Page 11 of Unmasked Anarchy (Fallen Sons MC #3)

I stare at the row of cars, and my eyes widen.

Gage’s entire business is scrap and salvage.

He gets truckloads of scrap cars, strips them down and sells the parts, or fixes the cars and sends them on their way.

I know it is a front, I know that the club hides guns and drugs in the cars so they can move them around.

Usually they weld secret boxes to the frames or come up with other clever ways to hide them, so even if they are pulled over nothing is found.

This, though, this is far, far bigger than a few small guns and drugs.

This ... is dangerous.

This ... is big time.

In front of me are boxes of sniper rifles.

I know them, because my one unfortunate skill is that I am incredible with a gun.

When my father was alive, he raised me shooting, and I always had an eye for it.

After he died, and I was left to my drug addict mother, it was my only escape.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’s part of the reason Gage keeps me around.

Not only am I helpful in a heated situation, I know my way around a gun.

I hate to admit that I have done more than my fair share of long-range shooting for the club.

Death doesn’t scare me like it should.

Gage reaches down when I don’t say anything.

He yanks a gun up, turning toward me, a cold, long, shiny black weapon—beautiful, but dangerous.

So fucking dangerous. These are long range sniper rifles and wouldn’t have been easy for him to come across.

They’re not something that most people could get a hold of.

“What the fuck is this, Gage?” I whisper hiss, shaking my head.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s money, Sable. It’s a fuckin’ fortune. Bigger than anything we’ve ever done.”

I reach out and drag my finger over the cold steel. “You’re working with the cartel moving guns?”

He shrugs, and for a moment I see the smallest flicker of unease in his gaze.

“We run guns. That’s our legacy. Might as well make it count.

With these shipments, we triple the bankroll.

That means better everything for you, for me, for the whole crew.

Only thing I need? Make sure the product isn’t shit. ”

I almost laugh. “You want me to quality check the sniper rifles you’re moving across the damn country for criminals who could kill you without a second thought?”

He leans in, closing the gap between us. “That’s exactly what I’m doin'. I want to make sure everything I’m bein’ told is legit. You know guns better than anyone I know.”

I study him, searching for anything that’ll let me off the hook—guilt, hesitance, even a single hairline fracture in his confidence. But it’s not there. He’s all-in, and by showing me this, he’s dragging me under the current, expecting me to swim.

“You think this’ll end well?” I ask, voice tight. “One fuckup and we’re all dead.”

He doesn’t flinch. “That’s why we don’t fuck up.” He gestures at the warehouse around us, the skeletons of old cars, the rust and dust and the chemical tang of gasoline. “This is the future, Sable. We either get ahead or get chewed up.”

I want to protest, to tell him that “future” is a stupid word when you’re dealing with men who cut out tongues for fun, but I bite it back. I know I don’t get a choice here, and he knows it, too.

“Fine,” I say, snatching the rifle. “But I’m done with this once I have checked these guns. I want nothing to do with this crap you’re pulling.”

“Got another problem first.”

I shoot him a look.

“We got competition. The Fallen Sons hit one of the routes last night. They torched a whole shipment. They don’t want us runnin’ guns, and they’re makin’ sure we know it.”

Oh, shit.

The Fallen Sons are a bigger MC, and they’re slowly taking over most of the territory around these parts. I know Gage is hoping this Cartel business will boost their protection and status, but if the Sons don’t allow them passage, then they have a bigger problem on their hands.

“What has that got to do with me?” I mutter, flipping the gun over, trying to not gasp at how fucking incredible it is.

“They’re goin’ to be the reason we get killed.”

“And?” I snap.

Gage growls, low. “You’re not hearin’ me. The Sons have it in for us, but you, you could walk in there, talk to the right idiot, and maybe get them movin’ in a different direction.”

Oh hell no.

That is not something I am willing to do.

“Fuck that,” I say, voice hard, and I mean it. “You want me to play diplomat, seriously? After you flipped a switch over the very thought of me going near anyone from that MC?”

He narrows his eyes. “You got a better shot than any of the assholes we got on payroll. The Sons, they seem to like you. Especially your little hero.”

“I don’t have a death wish, and that’s exactly what will happen if I do this. No. I’m not doing it. You’re going to have to find another way, or, you’re going to have to kill me, because I refuse.”

