Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
GHOST
By the time the Iron Reapers clubhouse comes into view at the end of the long gravel drive, my mood hasn’t improved even a little.
The ride should’ve helped. Usually the road clears my head, the vibration of the bike and the wind tearing past my shoulders burning off whatever noise is rattling around upstairs.
Today it just gave my brain more space to replay the same damn scene over and over again.
Rae standing in that kitchen with her back to me. Refusing to turn around to look at me, like the last week meant something real.
My jaw tightens as I kill the engine and swing off the bike.
Gravel crunches under my boots as I head toward the clubhouse, the familiar brick building sitting solid and worn like it always has.
A couple prospects are hauling crates out of a truck near the garage, both of them glancing up when they hear my boots hit the ground.
“Morning, Ghost,” one of them says.
I grunt something that might pass for acknowledgment and keep moving.
The second I step inside, the smell hits me.
Leather, beer soaked into old wood, motor oil and cigarette smoke clinging to the walls like it’s been part of the place since the first brick went down.
The main room is already half alive. A couple brothers sit at the bar with coffee while the television murmurs quietly in the corner.
Rev spots me first.
He leans back in his chair and studies my face for about two seconds before a slow grin spreads across his.
“Well hell,” he mutters loudly enough for the room to hear. “That look means somebody’s dying today.”
A couple heads turn.
I ignore them and head toward the long table near the back where Riot is already set up.
Roman Kovacs sits with a laptop open in front of him, dark hair pulled back while his fingers move quickly across the keyboard. He doesn’t look up when I drop into the chair across from him.
“You’re late,” he says calmly.
“I wasn’t scheduled.”
“You were when you texted me three hours ago asking for everything we’ve got on Voss.”
That finally makes him glance up.
His eyes sweep over my face once.
“Rae kick you out?”
My jaw tightens.
Riot smirks faintly.
“Ah.”
Rev drags a chair over with his boot and drops into it beside me, bottle in hand even though it’s barely mid-morning.
“So,” he says, leaning his elbows on the table, “we talking about the asshole who put hands on Rae?”
My gaze shifts back to the laptop.
“What’ve you got?”
Riot rotates the screen toward us and taps a few keys.
Satellite images fill the screen.
Warehouse layouts.
Security camera stills.
“Voss has been rotating between three properties outside Knoxville,” Riot says, pointing to one of the maps. “But this one’s his base. Warehouse near the industrial yard. Two floors. Cameras on the corners and one over the loading dock.”
He zooms in.
“Four men rotating security. Two usually on the floor, one upstairs with Voss, one watching the lot.”
Rev whistles softly under his breath.
“That’s cozy.”
I lean forward slightly, studying the building.
Entry points.
Sight lines.
Blind spots.
“Tonight,” I say.
Rev glances at me.
“You planning on asking Mason first?”
“Mason already knows.”
Rev nods once like that checks out.
Riot zooms the map again.
“The loading dock camera sweeps every thirty seconds,” he says. “There’s about a five-second blind window when it resets.”
“You hit that and you’re inside,” Rev says.
“Exactly.”
I stare at the layout another second.
“They held her down.”
The words come out quieter than the rest of the conversation.
But they land heavy.
Rev’s expression shifts immediately. The humor fades out of his face and something colder settles there instead.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “We’re definitely killing those guys.”
Riot pulls up another image, this one showing three of the men in the warehouse lot.
“These are the ones from that night,” he says.
My hands flex slowly against the table.
“They’re all inside tonight?”
“Most nights, yeah.”
Rev leans back in his chair and cracks his neck.
“Well then,” he says. “Looks like we’re going for a drive.”
I glance over at him.
“You’re not coming.”
Rev barks out a laugh.
“The hell I’m not.”
“You don’t need to.”
He leans forward again, pointing a finger at my chest.
“Ghost, you might be pissed but you’re not stupid. Nobody from this club walks into a building like that alone.”
Riot nods slightly.
“Rev’s right. Four inside plus Voss means five potential shooters.”
“I can handle five.”
“I know you can,” Riot says calmly. “That’s not the point.”
Rev gestures toward the laptop.
“We go in together. Two on the dock, two clearing the floor, then we take the office upstairs.”
The plan settles into place almost immediately.
Because this is what we do.
Rev grabs a pen and starts marking points on the map.
“I’ll take the lot,” he says. “Anyone outside goes down before they know what’s happening.”
Riot taps the loading dock camera on the screen.
“You and Ghost go through here,” he tells Rev. “I’ll handle eyes and comms from the truck.”
“You’re not coming in?”
“I’ll be watching the exits.”
I study the layout again.
The angles.
The timing.
It works.
After a few minutes Riot closes the laptop and leans back.
“That’s the play.”
Rev lifts his bottle slightly.
“Tonight we clean house.”
I push back from the table and stand up.
The anger that rode in with me is still there, but now it’s sharpened into something focused.
Voss is breathing right now. The men who held Rae down are breathing too. That changes tonight.
Rev watches me for a second before speaking again. “You gonna go cool off with your farm girl after this?”
My eyes narrow slightly. “Watch it.”
He grins. “I’m just saying. You’ve been out there playing farmer for a week.”
But the truth sitting in my chest has nothing to do with cooling off. Rae thinks this week was temporary. A detour. Something that started and ended because I happened to be in town dealing with trouble at The Rusty Nail.
She thinks I’ll ride back to Jackson and forget the way she laughs when the goats chase her around the barn.
Forget the way she curls into me at night like she belongs there.
Forget the way that house started feeling more like home after a week than anywhere I’ve lived in the last ten years. Not happening.
I head for the door, my mind already shifting toward the job waiting tonight. We’ll take care of Voss. We’ll take care of the men who thought touching Rae was a good idea.
And when it’s done… I’m going back to that farm. Because Rae Wilder might think she ended things in that kitchen. But this thing growing between us? It’s nowhere close to being finished.