Page 12

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ruger

Something soft brushes against my face, jerking me from a deep sleep.

I reach for my gun automatically, eyes snapping open.

"Jesus, relax," Bailey says, stepping back with her hands raised. "Just trying to wake you up."

I blink, disoriented, and glance at the empty space beside me. "Where's Tildie?"

Bailey's lips curl into a smirk. "Don't know. Don't care. But you need to get your ass up. Your cousin's here."

"My what?" The fog of sleep clears instantly as memories of last night slam back.

Kinsey. Striker's daughter.

"The college bitch. She's at the gate. Ounce let her in."

I swing my legs off the bed, suddenly aware I'm wearing nothing but boxers. "Get the fuck out."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Her eyes linger, the smirk still firmly in place. "Though the view's not bad."

"Bailey." My voice drops to a dangerous register. "Never step foot in my place again. My ol' lady or a fuckin' officer could've come to get me. Not you. Understand?"

Her smirk falters. "Your ol' lady ? Since when?"

"Since none of your fuckin’ business. Now get the fuck out!"

She slams the door behind her, but I'm already pulling on jeans, my mind racing.

Kinsey showing up at the compound can't mean anything good.

It's either a trap or she's in trouble—neither option particularly appealing.

I grab my cut, checking the clock—9:17 AM.

It’s later than I've slept in years.

Memories of last night with Tildie flash through my mind, distracting me for a split second from the shit that’s already happening this morning.

Tildie—my woman, my ol' lady.

The title fits and it’s a decision I don't regret for a second.

The main room of the clubhouse is tense when I enter, brothers positioned strategically around the edges, hands never far from weapons.

In the center stands a young woman I've never seen before, but immediately recognize from Rookie's description.

Kinsey Callahan.

My secret cousin.

She's pretty in a hard-edged way, designer clothes and perfectly styled hair that screams money.

But what catches my attention is the ugly purple bruise blooming around her left eye.

Tildie stands near Bloodhound, both watching the newcomer with guarded expressions.

When she sees me, relief flashes across her face.

"Sorry, Prez," Ounce says, stepping forward. "Made a judgment call letting her in."

I nod once, eyes never leaving my cousin. "You got a death wish coming here?"

Kinsey raises her chin, defiance in her stance even with the fear evident in her eyes. "Depends on whether you're more like my father than people say."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

She gestures to her face. "This is what happens when you question dear old dad's plans. Thought you might be interested in hearing about them, unless you prefer to shoot the messenger."

Bloodhound shifts beside me. "Could be a setup."

"Could be," I agree. "But we're going to hear her out."

I motion toward my office. "In private."

"Fuck that," Bloodhound counters. "She doesn't get one-on-one with you."

He's right. Basic security protocol. "Fine. You, me, Ounce. And Tildie."

Surprise flickers across several faces at my inclusion of Tildie, but no one argues.

Her connection to Marco makes her involvement necessary.

Once we're settled in my office, I lean against the desk, studying the young woman before me.

The family resemblance is subtle but unmistakable—something in the set of her jaw, the shape of her eyes that mirrors my own, my father's.

"Talk," I order.

She takes a deep breath. "My father isn't who I thought he was."

"No shit."

"I never knew him growing up. My mom—Raven—she told me stories about this great man who had to leave us behind. Made him sound like some tragic hero." Bitterness creeps into her voice. "When he came back into our lives three years ago, I thought I was finally getting the father I'd always wanted."

Bloodhound interrupts. "Is there a point to this?"

She shoots him a glare. "The point is I believed him when he said he was exiled because of you ." She nods toward me. "Said you'd betrayed him, taken the club, took his woman for yourself. I believed him because I wanted to."

"And now?" I press.

"Now I know he's a fucking liar." Her hand unconsciously touches her bruised face. "Two days ago, I overheard him talking with Viper—the man who raised me before Dad came into the picture. They were arguing about Marco Santini and some bartender."

