Page 3 of King’s Reckoning (Blind Jacks MC #5)

The first shot shattered the clubhouse window above Rowan's head, sending glass raining down like deadly stars. She moved without thinking, muscle memory taking over as she rolled behind the bar. Reed was already returning fire, his movements precise and controlled. This wasn't his first gunfight.

"Seven Devils,"

he called out, voice steady despite the chaos.

"At least twelve, spread across the lot. They're trying to pin us down."

Rowan checked the shotgun's action, the familiar weight grounding her. Her mother's voice echoed in her head.

"In a firefight, baby, you've got two choices: be the predator or be the prey."

More Devils poured into the lot, their bikes roaring like angry beasts. Rowan counted multiple shooters taking positions behind vehicles. They were better organized than typical MC warfare.

This was a coordinated hit.

"Back door,"

she called to Reed.

"They'll try to flank us."

He shot her a sharp look.

"How do you know their tactics?"

"Same way I know that shotgun's loaded with buckshot instead of slugs,"

she replied, sighting down the barrel.

"I do my homework."

Movement caught her eye—a Devil trying to edge around their position. Rowan squeezed the trigger, the shotgun's blast catching him in the leg. He went down screaming.

"Nice shot."

Reed's approval was cut short by another volley of gunfire.

"But we're still outnumbered."

Rowan was already moving, staying low as she worked her way toward the back hall. If she was right about their tactics, at least three Devils would be coming through there.

The back door burst open. Two men in Devils cuts rushed in, weapons ready. But Rowan was ready too. Her mother hadn't just taught her MC protocol. She'd taught her how to survive.

The first Devil took a shotgun blast to the chest before he could get a shot off. The second managed to fire, but Rowan was already moving. She slammed the gun's stock into his face, following through with a knee to his groin. As he doubled over, she brought the weapon down on the back of his head. He dropped like a stone.

"Damn."

Reed's voice held newfound respect.

"Where'd you learn to move like that?"

"Family tradition,"

Rowan said grimly, checking her fallen opponents. Both were breathing, but they wouldn't be causing trouble anytime soon.

"We need to get to the armory. They're not here just to rattle cages."

Before Reed could respond, engines roared to life outside. Through the broken window, Rowan saw several Devils' bikes peeling out of the lot. The attack was breaking off as quickly as it had started.

"This wasn't about territory,"

she said, mind racing.

"It was a test. They wanted to see our response time, our protocols."

"And our new prospect,"

a deep voice added from the doorway. King stood there, his own weapon held ready, eyes taking in the scene. His gaze lingered on the Devils Rowan had taken down, then moved to her.

"Seems Elena taught you more than just cooking."

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Before Rowan could respond, more brothers poured in, securing the area. Darkness was among them, moving with efficient command as he assessed the situation.

"Everyone alive?"

Darkness asked, checking the fallen Devils.

"These two need medical attention,"

Rowan said, professional mask back in place.

"Nothing fatal."

"Tiffany's on her way,"

Darkness replied.

"She was at the hospital when it started."

He glanced at the Devils, then at Rowan.

"Nice work, prospect. Not many people can take down two Devils their first week."

"Speaking of Devils,"

Reed cut in.

"we need to figure out what they were really after. This wasn't a normal hit."

King's eyes narrowed.

"No. It wasn't."

He turned to the gathering brothers.

"Secure the perimeter. I want every inch of this property checked. And someone get Dr. Beasley on the phone. I want to know if anyone's been near those graves."

Rowan's ears pricked up at that. The graves. There was something there, something important enough for both clubs to risk open warfare. She filed it away for later investigation.

Tiffany arrived in a squeal of tires, her medical bag already in hand. She moved straight to the wounded Devils, all business despite the tension in the air. Ryder, who was normally glued to her side, was notably absent, likely at home watching the kids.

Rowan watched with interest as the ER nurse worked, her practiced hands moving with the efficiency that came from countless trauma cases at the hospital. Here was another strong woman who'd carved out her place in the MC world while maintaining her professional identity outside it.

"You should let her check you too,"

Reed said quietly.

Rowan looked down, surprised to find blood soaking through her shirt sleeve. Adrenaline had masked the pain of what looked like a graze wound.

"It's nothing,"

she started to say, but Reed was already steering her toward a chair.

"Prospects who can't admit when they're hurt don't last long,"

he said, his hand warm on her lower back.

"Besides, gives me a chance to hear how you learned those moves."

"Didn't know you cared,"

Rowan said, trying to ignore how his touch seemed to burn through her shirt.

His dark eyes met hers, something dangerous lurking in their depths.

"I care about a lot of things, Rowan Matthews. Including how King's long-lost daughter happens to fight like a trained killer."

Before Rowan could respond, Tiffany approached with her medical kit. The nurse's keen eyes took in both Rowan's wound and the tension between her and Reed.

"This needs cleaning,"

Tiffany said, already pulling out supplies.

"And you need to work on your duck and cover, prospect. Darkness had to teach me that too."

