Chapter 37
Logan’s office isn’t built for this many men. Doesn’t matter. We make the room fit the problem.
Logan stands behind his desk, both hands braced on the wood, eyes hard enough to cut through every man in front of him.
Dom has his laptop open on the desk, another tablet beside it, burner phone records and financial sheets split across three screens.
Landon stands to his right with a folder tucked under one arm, face tight in a way that says the numbers are ugly before he ever opens his mouth.
Cain leans near the door. Shadow stands beside him, silent and still.
Joker has his back to the wall, arms crossed, expression blank in a way that always means something dark is awake under his skin.
Hammer takes up space near the window, keeping one eye on the lot even though we’ve got prospects posted outside.
I stand near the far wall. Still. Watching.
No one jokes. Not even Blaze, who isn’t in the room because Logan kept this meeting tight. No extra voices. No noise. No bullshit. This isn’t church, not exactly. This is smaller. Sharper. A war room built out of Logan’s office because the problem has moved past ordinary club business.
Dom taps a key, and a map fills the screen. “New intel,” he says. His voice is clipped. No humor. No edge for show. Just facts. “Burners gave us dead ends individually, but cross-referenced with the payments Landon flagged, they start forming a route.”
Logan’s jaw tightens. “Show me.”
Dom turns the laptop slightly. “Shell accounts are cycling money through small payouts, never enough to set off a major flag alone. The mistake is consistency. Same payout windows. Same routing patterns. Same receiving clusters.”
“Regional?” Shadow asks.
“Yeah,” Dom answers. “Not local. Not one crew running grabs out of one town. We’re looking at hubs.”
Cain curses under his breath.
Landon opens the folder and pulls out a printed sheet. “Money confirms it. This isn’t street-level cash. It’s structured like a business. Regular payouts, recurring handlers, layered distribution. Whoever is running it knows how to keep the top buried.”
Hammer’s gaze shifts from the window. “How big?”
Dom doesn’t answer immediately. That says enough. Then he says, “Bigger than we wanted.”
Joker’s mouth doesn’t move, but his eyes sharpen. “Always is.”
Dom taps again. More points appear on the map. “Multiple cities flagged. Missing persons reports line up with chatter. Not all of them were filed the same way, not all of them got attention. Some are runaways on paper. Some are domestic cases. Some are just gone.”
My hands stay loose at my sides. Inside, everything narrows.
Dom continues. “Different neighborhoods. Different lifestyles. Different ages within a range. Same structure underneath. Routine tracking. Target profiling. Fast extraction.”
“Like Olivia,” Cain says. The room shifts when he says her name. Small. Not enough for anyone outside this room to notice. Enough for me.
My eyes cut to Cain. He doesn’t look away. He knows what he said. Knows what it means. Knows I’m not reacting because I disagree. I’m reacting because saying her name in this room puts weight on the air.
Dom nods. “Like Olivia.”
Landon’s fingers tighten around the folder. “This isn’t grabbing girls off the street.”
“No,” Dom says, voice lower now. “It’s moving inventory.”
Inventory.
The word lands in the room like a body dropped on concrete. No one speaks for a second. Not because we don’t know what men are capable of. We know. That’s the problem.
I don’t move. Don’t shift. Don’t give the room anything. Inside, something locks into place with a sound only I hear.
Olivia’s folder. Her name. Her schedule. Her work. Her family. The notes about her walking when she stayed late. The van. The needle. The alley. The knife. The voice telling her that dumbass biker couldn’t keep her safe.
She wasn’t unlucky. She wasn’t in the wrong place. She was selected. Processed. Entered into a system. Like data. Like product. Like something that could be watched, grabbed, transported, and sold.
My chest doesn’t tighten. It goes cold. Clean. Everything unnecessary burns away.
Logan’s eyes move to me for half a second. He sees enough. He always does. “We don’t rush this blind,” he says.
“They’re already moving.” Every eye shifts to me.
I don’t elaborate. Don’t need to. They know what I mean.
While we sit here building maps and tracing money, they’re moving women.
Moving routes. Moving targets. Adjusting because we disrupted them.
They don’t stop because one crew got hit.
Systems don’t stop when one piece breaks. They route around it.
Logan’s stare holds mine. “I know.”
“Then move faster.”
His jaw flexes. “Careful.”
I say nothing.
Punishment from before is handled. Logan put his fist in my ribs three days ago hard enough to make breathing interesting, and I took it because I earned it. I walked past him with Olivia in my arms, and he couldn’t let that stand. President first. Brother second.
Done.
This is different. This is now.
Dom breaks the stare before it gets worse. “There are options.”
