for the door before she can finish the sentence. Her silence follows me down the hallway like a physical shadow, heavier and more accusing than any scream Thomas had managed in the cage. I pull the door to her room shut firmly behind me, jaw clenched tight. She deserves so much more than this cold shoulder. More than a man who keeps drawing fresh fire straight toward her.

The common area is just beginning to stir as I move through it with purpose. A few early-rising brothers nod in my direction, fresh respect clear in their eyes after word of the basement session spread like wildfire through the club. Thomas is gone. Handled thoroughly. But the intel he spoke under our hands burns hot and urgent in my mind—specific warehouses along the east routes, trucker drop points, sheriff department contacts, and the lingering backdoors Eric had left wide open. Redline is still pushing hard, still testing our borders, ready to exploit any weakness we show them.

I won’t let them find a fucking thing.

Fuse and Lennox are already set up in the war room when I push through the door. Maps cover the big table under the harsh overhead lights. Red x’s and circles stand out against the paper. Judge sits, staring at his laptop, his expression carved from granite. Diesel leans over the table, pointing out flaws or changes in the area that aren’t on the maps, marking primary routes in blue with precise, deliberate strokes.

“Switch,” Fuse says, glancing up from the table. “You look clean, but did you sleep?”

“Enough.” I drop into a chair and spread out the notes that have been scratched together in the hours after Thomas finally broke completely. Giving up everything he knew from coordinates, timelines, bribe amounts, contact lists.

“We don’t wait for them to regroup. Thomas handed us three priority warehouses. This one”—I jab a finger down hard at the map—“east route trucker drop point. South county line storage facility for the bulk product. And the distribution hub tied directly to those sheriff contacts. We hit all three tonight. Coordinated. Clean as possible.”

Lennox nods slowly, but his jaw works with visible tension. “This is personal for every brother here, especially after what they tried to do to Tatum with that bike⁠—”

“Don’t.” The single word comes out sharper than I intended.

Guilt twists deeper in my gut like a fresh knife. “This stays pure club business. No emotion driving the plan—that’s what they want and expect from us. They want us to care so much that we miss something. Teams of four minimum. Prospects mixed with what members we can spare on perimeter watch here just in case. Quiet entry, rig what we can, exit smooth. Explosives only on confirmed product stashes—make them look like accidents or mechanical failures where we can. We don’t need them to know we worked that fast. Make it look like someone on their side fucked up.”

Judge gives a low grunt of approval from his position. “I’ll lead the south run with two members and a solid prospect. Trial by fire. Fuse and Ledger, you take the distribution hub. Switch and Lennox take the east trucker route?”

“Let Lennox go with a few guys. I’ll hold command here initially, then roll out myself once everyone is in place.” Part of me itches badly to be boots-on-ground with my hands back in the work, but the compound needs steady eyes right now.

Especially on her. Even if the way I’m handling all of it right now makes me feel like a complete bastard.

We spend the next two full hours drilling every single detail—entry vectors, choke points, escape routes, backup plans, all of it. If Redline muscle or unexpected law enforcement shows up early, we have a plan for it. Burner phones get distributed and tested. Secure comm channels are locked in. I assign Ledger to monitor the sheriff contacts; he’s got the patience and skill for that shadow work.

My thoughts keep drifting back to Tatum’s own skills—the way she tore through their systems without hesitation. She saved this club. And we thanked her by hanging a bright red target directly on her back. My phone vibrates against my leg midway through our planning.

Tatum:

You good? I see Ledger in my systems and new burners in the compound. What the fuck?

I stare at the screen for a long beat, thumb hovering over the keyboard. She doesn’t deserve the wall I’m putting up between us, but every mental image of her sprawled across that gravel locks my jaw even tighter. I type back quickly.

Me:

Nice eye, it’s us. Don’t worry and keep your eyes on the compound. Something moves, you tell me.

I hit send and shove the phone deep into my pocket.

“Everything locked in on your end?” Fuse asks, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches me.

“Yeah.” I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the constant tension riding my spine. “Make the quiet calls. No one outside this room gets the full picture, only what they are apart of and wheels are actually turning. We want surprise on our side, and I trust no one.”

The morning stretches into a long grinding afternoon of pure logistics. Brothers rotate steadily through the war room—random members updating me on prospect rotations at the gates. I run a full weapons inventory and confirm everything is ready. Diesel and a couple other guys double-check bike readiness and fuel to make sure nothing is amiss. I stay in constant motion, reviewing routes repeatedly, adjusting team assignments on the fly, doing anything and everything I can to keep the guilt from swallowing me whole. Around noon, I get another text from her.

Tatum:

You gonna keep being dramatic? I’ve got Midol if you need it. Why can’t I help?

I don’t reply. Can’t bring myself to. It’s all my fault. Every single step of this growing mess traces straight back to club decisions I helped push forward. And we have to make these hits fast. If they are watching her, the less she knows the better.

By early afternoon, the teams are fully finalized and briefed. Judge’s crew rolls out for initial recon on the south warehouse. I watch from the lot as their bikes rumble to life and disappear down the road in formation. Tatum appears at the corner of the main building, arms crossed tight over her chest, in a pair of shorts that leave little to the imagination. Her eyes find mine instantly across the distance, that sharp, unrelenting blue cutting straight through the space I’ve been forcing between us.