Tildie stiffens beside me.

"Viper was pissed, saying Striker promised them exclusive distribution rights in Morgantown but was double-dealing with Santini. When I confronted him afterward..." She gestures to her eye. "Got this for my trouble. Said I should mind my own business if I knew what was good for me."

"So you came running to us," Ounce says skeptically. "Why?"

"Because Viper's been good to me, and he’s my godfather." The answer surprises me. "He took me under his wing when Striker brought us to Pittsburgh. Treated me like the daughter he never had. And now my father's setting him up, playing the Vultures against you, all to help this Santini asshole get his ex back."

I have to clarify. "You're saying Viper doesn't know that Striker's double crossing him?"

"He suspects, but doesn't have proof. My father's been careful, using me to feed information to your prospect while feeding Viper false intel from supposed contacts here."

The pieces start falling into place. "That's why Striker's been so blatant about framing us. He wanted to ensure Viper would retaliate."

"War benefits Santini," Kinsey confirms. "While you and the Vultures are tearing each other apart, he slips in and grabs what he's after." Her eyes flick to Tildie. "You, I assume."

Tildie meets her gaze unflinchingly. "Marco doesn't like losing what he considers his property."

"Yeah, I got that impression." Kinsey's expression softens slightly. "He's been staying at the Marriott downtown. Striker meets with him daily, usually around 6 PM."

"How convenient that you're offering this information now," Bloodhound says. "After months of helping Striker spy on us."

"I didn't know what they were planning until two days ago!" She leans forward, desperation in her voice. "I thought I was helping my father reclaim what was rightfully his. Then I realized he's the exact monster everyone warned me about."

"Including Rookie?" Ounce asks.

Her expression crumples slightly. "Yeah. He tried to tell me Striker wasn't the victim he claimed to be. I didn't listen. I… I genuinely wanted to believe my father was a good man, but the moment he put his hands on me, I knew better."

Something about her remorse feels genuine, but I've been fooled before. "Why should we trust anything you're saying?"

"Because Viper's planning to hit one of your warehouses tonight. South side, the one near the old factory. And my father's going to be there, pretending to help while ensuring maximum casualties on both sides."

The specificity gets my attention. "How do you know this?"

"Because I drove Striker to the planning meeting yesterday." She pulls out her phone. "And I recorded it."

She swipes through, then holds it out.

Ounce takes it, checking for anything suspicious before pressing play.

Striker's voice fills the room, unmistakable even through the phone's speaker.

"—ambush will work perfectly. Saint's Outlaws will be caught completely unprepared, and we'll make it look like they fired first. After that, Viper will have no choice but to declare open war."

A second voice, unfamiliar: "And while they're decimating each other, I get Elizabeth back."

"Exactly. By the time the dust settles, you'll be long gone with your woman, and I'll have rid myself of my ungrateful nephew once and for all."

The recording ends, leaving heavy silence.

"That enough proof for you?" Kinsey asks.

I exchange looks with Bloodhound and Ounce.

The recording could be fabricated, but the details align too perfectly with what we've already uncovered.

"What do you want in exchange for this information?" I ask.

"Protection." She says it without hesitation. "My father knows I heard too much. If he finds me, I'm dead, or worse."

"And Rookie?" Ounce asks. "Was he just a means to an end for you?"

Something complicated crosses her face. "It started that way. It didn't end that way."

Before we can dig into the conversation further, a knock at the door interrupts us.

Maddox pokes his head in. "Prez, got an urgent call from Porter. Someone hit the north side garage. Torched three bikes and left a Vultures patch."

"When?"

"About twenty minutes ago."

I glance at Kinsey. "Your father's busy today."

"It's a distraction," she says immediately. "He's trying to spread your forces thin before tonight."

The assessment matches my own thoughts—which either means she's telling the truth or she's an excellent manipulator.

Either way, we need to move quickly.