Logan looks back at him. “Talk.”
“Surveillance expansion,” Dom says. “We can watch known traffic points, cross-check routes against missing persons clusters, and dig into storage units, warehouses, old industrial properties. Anywhere that gives them movement without too much visibility.”
“Intercept routes,” Shadow adds.
Dom nods. “If we can predict one.”
Cain says, “External alliances.”
Logan’s mouth tightens.
Cain continues anyway. “Other chapters. Friendly clubs. Contacts who owe favors. If this is regional, we can’t watch every road ourselves.”
Landon flips another page. “Known targets need protection too. If we can identify them from the pattern, we warn them or pull them into safer spaces before another grab.”
“Cops?” Hammer asks. No one likes the word.
Dom’s expression stays flat. “We hand this over raw, it disappears into procedure. Best case, they’re too slow. Worst case, someone inside their chain is already bought.”
Logan nods once. “We keep it internal for now.”
“Agreed,” Landon says.
The conversation shifts. Surveillance. Routes. Alliances. Known targets. Safehouses.
Then Carter, who stepped in late and has stayed quiet near the door, says, “What about Olivia?” No one says anything.
My gaze moves to him. He holds it. Not challenging. Asking. “She doesn’t move,” I say.
Logan’s eyes sharpen. “We’re discussing all options.”
“No.” The word is flat. Final. “She doesn’t move.”
“Why?” Landon asks.
I look at him. “They built around her routine,” I say. “We control that here.”
Landon nods slowly, accepting the logic. It is logic. Not all of it. The truth sits under it, colder and simpler.
I control her environment here. I know the doors.
The windows. The men posted. The blind spots.
The way the hallway sounds when someone tries to move quiet.
I know who enters, who leaves, who gets close enough to breathe the same air she does.
Here, I can keep her alive. Outside is too open.
Too many variables. Too many fuckers thinking they can touch what’s mine.
Logan studies me. “She’s going to want her life.”
“She has it.”
“No,” he says. “She has a version of it with you standing between her and the door.”
My jaw tightens. He isn’t wrong. Doesn’t matter. “She doesn’t move until we know where the next play is coming from.”
Shadow speaks before Logan can answer. “He’s right.”
Logan’s gaze cuts to him.
Shadow continues. “They know her old life. Not this one. Moving her to a safehouse gives them another location to find. Keeping her here gives us numbers.”
Hammer nods. “Fortified property. Armed men. Cameras. Prospects. Dogs soon, if I get my way.”
Joker glances at him. “You want dogs?”
“I want something that bites before it asks questions.”
Joker’s faint smile appears. “Relatable.”
Logan exhales hard. “Fine. She stays.”
I don’t react. The decision was already made.
The conversation moves again.
Dom pulls up another screen. “The takedown has to start with the lower layers. We find one hub. One handler. One transport route that isn’t fully insulated. Then we work upward.”
“We find the top,” Logan says.
Dom nods once. “It’s layered.”
“Then we peel it,” I say.
The room stills again. Short. Final. No one asks what I mean. Every man here knows. Peeling means pressure. Pain. Names dragged out of throats that don’t want to give them. Money followed through blood and fear until the men at the top realize the ground under them isn’t stable anymore.
Logan’s eyes lock on mine. “We do this together.”
“Yeah.”
“No solo moves.” I don’t answer fast enough. His stare hardens. “Cobra.”
“I heard you.”
“That wasn’t agreement.”
“No.”
Cain mutters, “For fuck’s sake.”
Logan comes around the desk slowly. Not aggressive. Not yet. But every inch president. “You want to be useful,” he says, voice low. “Then stay controlled. You lose your head, you become a liability. You understand me?”
I hold his stare. The alley flashes again. Olivia on the pavement. Bruise. Pain. Fear. The sound of her head hitting hard enough that Eli heard it. My hands flex once. Then still. “Yeah.”
Logan keeps watching me until he believes enough of it. “Dom,” he says without looking away from me. “Find us a thread.”
“I’m already pulling warehouse ownership around the route clusters,” Dom says. “Storage lots, freight companies, shell businesses. Anything repeating across cities.”
“Landon.”
“Following the money deeper,” Landon answers. “If the payouts are regular, someone is balancing books. There’ll be a ledger somewhere.”
“Cain, Shadow, Hammer,” Logan continues. “Build rotation. Prospects double up. Nobody moves alone. Women know enough to be careful without getting buried in details.”
Joker tilts his head. “And me?”
Logan looks at him. “You wait.”
Joker’s eyes brighten faintly. “Waiting’s not my strongest gift.”
“No shit,” Logan says. “Do it anyway.”