Chapter 26 #2
Twenty minutes later, we were rolling out.
Indira’s car in the center, surrounded by bikes—Colt on her left, Glitch on her right, Handful and Holden bringing up the rear with the two prospects behind them.
I rode point, cutting through traffic, my eyes scanning every intersection, every side street, every parked car that might contain a threat.
The gates opened as we approached, and I felt something loosen in my chest as we crossed onto club territory. Here, at least, I could control what happened. Here, she was safe.
I walked Indira to my front door, unlocked it, and handed her the key.
“Everything you need is inside. Fridge is stocked.” I stepped back, giving her space. “I’ll be at the clubhouse. If you need anything—anything at all—just call.”
She looked at the key in her hand, then up at me. “Thank you for telling me the truth. Even though it took a crisis to get us here.”
“I should have told you sooner.”
“Yes. You should have.” She stepped inside, then paused. “Get some sleep, Jacob. You look terrible.”
Despite everything, I laughed. “Thanks.”
She closed the door.
I stood on my own porch for a long moment, staring at the door that separated me from the woman I loved. Then I turned and walked to the clubhouse, where my brothers were waiting.
The clubhouse was tense when I walked in. Brothers scattered around the main room, some cleaning weapons, others just waiting. The deadline was hours away, and nobody knew what the Wolves would do when it expired.
“She’s settled,” I said to the room at large. “Handful, I want you on the house. Eyes on every entrance.”
Handful nodded and headed out without a word.
I’d barely sat down when my phone rang. Unknown number.
“Dutch.” The voice was unfamiliar. Young, tense, but controlled. “This is Razor. New president of the Wolves.”
Every brother in the room went still. I held up a hand for silence, my grip tightening on the phone. “New president?”
“As of about two hours ago. There’s been a change in leadership.” A pause. “The men responsible for threatening your woman—they’re no longer in a position to threaten anyone.”
I processed that. A coup. The younger generation taking out the old guard.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because I want to be clear about something.” Razor’s voice hardened.
“What Vance and his boys did—targeting civilians, threatening women—that’s not who we are.
That’s not who I’m going to let us be.” He paused.
“This takeover’s been in the works for a while.
Vance had plans to expand into the flesh trade. Trafficking. Selling women.”
My hand tightened on the phone until I felt the case creak. “What?”
“We all have mothers. Sisters. Old ladies.” Razor’s voice was flat with disgust. “That’s a line we will not cross. When Vance started talking about what he had planned for your woman once they grabbed her—that forced our hand earlier than we wanted. But it needed to happen.”
I was on my feet without remembering standing. Red hazed the edges of my vision. “What exactly did he have planned?”
“Nothing you want to hear. And nothing that’s going to happen now.” A pause. “The fucker’s lucky we got to him first, Dutch. Something tells me you would’ve made it last longer.”
“You’re goddamn right I would have.”
“Then we understand each other.” Razor’s tone shifted. “We’ll never be friends. I’m not calling to make nice. But the threat against your woman is over. We’re done with that shit.”
“And Montana?”
“Montana’s yours. We’ll find our own suppliers.” Another pause. “Clean slate. We stay out of each other’s way, handle our own business, don’t start wars over territory that isn’t worth dying for. That work for you?”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “That works.”
“Good.” Razor’s tone shifted, something almost like respect creeping in. “Word is your woman’s got steel in her spine. The way she handled Crystal in that parking lot—that story made the rounds. A man’s lucky to have a woman like that standing beside him.”
“I know.”
“Hope to never talk to you again.” The line went dead.
I sat there for a long moment, letting it sink in. Around me, the brothers were watching, waiting for an explanation.
“Coup,” I said. “New leadership. The threat’s over.”
The tension in the room released like a held breath. Brothers exchanged looks, some shaking their heads in disbelief, others breaking into grins.
“Just like that?” Colt asked.
“Just like that.” I ran a hand over my face. “The younger generation took out the old guard. New president wants a clean slate.”
My phone buzzed. Text from Handful: She’s asleep. All quiet.
I stared at the message, something loosening in my chest. I wasn’t surprised she’d gone to sleep so fast. I’d seen the exhaustion in her the moment she opened that door—in the shadows under her eyes, the slight slump of her shoulders, the way her voice had lost its usual edge.
She’d looked like a woman running on fumes, holding herself together through sheer will.
And when I’d suggested she come back to the compound, she’d given in easier than I expected.
Because she was too tired to fight anymore.
She’d come with me, walked into my house, and gone straight to sleep.
My woman felt safe in my house.
When she woke up in the morning, I’d tell her the threat was over. And then I’d set about convincing her to stay.