Page 26

Sypher

July 25, 2024, apartment in New York City,

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“What I said,” Matthew Law growled. “Fucker was in the server room, and when I went to check on him, he was gone. He fucking wiped everything, Sypher. All the data is gone. Fucker set off an EMP. Everything within the building went dark, even our fucking phones. The FBI is losing their shit. They are using landlines to contact the fucking Hoover Building.”

“Where is the rest of the team?”

“As soon as the EMP went off, we fucking jetted. We’re holed up in one of our safe houses somewhere in bumfuck Georgia.”

“This will work,” I muttered, my head spinning with the possibilities. “Look, Law, I need you to find Ace fast. As soon as the FEDs learn what Ace did, they will issue warrants for your arrests, and when they can’t find you guys, it won’t be long before they come after me, Dante, and Phantom.”

“You need to give us time to find Ace.”

“We can give you a few weeks, but the second we hack into the Hoover Building, they will know it’s us, and if I’m correct, they won’t take us to the Hoover Building. They will take us straight to the off-site installation. Once I’m inside, that gives you a way in.”

“How so?”

“Because I’ve been playing around with an experimental tracking device I’m kind of dying to try out. If I plant the fucking thing in my eye, it will give you a clear video of my entrance into the fucking place.”

“And with that, I would have all the access codes,” Matthew stated.

“And the current layout of the inside.”

“Fuck, that would work.” He laughed.

“But you’ll need to find Ace fast, ‘cause it’s his tech. I modified it, but only Ace knows how to access it.”

“Jesus fuck,” Law cursed. “You two and your fucking tech. If you two ever get your heads out of your asses, together you two would be unstoppable. Is there any place you can think of Ace would go?”

“No. He wouldn’t bring heat down on the family, so they are out. You know him better than I do, Law. I was thirteen when he left home for the military. Just find him.”

“Fine. I’ll find the fucker, but I need you to wipe Harbor Security, ‘cause it won’t be long before the fucking FEDs raid the place.”

“Already on it,” I said, sending a Trojan horse into the system to eat and destroy all the information stored in the servers at the Harbor on 5 th . “Place will be clean within the hour.”

“Contact Delta Team and tell Merc his team needs to run point. I can’t pull Beta and Charlie teams. Merc needs to cover for the rest of the teams until we’re in the clear and have him send me Gadget.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a man fucking down until I fucking find Ace. Then I need you to contact Lucifer Hawk and tell him ‘Boots on the Ground.’ He will know what that means. After that, you need to prepare yourself, because you are about to walk into the lion’s den. Until I can get to you and the others, you need to stay alive. Got me?”

“Yeah. I got you.”

“Good. I need to go. We’re moving out.”

Leaning back in my chair, my mind swam with what Law said. While I knew the FBI would center the majority of their search on Alpha Team, they wouldn’t come for me until I breached their building. So that gave me time. Time Law needed to find my brother. What I wanted to know was what Ace found that spooked him. Whatever it was, had to be big, because my brother never deviated from any mission. He was as solid as they came. Which told me it could only be one thing. He found information on someone close to him. Someone he would die to protect. Which narrowed down the possibilities, and when I really thought about it, I knew which family member he was protecting.

Reaching for my phone, I dialed his number.

Leaning forward in my chair, the call connected.

“Hey, kid. What’s up?”

“Your past is out in the open.”

Silence.

“I can give you a few months, but I suggest you come clean with the club fast. You knew this wasn’t something you could run from forever. Talk to Reaper and come up with a plan.”

“Does he know?”

“Called you first.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I really am.”

“I know,” he murmured before hanging up on me.

I hated this shit for Jackson. I really did, but there was nothing I or the club could do to stop the nightmare that was about to befall him. Soon he would have to make a choice, and I knew that choice would take him away from us, because when the biker world learned who Jackson really was, it would be a free-for-all to see who could get to him first, and when the dust settled, it would change the landscape of the biker world forever.

I learned the truth after I helped the club locate Bipartisan Aces, also known as the Collector , Sebastian Capribella, Layla’s biological dad. What I did that day for the club solidified my standing within the club and inadvertently changed my life forever.

“Here, boy, sit here,” my dad said, getting up from his seat, letting me sit at the head of the table.

Doing so, the club brothers got up and gathered around me as I spoke. “This right here was his last known location. We know he flew out of this small airport when he took Mr. Reaper’s wife.”

“Not my wife,” Mr. Reaper said, then grinned at me. “Yet.”

Nodding, I continued, “From there, the plane landed here in Louisiana. There was a Twitter update .3 seconds later from that exact location from a person by the name of Bipartisan Aces, saying ‘Pizza is here.’ From that point, the trail went cold until he reappeared on the dark web and purchased Mr. Ghost’s wife. But something was funny about that Twitter handle. It bugged me. So, while y’all were talking, I took a better look at it, and then I realized what it was, an anagram.”

“A what?” Mr. Reaper asked.

“An anagram. You take any name, mix around the words to create another. Bipartisan Aces is also Sebastian Capri.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Reaper asked.

“Boss, Sebastian Capri is one of the wealthiest men in the world,” Phantom stated. “I’m talking untouchable rich. He’s known for making or breaking politicians, movie stars, banks, you name it. Hell, he fully funded the current president’s re-election campaign, and it didn’t even put a dent in his wallet. He runs the world from his desk. Nobody does anything without his permission, and he can make you disappear without a trace.”

“What else, boy?” my dad asked, pride shining in his eyes.

“Ms. Phantom is right, Dad. Mr. Capri is untouchable. The second I started a search on him, my computer was tagged. I’m running a back trace now, but whoever is on the other end is better than me.”

“Fuck, kid, no one is better than you,” Jackson stated proudly, and my heart swelled.