Rowan held still as Tiffany cleaned and bandaged the graze. The nurse's hands were gentle but efficient. She'd clearly had plenty of practice patching up bikers.

"Does this happen often?"

Rowan asked.

"Devils making house calls?"

"Not for years,"

Tiffany replied, securing the bandage.

"Not since..."

She glanced at Reed, who gave a slight shake of his head.

"Not since Flash,"

King's voice cut through the moment. He stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room.

"Dr. Beasley’s on her way. Devils hit the graveyard too. Three more graves disturbed."

Reed cursed under his breath.

"Same ones as before?"

"No. Different graves this time. They're looking for something specific."

King's eyes fell on Rowan's bandaged arm.

"You good to ride, prospect?"

Rowan nodded, ignoring the sting.

"Ready when you are."

"Good. Because you're coming with us to the graveyard. Time to see what else Elena taught you about club business."

The ride to the graveyard was tense, brothers flanking them in formation. Rowan stayed close to Reed's bike, watching his signals. The morning sun was just cresting the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.

The graveyard looked different in daylight—less mysterious, more sacred. But the fresh disturbances were jarring against the peaceful scene. Earth churned up, headstones askew, decades of respect violated in a single night.

Barbara was already there, her archaeological equipment spread out around the graves. Ace had stayed behind to coordinate security at the clubhouse after the attack, leaving his partner to handle the field investigation alone. The archaeology professor looked up as they approached, her expression grim.

"They knew what they were looking for,"

she said without preamble.

"These weren't random disturbances. They targeted specific graves. All brothers who died in '95."

"Year of the first Devils war,"

Reed supplied for Rowan's benefit.

"When the territories were originally divided."

Rowan studied the disturbed graves. The pattern was obvious once you knew what to look for—all high-ranking members, all involved in the original territory negotiations. All carrying secrets to their graves.

"There's something else,"

Dr. Beasley said, gesturing them closer.

"Look at these marks in the soil. They used ground-penetrating radar before digging. This wasn't a smash and grab. It was a professional job."

"Devils don't have that kind of equipment,"

King said, his voice hard.

"Or that kind of expertise."

"No,"

Beasley agreed.

"They don't. But I know who does."

She pulled out her tablet, showing them a familiar logo.

"Blackwood Archaeological Services. They've been buying up land all through the territory, claiming historical preservation. Including—"

"The warehouse property,"

Reed finished.

"The one Devils warned us off of yesterday."

Rowan's mind raced. Archaeological company. Historical preservation. Territory disputes. It all connected to something bigger, something both clubs were willing to kill over.

"Your mother ever mention anything about buried club business?"

King asked quietly.

Rowan met his eyes.

"She told me a lot of things. Most of them warnings."

"Maybe you should start sharing those warnings,"

Reed suggested.

"Before more graves get dug up."

Movement at the graveyard gate caught Rowan's attention. A black SUV was pulling up, its windows tinted dark. As she watched, a familiar figure stepped out—the same man who'd led the Devils' attack on the clubhouse.

"We've got company,"

she said quietly.

King didn't turn around.

"Expected company. Devils asked for a meet. Neutral ground."

"Graveyard’s not neutral anymore,"

Reed pointed out.

"Not with our dead being disturbed."

"No,"

King agreed.

"It's not. Which is why you and Rowan are going to follow Dr. Beasley back to her lab while I have a chat with our friends. Time to see what's really buried in our past."

Rowan started to protest, but Reed's hand closed around her arm.

"Sergeant's orders,"

he said softly.

"Besides, I think it's time you and I had a real conversation about what you're doing here."

Looking at Reed's hard expression, Rowan had a feeling that conversation would be even more dangerous than the firefight had been. But she was King's daughter. Danger was in her blood.

Barbara's lab was housed in a converted warehouse on the edge of town, the brick walls covered in decades of grime. Inside was another story. State-of-the-art equipment filled the space, computers humming quietly as they processed data. The archaeology professor had equipped the space with the latest technology for analyzing historical artifacts, her academic connections providing access to resources most MCs could only dream of.

"The radar scans are still rendering,"

Beasley said, pulling up images on a large monitor.

"But look at this."

She pointed to dark shapes beneath the disturbed graves.

"Metal objects, buried with the bodies. All at the same depth, all roughly the same size."

"Lock boxes,"

Reed said.

"Club tradition. Important members were buried with proof of their rank. Documents, photos, sometimes other items that needed to disappear."

Rowan studied the images.

"The Devils aren't after bodies. They're after whatever's in those boxes."

"Smart girl."

Reed's voice was closer than she expected. She could feel the heat of him behind her, smell leather and gun smoke on his skin.

"Question is, how do you know about club burial traditions?"

"Same way I know about a lot of things,"

Rowan said, turning to face him.

"I listened. I learned. I prepared."

"For what?"

His dark eyes searched her face.

"What's the endgame here, Rowan? Because I'm starting to think finding your father was just a convenient excuse."

