Chapter 20
Swag
When I slip from the room, Jo-Leigh is fast asleep, her lips parted. Fuck. Why is it so hard to walk away from her?
I find Talon at the bar and motion for him to follow me to my office. He closes the door behind us.
“Didn’t think we’d see you today,” he teases. “It’s good to see you happy, Prez.”
“Didn’t want to come out, but it seems there’s some rats to take care of.”
Talon leans against the edge of my desk, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone now that the joking’s over.
“Been doing some digging.”
“How bad?” I ask.
He drags a hand down his face. “Bad, boss. Langston’s got ties running through half the Baton Rouge PD, a couple judges, and more than one DA’s office. He’s not working alone.”
I grind my teeth. “So, a fucking network.”
“Yeah. And that’s not all.” He pulls a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and hands it over. It’s a grainy photo, but clear enough. Ricky Langston, leaning against his cruiser, talking to a man I know. A man from our side of town who shouldn’t be anywhere near him.
My jaw tightens until it aches. “That little fucker’s trying to play both sides.”
Talon nods grimly. “Looks like it. He’s feeding Ricky information, and I don’t think it’s just about us. My gut says Ricky’s using him to get closer to your girl.”
The thought of Ricky’s dirty hands anywhere near her makes my vision go sharp around the edges.
Talon notices, of course. He always does. “Boss, you can’t make this personal.”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “It is personal. That bastard’s circling her like a vulture.”
Talon’s face goes hard. “That’s why you need to let us take care of it. Send out a team. Keep your hands clean. The last thing you need is to end up in jail again.”
There’s silence for a beat, both of us running through the implications. If Ricky’s tied this deep into dirty law enforcement, this isn’t just about street-level games anymore. It’s control. Leverage. Information.
“We need a plan,” Talon says finally. “One that keeps her safe without putting a bigger target on your back.”
I lean forward, planting my hands on the desk. “Already have one. We cut the rats out, one by one, and we put Langston on notice.”
Talon gives a short nod. “And Jo-Leigh?”
“She’s staying close,” I say without hesitation. “From now on, she doesn’t go anywhere without me knowing. If Ricky so much as breathes near her, I’ll know before he does.”
“That might work for a bit, but eventually the honeymoon phase is going to be over.”
The air in my office goes razor sharp the second Talon says it. My chest locks, my jaw tightens, and every muscle in my body coils tight like a loaded spring.
My brows snap together. “What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t back down.
“You know exactly what it means, brother. You keep her locked up in this clubhouse like she’s yours to protect, yours to claim. But eventually?” He leans forward on his elbows, his voice dropping lower. “She’ll get lonely. Or bored. And she’ll want to go back to the real world. Just like?—”
“Don’t you dare say her fucking name.”
The words come out dark and low, edged with a warning sharp enough to slice bone.
Talon goes quiet, his jaw ticking once, but he doesn’t apologize.
We both know who he meant. My chest burns, dragging ghosts I’ve spent years burying right back into the room.
I force my hand to unclench from the edge of the desk before I snap the wood clean in two.
“She’s not her,” I grind out finally, my voice rough as gravel. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Talon studies me, unreadable, and that silence of his says everything he doesn’t dare put into words.
He thinks Jo-Leigh will run. That she’ll get scared.
That she’ll realize the kind of man I am and bolt the second she gets the chance.
I lean forward, palms flat on the desk, meeting his stare head-on.
“She’s not leaving, Talon. Not unless she wants Ricky Langston breathing down her neck again. And if she thinks she’s safer anywhere else?” I shake my head slowly. “She’s wrong.”
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the low hum of the air unit and the faint roar of the bar outside.
Finally, Talon exhales and says, “Then you better make damn sure you keep her close because Langston’s circling, and he’s getting bold.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. My mind’s already five steps ahead — locking down routes, cutting off weak spots, putting men where they need to be. Because Talon might be right about one thing: the honeymoon phase never lasts. But when it’s over, Jo-Leigh will still be mine.
“Gather the team. We’re having church.”
By the time Talon leaves my office, I’m already shifting gears. Whatever the hell is brewing with Ricky Langston, it ends tonight.
I head straight for the chapel in the basement. It’s a converted storage space lined with maps, ledgers, and enough firepower to level a small city. My cut feels heavier on my back, a weight that means responsibility, authority, and the promise of retribution.
When I step inside, my top guys are already there: Talon, Pretty Boy, Hulk, and Bones. All eyes lock on me.
“Close the door,” I bark.
