Chapter 7
STONE
The Ridgeline boys arrive in the early afternoon.
I’ve been in president mode all morning, following up on calls, logistics, security rotations, and a dozen small fires that needed stomping out. But even with all of it demanding my attention, my mind keeps drifting to Josie.
I found myself walking toward the kitchen more than once, desperately drawn to her laughter as it rang through the house.
I didn’t. But God, I wanted to.
Four bikes roll into the lot in formation, engines rumbling in unison, and half the club comes out to meet them. Ginger is practically vibrating beside me, her eyes locked on the massive figure bringing up the rear.
“Bradley!” She’s moving before I can stop her, launching herself at her brother like a sequined missile.
Brick catches her easily, swinging her around like she weighs nothing.
He’s a beast of a man—easily six-four, built like a Viking who wandered out of a saga and onto a Harley.
Wild red hair, darker and curlier than Ginger’s, frames a face half-hidden by a beard that looks like it could house a family of birds.
His eyes are a startling blue, bright and sharp, and when he grins at his sister, it’s wide and wolfish.
He’s fifteen years younger than her, just a year or two older than Lee, but you’d never guess Ginger and him were siblings if you didn’t catch the matching hair color and the same mischievous glint lurking behind his eyes.
They’re the same fire in their coloring, but completely different energy.
He looks like the kind of man who could crush a skull with his bare hands and then laugh about it over a beer.
“Hey, Ging.”
“Look at you! You’re too thin. Have you been eating?
You look tired. When’s the last time you slept properly?
” She pulls back, hands on his face, examining him with the critical eye of a mother hen.
“And what is this?” She tugs at his beard.
“You look like a mountain man. We’re trimming this later. ”
“It’s fine, Ginger.”
“You’re scruffy. “ She spots something on his cut and makes a distressed sound. “Is that a stain? Bradley Michael, tell me that’s not a mustard stain on your cut.”
“It’s not a mustard stain.”
“It’s definitely a mustard stain.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Tank catches my eye from across the lot, his expression clearly saying told you so. I bite back a smile.
The other three Ridgeline boys are already being absorbed into the crowd—Reno, Dawson, and Cal.
Reno is lean and wiry, with a shaved head and a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw that he’s never explained. He’s got the watchful eyes of a man who’s seen too much and the quick hands of someone who learned to fight dirty long before someone taught him the concept of fairness.
Dawson is his opposite—big and broad, with a baby face that makes him look ten years younger than he is. Don’t let the soft features fool you; I’ve seen him put three men through a wall without breaking a sweat.
Cal rounds out the trio—average height, average build, the kind of face you’d forget five minutes after meeting him. Which is exactly what makes him useful. He can blend into a crowd like smoke, be anywhere and everywhere without anyone noticing.
All solid men I’ve worked with before. Good in a fight, better at following orders. Exactly what we need right now.
“Let’s take this inside,” I say, raising my voice over the noise. “We’ve got work to do.”
The chapel is quieter than it’s been the night before—just me and the Ridgeline crew, getting them up to speed.
I lay out the situation, Summit, Ivan, the attempts on Josie’s life, the ongoing threat. The Ridgeline boys listen, nodding and occasionally asking questions.
“We’ve got surveillance running on every property connected to Summit,” I say. “But I’ve got another job that needs doing. Something more delicate.”
“What kind of delicate?” Reno asks.
“There’s a woman staying here. Isabel. She saved Josie’s life during the hospital attack, which is why she’s under our roof.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “But she’s off. She keeps trying to run. Won’t say where she’s going or why. Won’t answer questions about her background.”
“You think she’s a plant?” Brick’s voice is low, thoughtful. He’s extracted himself from Ginger’s clutches and is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression back to unreadable.
“I don’t know what she is. That’s the problem. Could be she’s just a scared girl who stumbled into trouble. Could be Summit positioned her to get close to us.” I shrug. “Either way, I need eyes on her. Someone to tail her if she runs again, see where she goes, who she talks to.”
“I’ll do it.”
I look at Brick. “You sure? Could be boring work. Lot of sitting around, watching, waiting.”
“I’m patient.”
“Alright.” I pull out my phone, bring up the photo we’ve taken when Isabel first arrived—standard procedure for anyone new in the clubhouse. “This is her.”
I hand the phone to Brick.
He studies the screen for a long moment. His mouth curves into a half-smile.