Before she could respond, Beasley’s computer beeped. New images filled the screen—not from the graves this time, but from under the clubhouse itself.

"Oh my God,"

Beasley breathed.

"The whole area...it's not just a graveyard. It's built on top of something much older. Look at these structures, these patterns. This is pre-colonial. Maybe even—"

The lab door burst open. Two men in Devils cuts entered, weapons drawn. Behind them came a man in an expensive suit, his silver hair immaculate.

"Dr. Beasley,"

he said smoothly.

"I believe you have some data that belongs to Blackwood Archaeological Services."

Reed moved faster than Rowan would have believed possible, shoving her behind a desk as bullets started flying. She drew her own weapon, remembering too late that she'd given up her shotgun.

"Back door!"

Beasley shouted, already moving.

"Through the storage room!"

They ran, bullets chewing up equipment behind them. Rowan's arm burned where the earlier graze wound pulled, but adrenaline kept her moving. They burst out into morning sunlight, Beasley already on her phone.

"King! They're here! Blackwood's men—"

A shot rang out and the phone went flying.

More Devils were waiting in the alley. Rowan counted four, plus the two from inside, plus the suit. Bad odds, getting worse.

"Any ideas?"

she asked Reed as they backed toward the wall.

"Usually this is where I do something stupid and heroic,"

he replied, gun trained on the nearest Devil.

"And if that doesn't work?"

His grim smile made her heart skip.

"Then I hope the backup I called when we first got here shows up soon."

The silver-haired man stepped forward.

"No need for heroics. We just want the data. Dr. Beasley’s research has uncovered something quite valuable. Something that predates both our clubs. Something worth a great deal to the right people."

"Those graves were sacred ground,"

Reed growled.

"You violated our dead."

"Your dead were buried on top of something far more important,"

the man said.

"Now, Dr. Beasley, if you'd be so kind as to transfer your files—"

The rumble of motorcycles cut him off. Lots of motorcycles.

"That'll be our backup,"

Reed said pleasantly.

"Now, about those odds..."

King led the charge into the alley, brothers falling into formation behind him. In seconds, the Devils were surrounded and outgunned.

"Mr. Blackwood,"

King said, his voice deadly quiet.

"I believe you're trespassing."

The silver-haired man's composure cracked slightly.

"This is bigger than your little club, King. There are forces at work here that—"

"That what?"

Rowan stepped forward, her mother's warnings suddenly making horrible sense.

"That have been waiting twenty-five years to surface? That sent you looking for proof of something that should have stayed buried?"

Blackwood's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

"She's my daughter,"

King said, and Rowan's heart stuttered at the pride in his voice.

"And whatever you're looking for, whatever sent the Devils digging up our dead...it stops now."

"You can't stop progress,"

Blackwood said.

"Development is coming to this territory, whether you like it or not. The artifacts under your club will be excavated, the land will be cleared—"

"Over my dead body."

King's voice was like ice.

"That can be arranged."

Blackwood smiled thinly.

"Ask your daughter about her mother. Ask her what Elena Matthews knew about the real history of this land. Ask her why she really came back."

Rowan felt all eyes turn to her. Reed's expression was unreadable, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.

"My mother told me a lot of things,"

she said carefully.

"But the most important thing she taught me was loyalty."

She met King's eyes.

"To family. To club. To the things worth protecting."

For a moment, father and daughter stared at each other, twenty-five years of absence hanging between them. Then King nodded slightly.

"Take them,"

he ordered, and the brothers moved in.

But Blackwood had one more card to play.

"The Devils aren't the only ones with an interest in this land,"

he called as they led him away.

"Ask your daughter about the others. Ask her what's really buried under your club!"

Rowan watched them load the prisoners into waiting vans, her mind racing. Her mother's warnings, the disturbed graves, the ancient structures under the club...it was all connected. All part of a secret Elena had died protecting.

"So,"

Reed's voice was soft beside her.

"Want to tell me what that was all about?"

Rowan looked up at him, saw the mixture of suspicion and something else in his eyes.

"Buy me a drink first?"

His lip quirked.

"Prospects don't drink on duty."

"Good thing my shift ended when the shooting started."

This time his smile reached his eyes.

"Clubhouse is going to need repairs after that attack this morning. Could use some help when we get back."

"Are you asking me to stay?"

"I'm saying you've proved yourself useful. In a fight. With a wrench."

He paused.

"Maybe in other ways too."

Heat bloomed in her chest.

"Careful, Road Captain. People might think you're starting to trust me."

"Trust is earned,"

he said seriously.

"But you're on your way."

He glanced at King, who was deep in conversation with Dr. Beasley.

"In more ways than one."

Rowan watched her father, saw how the other brothers responded to him. Saw the respect, the loyalty. The family she'd never had.

"Yeah,"

she said softly.

"Maybe I am."

But as they prepared to head back to the clubhouse, Elena's final warning echoed in her mind.

"The past never stays buried, baby. And some secrets are worth dying to protect."

Rowan just hoped she was ready for what came next.