"Maddox, call church. Everyone in thirty minutes. Ounce, verify what Kinsey's told us about the Marriott. And find Rookie—keep him away from her for now."

As they file out, I turn to Tildie. "Stay with Bloodhound. Don't leave the club’s property for any reason until I get back."

She raises an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"To stop a war." I pull her close, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Back soon."

"Be careful," she whispers, echoing last night's words.

"Always am."

As I turn to leave, Kinsey speaks up. "What about me?"

I study her for a moment.

The bruise around her eye is darkening by the hour, a familiar pattern I've seen too many times on Ellie.

"Bloodhound will find you somewhere to stay. You don't leave the compound, don't contact anyone outside, don't speak to anyone but officers." I step closer, voice dropping. "And if this is a trap, cousin or not, I'll handle you personally. Understand?"

She swallows but holds my gaze. "Perfectly."

***

Three hours later, I'm sitting across from Viper in a neutral meeting spot—a diner halfway between our territories.

Two VP's and two Sergeants at Arms flank each of us, enough firepower to handle trouble but not enough to start a war.

Viper hasn't changed much since I last saw him—mid-forties, weathered face, calculating eyes that miss nothing.

He studies me over the rim of his coffee cup. "Bold move, requesting a meet after torching our clubhouse."

"Bolder move, accepting after hitting my garage," I counter.

A flicker of confusion crosses his face. "What garage?"

"North side. This morning. Your patch was left behind."

He sets his cup down slowly. "We didn't hit any garage."

"Just like we didn't torch your clubhouse."

He’s putting the dots together. "Someone's playing us."

"Not just someone—Striker." I slide a phone across the table—Kinsey's, with the recording cued up. "Listen."

He does, face darkening with each word.

When it ends, he pushes the phone back toward me. "Where'd you get this?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

I weigh the risks of revealing Kinsey's involvement.

If Viper truly cares for her as she claimed, it could help our case. If not, I've just endangered a potential asset. "Your goddaughter brought it to me."

Surprise, then concern flash across his face. "Kinsey? Is she?—"

"Safe. For now. Sporting a nasty shiner courtesy of her father."

His jaw tightens. "Struck his own daughter?"

"Just like he used to beat his wife. Some men don't change."

Viper sits back, digesting this.

I can see what’s happening behind his eyes, the way he’s trying not to let his anger force him into a decision, but he cares for Kinsey, that much I’m sure of. "The warehouse hit tonight," he says finally. "It's a setup."

"Designed to start a war that benefits no one but Striker and his new friend Santini." I lean forward. "I've got no beef with the Vultures. Never have. Territory disputes, sure. Business disagreements, inevitable. But all-out war? Waste of resources, waste of lives."

"Agreed." Viper nods slowly. "So what's your play?"

"We show up as planned. But instead of killing each other, we grab Striker. Settle this once and for all."

"And Santini?"

I think of Tildie, of the fear that still shadows her eyes sometimes. "He's mine to deal with."

Viper studies me for a long moment. "The bartender. She yours?"

"She's my ol’ lady."

He nods, a decision made. "Then we have a temporary alliance. Tonight, we take Striker. After that, we negotiate new terms between our clubs."

We shake on it, both wanting revenge against the man who betrayed us both.

Back at the compound, I find Tildie talking to Kinsey.

They both look up when I enter, an odd solidarity between them that wasn't there when I left.

"How'd it go?" Tildie asks.

"Viper's on board. We move on Striker tonight."

Relief crosses Kinsey's face. "He believed you?"

"The recording helped. So did your connection to him." I settle beside Tildie, noting how she leans subtly into me. "He seemed genuinely concerned about you."

"Viper was more of a father to me over the years than Striker ever was, even after Striker showed back up…" Bitterness tinges her voice. "Guess I know why now."

Tildie's expression shifts, something like understanding passing between the women.

I'm reminded that they share more than just a connection to this situation—both have been used by men who claimed to care for them.

