Page 2

The final image made everything crystallize.

A wide shot of the chapel at Riverside Gardens, Mandy and Thor's chosen wedding venue.

Taken from the hill overlooking the property, showing every entrance, every exit, every place a shooter could position himself.

In the corner of the photo, barely visible, a surveyor's marker. They'd been measuring distances.

Eight weeks until the wedding. Eight weeks for the Serpents to perfect their plan.

I closed the folder, leaned back in my chair. The office felt smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. All my preparation, all my security measures, and I'd missed this until almost too late. They'd been patient, methodical, professional. Everything a good enemy should be.

But they'd made one mistake. They'd let me see the pattern.

And that’s all I needed.

K ing's Tavern sat quiet in the pre-dawn darkness, a sleeping giant waiting to wake. I pulled into the empty lot at 6:30, half an hour before anyone else would arrive. The neon signs were dark, the bikes that usually lined the front absent. Just me and the weight of what I had to say.

My key turned in the lock with a familiar click.

The door swung open to release the mingled scents of last night—cigarette smoke, spilled beer, leather, and that indefinable smell that marked this place as ours.

Home, in every way that mattered. I flicked on the lights, watching them buzz to life, casting pools of amber across scarred wooden floors.

The meeting room sat at the back, past the bar and pool tables.

More private than the main floor, with thick walls that had heard decades of club business.

Votes taken, wars planned, brothers mourned.

The weight of history pressed down from the exposed beams, whispered from the photographs lining the walls.

Duke's father stared down from one of them, Big Mike in his prime, arms crossed, cut pristine. Watching. Always watching.

I spread my materials across the massive oak table, careful not to scratch the surface.

Duke's father had built this table with his own hands, spent months getting the grain just right.

You could still see the axe marks underneath if you knew where to look, proof that beauty came from violence properly applied. Just like the club itself.

The surveillance photos went down first, arranged in a timeline that told the story without words.

Serpents at the warehouse. Amy at the hospital.

Mandy leaving work. Each image another piece of evidence, another reason for war.

I'd printed them on heavy stock, laminated the key ones.

Details mattered when you were trying to change minds.

My tactical recommendations came next. Security protocols, personnel assignments, budget requirements. Everything Duke would need to make decisions, laid out with military precision. No emotion, just facts. Let the photos provide the gut punch. The recommendations would show the path forward.

Coffee. The ancient pot behind the bar gurgled to life as I measured grounds with the same precision I applied to everything else.

While it brewed, I changed into my cut. The support shirt was fine for working, but this was official business.

The leather settled across my shoulders like armor, patches proclaiming my place in this family.

Secretary patch on the left, military service pin below it, years of membership marked in subtle ways only brothers would recognize.

I'd earned every thread, every piece of brass.

That had to count for something when I stood up and told them our enemies were circling.

I caught my reflection in the window—tired eyes, set jaw, shoulders square.

Looked like a man preparing for a briefing that could go sideways.

Which wasn't far from the truth. Duke trusted me, but he also knew my tendency to see threats everywhere.

Thor would follow Duke's lead, unless something hit close to home. Then all bets were off.

Through the window, headlights swept across the parking lot.

Duke's Road King pulled in first, chrome catching the security lights.

He moved with that easy confidence that marked him as a leader, every motion deliberate but relaxed.

Thor's truck followed, music thumping loud enough to rattle windows.

He'd never learned subtlety, probably never would. Different approaches, same destination.

My spine straightened automatically. Muscle memory from a hundred briefings, presenting bad news to officers who didn't want to hear it.

The difference was those officers couldn't ignore intel that might get soldiers killed.

Duke and Thor could decide I was being paranoid, file this under Tyson's military mindset seeing enemies everywhere.

I arranged the photos one more time, ensuring the most damning evidence sat front and center. Amy at the hospital. Mandy under surveillance. The chapel marked for angles and distances. Let them try to dismiss those as paranoia.

The front door opened, boots on hardwood announcing their arrival. Duke's measured stride, Thor's heavier tread. They were talking, Thor's laugh echoing off the walls.