“Well, shit.” He zooms in slightly, tilts his head. “Not exactly a hardship, watching this one.” He lets out a low whistle. “Would you look at the tits on her.”
Reno snorts. “Trust you to notice that.”
“What? I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” Brick hands the phone back, still wearing that half-smile. “Alright, Prez. I’ll babysit your mystery girl. She runs, I’ll follow. She meets with anyone suspicious, you’ll know about it.”
“And if she is a plant?”
The smile fades, a cold grin takes its place.
“I’ll handle it.”
I nod. “Good. But Brick—don’t underestimate her. She took out a full-grown man with a bedpan. Whatever else she is, she’s not helpless.”
“Noted.” He pushes off the wall, rolling his shoulders. “Where is she now?”
“Guest room, second floor. Tried to rabbit three times. Tank and the prospects have been running interference, but we can’t keep that up forever.”
“I’ll find a position. Keep eyes on her without spooking her.” He heads for the door, then pauses. “Stone. What if she’s not a plant? What if she’s just... someone in trouble?”
I think about Josie’s words. She’s not scared for herself. She’s scared for someone else.
“I owe her a debt for saving Josie. But we need to know which side she’s on.”
Brick nods once and leaves.
I turn back to the others. “Reno, Dawson—you’re on rotation for Josie’s protection detail. She’s in the guest room upstairs. No one gets to her without going through you first.”
“Got it.”
“Cal, I need you on surveillance support. Bones is running point—he’ll get you up to speed on what we’re tracking.”
“Done.”
“Any questions?”
Heads shake.
“Then let’s get to work.”
The rest of the day is consumed with logistics—coordinating the new arrivals, updating patrol schedules, checking in with Bones about his latest intel on Summit’s operations.
Around 4 PM, my phone buzzes.
Brick
She’s getting antsy. Pacing her room. Won’t be long now.
I type back.
Stone
Stay on her. Let me know if she moves.
Brick
Copy.
I stare at the phone for a moment, wondering what Isabel is planning—and whether we’ll like the answer when we find it.
Josie finds me in the hallway an hour later, moving slowly but stubbornly under her own power.
I’m moving toward her before I realize I’m doing it, closing the distance between us like she’s a magnet and I’m helpless to resist.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I say, stopping just short of touching her.
“I’ve been resting. I’m rested. I’m sick of resting.” She plants herself in front of me, attempting to cross her arms with the cast—then winces and uncrosses them, probably because the movement hurts her ribs. “What’s happening? I heard the bikes earlier.”
“Ridgeline’s here. Four men, including Ginger’s brother.”
“The famous Brick?”
“In the flesh.” I can’t help the slight smile. “Ginger’s already on his case. Something about trimming his beard and fixing a mustard stain.”
Josie’s mouth twitches. “Poor guy.”
“He’ll survive. He always does.” I study her face—still too pale, still showing the strain of the past few days. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great. My ribs hurt, my head aches, the holes are fucking weird, I’m not loving the shaved patches on my head, my cast is uncomfortable, the stitches itch, and I’m grumpy. So, you know. A Tuesday.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Whatever.” She waves a hand dismissively. “What’s happening with Isabel?”
“Brick’s watching her. If she runs again, he’ll follow. See where she goes.”
“And then?”
“And then we’ll know more than we do now.”
She sways slightly, and I reach out without thinking—my hand finding her hip, steadying her against me.
She goes still. Her breath catches, just for a second, and her good hand comes up to grip my forearm.
We stand like that for a beat too long. Her eyes meet mine, and I see it—the flicker of interest she’s trying to hide. She’s not as immune to this as she pretends to be.
Thank fucking God.
She clears her throat, letting my arm go and stepping back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go lie down before Maggie catches me out of bed and gives me another lecture about concussion protocols.”
“Need help getting back to your room?”
“I think I can manage ten feet of hallway on my own, thanks.”
“It includes stairs.”
She shrugs. “I’ll crawl if I have to.”
“Offer stands.”
“Noted. Declined. Good day, sir.”
She turns and shuffles back toward the guest room, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. I watch her go, an ache expanding in my chest.
That woman is going to be the death of me.
My phone buzzes again.
Brick
She’s on the move. Bathroom window.
Shit.
I type back.
Stone
Don’t engage unless necessary. Take a car—if she’s headed somewhere specific, I want you mobile.
Brick
Already on it.
I stare at the phone, wondering what Brick might find—and whether we’ll like the answer when we get it.