"Have you seen Rookie?" Kinsey asks suddenly.

"Not my concern right now." Her face falls at my dismissal. "We've got bigger problems than your relationship drama."

"Ruger," Tildie says quietly, her hand finding mine. "She's been helping us understand Marco's movements. Apparently, he and Striker have been nearly inseparable."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Kinsey nods. "Marco's obsessed with getting her back." She nods toward Tildie. "Talks about her constantly according to my father. Has some fucked up idea that she belongs to him, that she'll be grateful when he 'rescues' her from the bikers who 'corrupted' her."

The description fits with everything Tildie's told me about her ex. "Where is he now?"

"Still at the Marriott, as far as I know. Sixth floor, corner suite. Paid through the end of the month."

"He's not leaving without me," Tildie says softly.

"No, he's not." I squeeze her hand. "Because we're going to handle him first."

Bloodhound appears at the door. "Prez, everything’s set for tonight. Brothers are getting into position."

"Good. We roll in two hours." I stand, turning to Kinsey. "You're staying here under guard. If everything goes as planned, you'll be reunited with Viper tomorrow."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we're all fucked, and family ties won't save you."

Her jaw sets in a stubborn line that reminds me eerily of my own. "I want to see Rookie before you go."

"Not happening."

"Please. Just for a minute." Something vulnerable crosses her face. "I need to tell him I'm sorry. That I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

I'm about to refuse again when Tildie speaks up. "Let her see him. If you have to, let someone watch them."

I glance at her, surprised by the intervention. "Why?"

"Because regret is a heavy thing to carry," she says simply. "And we all deserve a chance to apologize for our mistakes."

The wisdom in her words strikes something in me.

I nod to Bloodhound. "Five minutes. Supervised."

After they leave, I turn to Tildie. "Since when are you shipping Rookie and Kinsey’s romance?"

"I'm not." She stands, wrapping her arms around my waist. "But I see something in her I recognize. The realization that the man you trusted has been manipulating you all along. It breaks something inside you."

I pull her closer, hating the pain in her voice. "Marco will never touch you again. I promise you that."

"I know." She looks up, determination hardening her features. "Because I want to be there when you confront him."

"Absolutely fuckin’ not."

"I need to face him, Ruger. Need to show him he doesn't control me anymore. That I'm not afraid." Her hands tighten on my cut. "Please. I've spent seven months running from that man. I'm done running."

Every instinct screams to keep her as far from Marco as possible.

But the strength in her eyes, the strength in her voice—this isn't the woman who came to me terrified after finding a note on her car.

This is my ol’ lady, standing tall even though I know she’s terrified deep down.

"We'll discuss it after we deal with Striker," I give in. "But you stay at the club tonight while we’re out handlin’ shit. Non-negotiable."

She nods, accepting the compromise. "Be careful out there. Striker's desperate, and desperate men are dangerous."

"I know." I cup her face in my hands. "But so am I when someone threatens what's mine."

I kiss her deep and slow, like I'm memorizing the taste of her, my hands tangling in her hair.

I’m going to see her again, and that much is certain.

I leave her to get ready with my brothers, making sure we have enough weapons and ammunition for the fight tonight.

We even go over some final plans, and suddenly it’s been two hours and I'm leading a group of brothers toward the warehouse.

Viper will approach from the east with his men, while we come in from the west.

Striker will ultimately be caught in the crossfire and will have nowhere to run.

As we ride through the gathering dusk, I think of Tildie waiting safely at the compound, of Aunt Ellie who will finally be free from Striker's shadow, of the club I've rebuilt from the ashes of my uncle's leadership.

Whatever happens tonight, I'll protect what's mine.

I've lost too much already to lose anything—anyone—else.

The warehouse is ahead, dark and seemingly abandoned. Perfect for an ambush. Perfect for putting an end to this once and for all.

I signal my brothers to take their positions, my heart hammering in my chest. This all ends tonight.