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Buckley grunted. “Yeah. We were raided tonight.”

The men around the table—all of our brothers present—roared with fury. “Why didn’t you lead with that?!” My father shouted. He didn’t bother to hide his glare at our president.

Buckley did a downward wave motion with his hand, cutting off the roaring rage around the room. “I think they’re both connected. Whoever raided us, I think they also set the hit on the mayor.”

“Why do you think that?” Bear asked, crossing his arms over his wide chest. The man was huge—bear like—with a mane of dark black hair that fell around his broad shoulders and a thick black beard that covered most of his face. He was stacked with muscles on top of muscles, and tattoos covered most of his skin from the neck down. The dude even had the wordBeartatted over his left eyebrow.

“I got a call from Sanders down at 501, that our warehouse had been hit. Someone walking by happened to call in that they witnessed someone trying to break in,” Buckley said.

I crossed my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes on Buckley. Detective Sanders from precinct 501 was a long-time friend of the Devil’s Psychos, his friendship with Buckley had gone back decades to their grade school days. If Sanders said someone called in the break in, then the information was legit.

But why? And who the hell broke in to our warehouse?

“We need to go down there and secure things—”

“Then why are we here?” Nickle interrupted everyone shouting.

I eyed the newly patched brother with interest. Nickle usually went along with anything Buckley said, loyal to the fault. He was still so green; he didn’t question things yet—until now.

“Because we gotta let things lie low, until Sanders says the coast is clear.”

“So we’re just letting whoever raided us, take everything? The fuck?” My dad bit out.

“The hell we are!” Dagger growled.

“Enough!” Buckley roared, slamming the judge’s gavel down on the wooden table top—effectively silencing the arguing men around the table. “It’s done. Sanders is watching the place, back up had already been called in before he got there. The police are turning the place over now. There’s nothing we do—the shipment’s lost.”

“How does this have to do with the mayor?” I asked.

“Sanders called, saying that Barry saw a snake tat on the neck of the guy who gunned down the mayor, but didn’t see anything else,” Buckley answered. “And the witness from the warehouse also saw a snake tat on one of the guys.”

“Las Serpientes—aren’t they a street gang from the south side of Chicago?” Marcos asked.

Axel, Phoenix, and Blaze shifted in their seats, suddenly on full alert. I cocked an eyebrow, not that the three men noticed.

“Yeah. They’ve been here for years now, but it seems they’re making a play for Creekton and being bold about it too,” Buckley grumbled.

“How the fuck did they find out about the warehouse?” Bear asked.

“Unclear, but masked fucking Las Serpientes were running all up and down the block,” Buckley said.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Axel muttered, shaking his head, before he shot Phoenix and Blaze a look of contempt.

“We gotta do something about them.” There’s a fire in Blaze that I hadn’t seen before.

The usual laid-back trio were fired up and raring to go, like Las Serpientes were a personal afront to them or something. Definitely something had happened that those boys weren’t talking about.

I shared a look with Marcos, who raised an eyebrow. Yeah, we’d talk about it later. For now, we needed to figure out our next moveand convince Buckley that sitting here on our fucking asses was not the way to go about things.

“Alright, so how we hitting the snakes?” Nico asked.

“Let’s just go burn down their house,” Blaze growled.

I stifled a laugh. Blaze and fire… yeah, it was too easy.

“Now hold your damn horses,” Buckley grumbled. “We gotta be smart about this. Can’t go in half-cocked.”

I watched our president as he slowly scratched his eyebrow… like he was stalling. Was Buckley stalling? I had no proof, just a hunch, and staring at Buckley—who was usually a hot head and cocky—being utterly calm was telling.