Hulk kicks it shut, and the room goes silent.
I plant my hands on the table, leaning forward. “Langston’s been getting bold. Too bold. He thinks he can push into our territory, scare my people, fuck with what’s mine.” My voice drops, dark and sharp. “That ends now.”
Hulk crosses his arms, jaw set. “You thinking full sweep?”
“Not yet,” I say, eyes cutting to the map on the table. “First, we take out his legs. Without his men, Langston’s nothing but a loud mouth with a badge.”
Pretty Boy whistles low. “We’re talking five, maybe six guys minimum. They’ve been running drops outta the east side.”
I nod. “Exactly why we hit ’em where they think we won’t. We split into two crews. Talon, you take Hulk and Bones, run recon on the east warehouse. Don’t engage unless you’re spotted. I want a clean layout, entry points, exits, headcount. No mistakes.”
Talon grunts his agreement.
I turn to Pretty Boy. “You’re with me. We’re locking down the south side tonight. Langston’s been funneling shit through there, and I want it shut down before sunrise.”
“What about Jo-Leigh?” Talon asks, like he’s testing me.
I look up slowly, meeting his stare dead-on. “She stays here. Locked down. No one touches her. No one looks at her. I’ll put Bullet on her door if I have to.”
Pretty Boy smirks. “Guess she’s not just some girl anymore, huh, Prez?”
I glare until the smirk dies on his lips.
“She’s mine,” I say, quiet but lethal. “And Langston’s gonna learn exactly what that means. You should, too.”
The room hums with tension, the kind that sparks before an explosion. Orders get finalized, weapons checked, comms synced.
Tonight, we move.
Tonight, Ricky Langston finds out the Devil’s Regents MC doesn’t bluff.
The night air is heavy, the kind that tastes like gun oil and rain, the kind that lets you know shit’s about to go sideways.
Pretty Boy rides beside me, both of us cutting through the dark streets on our bikes, engines roaring low, thunder rolling beneath us.
The plan’s simple. Choke Ricky Langston’s crew at the neck.
Tonight, we hit his men before they even know we’re coming.
By the time we make it to the south-side warehouse, Talon’s already fed me intel through comms. Eight guys inside, two patrolling, three trucks parked at the back loading bay.
Perfect. I kill the engine, motioning for Pretty Boy to cut his lights.
We stash the bikes in the shadows and slip around the side of the building, boots silent on wet pavement.
I can hear muffled voices inside, laughter, the faint scrape of a chair across concrete. They think they’re safe.
Big mistake.
I press my back against the cold metal siding and pull the Glock from my cut, checking the mag out of habit. Pretty Boy mirrors me, his jaw tight, every ounce of cockiness stripped away.
“You ready?” I murmur.
He smirks, but his voice is steady. “Born ready, Prez.”
I nod once, then signal Hulk and Talon from across the lot. They ghost forward, rifles slung low, dark shapes blending with the night.
One deep breath. Two. Then I slam my boot into the side door, steel screaming as it flies open.
“Down!” I roar, my voice echoing like a gunshot.
Chaos detonates instantly. One of Ricky’s men freezes mid-sip, beer bottle shattering on the floor. Another goes for his piece, but Talon’s faster, dropping him like dead weight with a clean shot to the shoulder.
“Hands where I can see ’em!” Pretty Boy barks, his weapon trained on the two at the card table.
But one asshole lunges at me with a knife. I sidestep, grab his wrist, and slam his face into the edge of the table hard enough to rattle teeth. Blood sprays across the wood as he drops like a sack of bricks.
“You boys fucked up working for Langston,” I growl, pinning another guy to the wall by his throat.
His eyes are wide, pupils blown with fear.
“It’s just business, man,” he rasps.
I lean in close, letting him feel every ounce of my control.
“So’s this.” I shove him back into Razor’s grip, and Razor zip-ties his wrists without a word.
From the corner, Pretty Boy grabs one of the phones off the table, scrolling quick.
“Prez,” he says, holding it up. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”
It’s a group chat. Langston’s name at the top. He’s been planning to push harder into Devil’s Regents territory, setting up drops right under our noses. The bastard isn’t just trying to scare us. He’s trying to take us out.
My jaw locks, knuckles aching around the Glock.
“Burn it,” I order.
Pretty Boy’s grin turns sharp. “With pleasure.”
Within minutes, we torch the stash — cash, pills, burner phones, every trace of Langston’s little operation here. The flames lick high and hot, painting the night in angry orange as smoke curls into the black sky.
But this isn’t over.