I poured three cups of coffee, black as midnight. Set them at the head of the table and the two seats flanking it. Duke's position, Thor to his right, me standing to present. Protocol mattered, even here. Especially here.

"Morning, brother." Duke's voice carried through the doorway. "You're here early."

"Couldn't sleep." True enough.

They entered together, filling the room with their presence. Duke's eyes swept the table, cataloging the spread of materials in one glance. His expression didn't change, but I caught the slight tension in his shoulders. He knew this wasn't a social call.

Thor was less subtle. "Fuck me, that's a lot of paper. We declaring war on trees now?"

"Have a seat." I kept my voice level, professional. "Coffee's fresh."

They settled into their chairs, leather creaking under their weight. Duke picked up his mug, eyes never leaving the photos. Thor sprawled back, trying to look casual, but I could see his focus sharpening as he recognized faces in the images.

"Talk to us, Ty." Duke's tone was neutral, giving nothing away. "What are we looking at?"

I took a breath, felt the weight of the moment. Everything depended on the next few minutes. Make them see. Make them understand. Make them believe.

"The Serpents are planning a coordinated strike." The words dropped into silence like stones into still water. "And I can prove it."

Time to begin.

I stood because sitting felt wrong. Old habits from briefing rooms where bad news traveled better from someone on their feet. The laser pointer felt familiar in my hand, a small piece of control in a room about to explode.

"Pattern analysis indicates a three-phase operation." I kept my voice steady, clicking the pointer toward the first set of photos. "Phase one: intelligence gathering. Currently active for six weeks."

The red dot circled a timestamp. "This is the Riverside Warehouse, two miles from our eastern territory line. Dead for three years until six weeks ago." Click. New image. "Now we have Serpents meeting with unfamiliar players three times a week, always after midnight."

Duke leaned forward, coffee forgotten. That was good—I had his attention. Thor stayed sprawled, but his eyes tracked every movement of the pointer.

"These aren't local muscle." Next image, enhanced zoom on neck tattoos. "Las Cruces Cartel."

"Cartel?" Thor's casual pose evaporated.

"Former military, current cartel soldiers." I moved to the next board. "Which brings us to phase two: resource acquisition."

The photos told their own story. Delivery trucks at the warehouse, crates being unloaded, inventory sheets I'd pulled from a source I wouldn't name.

"Bulk ammunition purchases through shell companies.

Three thousand rounds of 5.56, fifteen hundred of 9mm, five hundred 12-gauge shells.

Either they're planning for World War Three or they're supplying an army. "

Duke's frown deepened with each image. Good. Let him see what I'd seen, feel what I'd felt watching our enemies arm themselves.

"Personnel acquisition." New photos. "Fifteen confirmed Las Cruces soldiers rotating through town, staying in three separate safe houses.

" I'd marked the locations on the map, red pins forming a triangle around our territory.

"Here, here, and here. Strategic positioning for multiple approach vectors. "

"How long?" Duke's question cut through my presentation.

"Six weeks of buildup, accelerating in the last two." I clicked to the timeline chart. "Which brings us to phase three."

The family photos. I'd saved them for maximum impact, arranged them so the threat would be undeniable. "Target selection and vulnerability assessment."

Click. Wiz's sister at her car. "Mesa Community College, class schedule mapped, walking routes identified."

Click. "AA meetings, St. Catherine's, Tuesday evenings."

Click. “Oncology unit—”

"They're targeting families." Duke's voice had gone cold, that particular stillness that preceded violence.

"Every major member." I spread out the rest. "Sixty-three surveillance photos, seventeen locations. They know our patterns, our weaknesses, our pressure points."

The room temperature seemed to drop as I revealed photo after photo. Duke's mother's apartment. Thor's favorite diner. The daycare where one of our prospects dropped off his daughter. Each image another violation, another line crossed.

"This isn't random violence." I set down the pointer, let my hands rest flat on the table. "This is professional intelligence work. Entry and exit routes documented, security gaps identified, response times calculated. Someone with training is running this operation."