Page 73 of The Order of Disorder

Cricket doesn’t look up. “You just noticing that now?”

Jade snorts, still scrolling. “These fucking politicians, man. Listen to this: ‘Senator Jack Hargrove found semi-conscious and undressed at the Astoria Grand in Redwater. Paramedics responded to an anonymous call. Hotel room reportedly contained large quantities of GHB as well as several thousand dollars in unmarked bills.’”

My hands go still. Fingers falter. Blood floods my ears.

Jade keeps going, her voice slowing. “Not party doses. Like, industrial quantities. Staff says a young woman ran before EMTs got there.”

Cricket rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Then Jade goes quiet.

Her face changes. Mouth tight. Eyes still on the screen.

“‘Sources say items recovered at the scene have heightened suspicions of financial ties between Senator Jack Hargrove and outlaw motorcycle club the Order of Disorder.’”

Cricket’s head snaps up. “What?”

The shirt slips from my hands, my pulse hammers under my collarbone like it’s trying to dig its way out.

Lani, who’s labeling fuel jugs one table over, leans back and peers over Jade’s shoulder.

“No way,” she murmurs. “That real?”

She pulls out her own phone. A second later, so do two more women. The buzz of talk picks up.

Someone at the vending machine says, “Holy shit, that’s the Astoria Grand,” and suddenly three people are huddled around his screen. Another voice cuts in—“Look, it says the Order of Disorder”—and that’s enough. Phones come out of pockets all around us.

Conversations fracture and re-form. Names whispered, sentences dropped mid-word. Everyone trying to confirm what they’re hearing while pretending not to look panicked.

Then—

The office door slams open. Billy storms out, phone clenched in his fist, face pale with fury, with Silas following close on his heels.

There are maybe fifteen people scattered across the floor—old ladies, prospects, patched members. Most of them are holding phones now. A few are whispering. Others just staring attheir screens, brows drawn tight. The ones who’ve seen the story are already showing it to the ones who haven’t.

Lani has her hand over her mouth. Cricket’s muttering something under her breath. Jade’s still frozen with her phone in her lap, like she doesn’t trust herself to scroll anymore.

Billy strides straight into it. Grabs a tablet from one guy and hurls it, the crack of plastic on concrete drawing every eye. He snatches a phone from another and throws it hard against a tool chest.

“Off!” he shouts. “Everything. No phones, no earbuds, no fucking signals. Silas, kill the wifi.”

Silas lifts a hand and gestures to a tech prospect near the side door. The kid bolts.

Billy turns in a slow circle, eyes landing on anyone still holding a device.

“One more screen, and I start pulling tongues. Clear?”

The phones disappear. So do the voices.

His stare locks on me.

Then he’s moving—three steps, fast. He grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet, the chair scraping back and crashing over.

“What did you fucking do?” His voice rips through the hangar.

“Nothing!” It jumps out of me, automatic and panicked.

He grabs my shirt and yanks me close.