“If this man, Mr. Capri, is the Collector, and I am 90% sure he is, there is no way anyone can get to him unless he allows it. He is guarded twenty-four seven by fourteen armed mercenaries. He’s never been in the same place for long. He travels by plane, jumping in and out of the dead spots.”

“Dead what?”

“Dead spots. When you fly, there is a projected path most planes take. That’s how air-traffic controllers keep the friendly skies safe. Basically, everyone stays in their lane, kind of like driving on the interstate. Those who don’t want to be seen will fly around those areas, the dead areas. Typically, those areas are designated for military and high-ranking officials around the world, but if you know the patterns, it’s easy enough to figure out.”

“I can’t even figure out my Roomba,” Mr. Massacre whispered, shaking his head.

“So, what makes you think this Capri guy is the Collector?” Mr. Reaper asked.

“Well, for starters, the anagram. Then there are numerous cryptic messages he’s posted, which I am running a program to decipher. Also, every time he did post, this Sabastian Capri was in the area for some function or another. Then there is the plane itself. When I skimmed Matrix’s and Phantom’s hard drives, I noticed the plane in question was registered to Thomas Collingsworth, but if they dug deeper, they would have seen the actual bill of sale. Collingsworth’s name may be on the title, but Capri bought it.”

“Matrix? Phantom?” Mr. Reaper asked.

“Sypher’s right, boss. I can’t believe I missed that,” Phantom admitted.

“Same here, boss,” added Matrix.

“So where is Capri now?” Mr. Reaper asked.

“He’s in Washington D.C. at the Press Gallery Dinner.”

“Is there any way you can track his movements, boy?”

“Sure, Dad, as long as Bipartisan Aces keeps posting to his social media accounts and there is some function that Mr. Capri attends, I can verify everything.”

“Okay,” my dad said, lightly nudging me so he could sit in his seat again. I immediately got up. “That’s one fucker we can keep tabs on. Now, what about the other? This fucking cult is not getting my baby girl. Anyone got any ideas?”

The room went eerily silent.

After Dad and Reaper dismissed the brothers, Mr. Reaper cleared his throat. “Kid. Stay for a minute.”

Nodding, I stood in my spot when my dad pointed to the chair next to him. I wasn’t a patched brother, so I didn’t deserve to sit at the table unless ordered to. Sitting down, it felt strange sitting where the club brothers sat, almost like I was a phony, someone playing at being a brother.

Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Reaper rubbed his chin as he took a good look at me. If it were anyone else, the scrutiny wouldn’t have bothered me, but this was Reaper, the president of the Golden Skulls. The man was already legendary, even at his age.

“How good are you with that computer?”

Looking down, I whispered, “I’m better than okay, I guess.”

“Head up, boy,” my dad growled, and I immediately looked at Mr. Reaper.

Mr. Reaper’s eyes narrowed while he slowly sat up. “Prove it. What can you tell me about the president of the Brotherhood of Bastards?”

Gulping, I looked at my dad, who said nothing as he just stared at me. “Well, they are a 1%er club out of Kansas. Morpheus is the president—,”

“No, kid.” Mr. Reaper shook his head. “Tell me something I don’t know about him.”

“Like what?”

Mr. Reaper shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “You tell me.”

Opening my laptop, the cool metal felt smooth against my fingertips as I took a deep breath and started typing. I was completely in the dark as to the nature of the information or knowledge that Mr. Reaper desired. In the absence of any specific parameters to guide my search, I cast a wide net, yielding a multitude of potential results, yet an inner voice cautioned me that none of these discoveries matched what Mr. Reaper was seeking. With a frown etched upon my face, I sat up straighter in my seat and delved deeper into the investigation, focusing my attention specifically on the club’s president, Morpheus, as Mr. Reaper had explicitly requested information concerning him. The narrowing of my search revealed a wide range of incriminating evidence pertaining to Morpheus, with discoveries including highly classified materials that detailed a relationship with a woman named Jane Craven, the proprietor of a South Miami, Florida establishment called the Trick Pony, and her connection to a mysterious organization referred to as the Society. Driven by curiosity, I investigated further into the mysterious abyss. My eyes fell upon the information Mr. Reaper clearly intended for me to discover, as a tidal wave of data opened up before me.

Abruptly snapping my head in his direction, I offered no response when Mr. Reaper smiled, his attention shifting to my father. “You’re right, Moonshine. The kid is better than good. It took him like two minutes to find what the club had buried deep. Fuck me, I think he’s even better than Matrix and Phantom and that’s saying something.”

“Boy is too damn smart for his own good. If he ain’t careful it will come to bite him in the ass one day.”

“But not today.” Mr. Reaper chuckled, slapping my dad on the back. “Alright, kid, now that you know the score. I need you to make damn sure no one ever finds out. Got me? He is your number one priority.”

Gulping, I slowly nodded.

“Good, because his life is now in your hands.” Mr. Reaper got to his feet along with my dad. “Oh, and you work for me. When I call, you better be ready to work.”

That day marked a profound and irreversible turning point in my life, forever altering its course and direction. The day I learned the truth about Jackson and revealed the club’s nefarious activities, I felt the full impact in my gut, and I’d been tight-lipped about it all ever since.

It wasn’t easy knowing everything and not able to say a damn word. After that day, Reaper and I had many conversations to discuss and plan out the club’s next move, with one goal in mind. To remove any threat to the Golden Skulls forever. And for the last several years, that’s exactly what I helped Reaper do, never forgetting my main objective.

Now that the genie was out of the bottle, there was nothing I could do to stop what came next. Not even Reaper could. All we could do was try to contain the fallout and protect Jackson as best we could, because when the biker world learned that Morpheus fathered a son, blood would run.