I place the rifle down, not wanting to continue this conversation any further. “Product’s exceptional,” I say. “You will all be happy.”

Gage’s mouth tips up on one side. “We’re not done with the conversation, Sabie.”

Asshole.

“Oh. Yes, we are.”

He grins. “No. We ain’t.”

I turn and walk out, effectively ending it.

Deep inside, my stomach twists, because I have a bad feeling that he is going to make me do what he wants.

That is a terrifying thought.

Gage doesn’t play clean, even with me.

He’ll do whatever he needs to get what he wants.

No matter the cost.

~*~*~*~*~*

I HATE THIS FUCKING town. Hate it so much that I curse Gage in my head as I speed past the same run-down bars and stores.

Overpriced gym, pawn shop, three vape stores in a row, all staffed by clones of angry, underpaid twenty-year-olds.

It is a shit hole, and if it wasn’t for the club, I wouldn’t be here.

I need to get out for the day.

It has been three days since Gage threw me into the deep end with the Cartel weapons. Three days since I told him to go to hell and stalked out. He has been on a run, which has given me some peace and quiet, but they get back today, and I don’t want to be there when they do.

So, I decided I’m going to go shopping in the town closest to where the Sons’ compound is.

It has more, and I’m in desperate need of a few new outfits.

I spend the morning shopping, wandering around and zoning out, before heading onto the main street for some lunch. After that, I still have a few hours to kill, not wanting to drive back, not wanting to face the harsh reality back home, one that sucks the very soul from me.

So, I do something I usually wouldn’t.

I go into a bar.

It’s a place called Jenny’s with a sign so sun-bleached the name’s almost unreadable.

It’s not even three p.m., and it is bustling.

I know from the rumors that this is where the Fallen Sons hang sometimes—a neutral zone, not MC property, but close enough to their compound that any other club member would think twice before walking in.

Of course I walk in.

There’s a perpetually sticky layer of something on the floor, and the lights flicker just enough to make you question whether you’re about to get murdered or just forced to karaoke.

A row of gorgeous young women occupy the length of the bar; two of them clink glasses as I walk past, and I catch a snicker, but I’m too locked in my own head to care.

I find a bartender up the other end, older, looking like she has seen better days.

Her eyes carry the weight of countless stories, etched with lines that speak of long nights and hard truths.

I order a whiskey, neat, hoping the familiar burn will ground me, offer a momentary escape from the chaos swirling in my mind.

She pours a double, her hands steady, and charges me for one.

It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a lifeline, a reminder that kindness can still be found in unexpected places.

For the first time in weeks, I feel a little like myself as I hand a tip over for her kindness, a silent acknowledgment of the connection we’ve shared in this brief exchange.

The warmth of the whiskey spreads through me, a comforting presence that eases the tension in my shoulders.

I take a moment to savor it, letting the world fade away, if only for a moment.

The bar is a sanctuary, a place where time seems to slow, and I can breathe without the weight of expectation pressing down on me.

It’s a fleeting reprieve, but one I cling to, knowing that soon enough, I’ll have to step back into the reality waiting outside these walls.

The third sip hits my stomach like a lit match, and it takes me a minute, but eventually I find myself relaxing.

The chatter around me fades out, and I am left wiggling my body side to side to the faint music as I order another drink, then another.

I’ve already crossed the line of being able to drive, and yet, I find myself not caring.

“Stalkin’ ain’t in, baby.”

The low voice comes from behind me, rich like honey and so thick it sends shivers down my spine. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips, because I know that voice and oh, the way he just called me baby has my insides doing wicked things.

I don’t turn around. He comes to me instead, sliding onto the stool to my right like he’s been here his whole life. He wears a faded grey hoodie and jeans, a hat twisted backward on his short hair. No cut, no MC colors. Discreet. I bite my lip as his lazy, gorgeous smile fills my vision.

“I hadn’t heard.” I smile. “I was just hoping for a few free drinks.”

Kael grins.

My heart jumps.

“What’re you doin’ in here, drinkin’ alone?”

“Well obviously I was waiting for you to show up so I could act surprised that we ‘accidentally’ ran into each other,” I tease, lightly.

He chuckles. “Your lucky day then.”

“Are you alone?” I ask, twisting to look behind him.

I see four other bikers in a booth by the door, their eyes on me.

“Oh,” I say.