Page 4 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

Decorations on the walls are purposeful with no fluff or frills.

The American flag hangs high and proud on one side, with Alaska’s flag, a deep blue backdrop with the North Star shining bright, on the other.

Between them, centered above the fireplace, is our club logo.

It’s a bold statement carved out of wood and painted with care, a symbol of who we are and what we’ve built.

The room smells of wood and smoke, and there’s a weight in the air that makes you feel grounded.

The long table in the center is where we gather for every meeting and make decisions.

Flint made it himself—thick slabs of timber joined seamlessly together.

He’s got a knack for craftsmanship, a side of him most wouldn’t guess at first glance.

He burned our club logo into the surface, the lines dark and precise, standing out against the rich, natural grain of the wood.

It’s a centerpiece, a reminder that this place, this life, is ours.

Fury drops into a chair at one end of the table, leaning back as if he has all the time in the world.

Ranger moves slower, quieter, but there’s an edge to him, the kind that never really dulls.

I take a moment to look around the room, feeling that familiar tug of pride.

We built this, every stone, every beam, and it’s more than a building.

It’s a fortress, a refuge, and a symbol of what we’ve survived.

“How are we looking?” I ask, shifting my attention to Stash.

He slowly rises from his chair, his movements precise and deliberate.

There’s something sharp about him—the way his eyes seem to pierce through you as if he’s cataloging everything down to the smallest detail.

He rolls his neck from side to side, the subtle crack of bones echoing in the quiet room, and then he smiles a quick flash of teeth, confident but guarded.

“We’ve got enough food and alcohol to see us through winter,” he says, his tone smooth and self-assured. “And then some.”

I study him for a moment, noting how still he stands, conserving energy for something that might demand it later. “Money?” I press, raising an eyebrow.

His smile fades, and his expression turns calculating, his eyes narrowing as he turns over numbers in his head. When Stash frowns, it’s not the usual kind. It’s as if he’s dissecting a problem one piece at a time.

“We’ll need to keep the preppers happy,” he says slowly, every word chosen with care. “And the smuggling’s got to keep moving. It’ll be lean, but we should scrape through so long as nothing catches us off-guard.”

That’s the thing about Stash. He doesn’t just plan but sees every angle, every risk, as though he’s watching from somewhere higher up. He doesn’t miss much, and when he speaks, it’s with the confidence that makes you believe he’s already got the next five steps figured out.

I nod, letting his words settle. Winter is always a test. The tourists are gone, and most of the men stick close to the clubhouse, where it’s warm, and there’s strength in numbers. Not all of them have places of their own, some rent, but here, they’ve got a roof, a fire, and each other.

Me? I’ve got my own place—a small cabin tucked into the woods just outside of town. It’s quiet out there with nothing but the wind and trees for company. That’s where I go when I need to shed the weight of the patch to be more than just the president. It’s my refuge, my escape.

But the sanctuary will have to wait. Winter is closing in, and right now, there’s work to be done.

I cast my gaze to Prophet, his usual calm radiating an intensity that’s hard to ignore. He’s the one who deals with the God-fearing preppers, his air of authority keeping them in line when nothing else will.

“Is there anything in particular they’re looking for this year?” I ask.

Prophet’s icy blue eyes meet mine, cold and cutting, peeling back layers to see the truth beneath.

“The usual,” he says, his voice steady, almost otherworldly in its conviction.

“Although one asked me for a woman. I told him we don’t roll that way.

” He pauses, then glances toward Ranger, his expression hardening further.

“It’s the guy who camps up near the creek.

It would pay for one of us to keep an eye on him.

I can’t prove it, but last year, an Inupiat woman went missing. ”

Before anyone can respond, Rooster lets out a low chuckle, a sound more like a rasping caw than laughter. His sharp, dark eyes gleam with mischief, his energy always teetering on the edge of chaos. “They go missing all the time. I wouldn’t worry about it. The local cops don’t do shit.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Prophet moves faster than anyone expects.

He snatches up his metal coffee cup and hurls it at Rooster with unerring accuracy.

It smacks him square in the face, spilling hot coffee down his front.

Rooster’s chair scrapes back as he surges to his feet, his wiry frame taut with anger, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Prophet growls, his voice low but laced with steel. “Just because the local cops have their fingers up their asses doesn’t mean the natives don’t count.”

Rooster wipes the coffee off his face, his movements sharp and jerky. He’s seconds away from pouncing. “She probably ran off!” he snaps, his voice rising in pitch, each word sharp as a talon.

Prophet leans forward, his presence somehow filling the room, his voice a quiet force that demands attention.

“Every year, at least 163 people go missing out here. Not all of them are found, and I’ve got a feeling about him.

You might think women, or anyone, for that matter, are disposable, but I don’t. In God’s eyes, we are all equal.”

“Get off your fucking high horse, Prophet. Not all of us need a sermon,” Rooster snaps back.

I stand, my movement commanding silence as every head turns my way. “Rooster, since you’re so concerned about the locals, you can babysit the asshole up north. And Prophet, don’t throw perfectly good coffee at anyone. Wasting it could get a man killed.”

I flick my gaze toward Stash, who has remained perfectly still through the exchange. His sharp eyes take in everything, a predator sizing up its next move. “Thanks for keeping on top of things.”

Leaning forward over the table, I sweep my gaze across the room. “Now, is there anything else I should know?”

Kyler, our newest member, shifts uneasily in his seat, his pale gray eyes darting between Vex and me. He’s young, eager, and trying to find his place among us. “I was hoping someone would take me hunting,” he says, his voice steady, but there’s a hint of desperation beneath it.

“Fuck no,” Vex snaps, his tone as cold as the winter that’s coming. He stands abruptly, his movements unnaturally smooth as if every muscle in his body is wound too tight. His dark eyes, almost black in the dim light of the hall, fix on me. “Are we done here?”

“Vex,” I say calmly, but there’s an edge to my tone. “He’s asking.”

Vex scoffs, his mouth curling into a sneer that reveals a brief flash of sharp teeth. “Prez, I want nothing to do with him. He’s an abomination.”

“How can you say that?” Kyler blurts out, leaning forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I’m like you.”

Vex lets out a low, humorless laugh that sends a shiver through the room. “ You are nothing like me.”

Kyler’s hands tremble slightly. “Then teach me. I’ve been here for a year, and it was agreed you’d help me, but you haven’t. I’ve been chasing fucking squirrels.” His voice cracks slightly as he looks at me, his expression raw with frustration. “I’m worried I’ll fuck it up and hurt someone.”

I turn my attention to Vex, who stands frozen, his jaw clenched tight. His body radiates tension, a predator forced into a corner. “Vex?”

He stares at me, his mouth twisting to one side, clearly weighing his options.

I know he doesn’t want to help Kyler. Hell, it’s written all over his face.

But Kyler is right. If he doesn’t step in, someone could get hurt, and that’s a problem none of us can afford.

The last thing we need is rangers or cops poking around if Kyler kills a person by mistake.

“Fine,” Vex finally grits out, the word sounding as if it physically pains him. He turns sharply and heads for the door, his movements a blur of controlled rage. Before stepping outside, he pauses, glancing back at me. “Are we done, Prez ?”

I meet Kyler’s eyes, offering him a reassuring wink. The poor kid looks like he’s seconds away from losing his breakfast all over our club table. “We’re done, VP . You can go.”

Vex doesn’t say another word as he disappears outside, and Kyler slumps back into his chair, exhaling sharply. I watch him for a moment. He’s trying, but trying doesn’t count for much around here. Survival does.