Chapter 4 #2
Systems make sense. People rarely do.
But the flip side of understanding how circuits work is understanding how to make them fail. How to create explosions instead of preventing them. How to turn knowledge into weapons.
The interrogation room in Kandahar sits in my memory like a scar that never quite healed.
Insurgents had IED intel, and time was running out before a planned attack on a convoy carrying civilian contractors.
Standard interrogation wasn't working. They'd been trained to resist, knew how to wait us out.
So I stopped being standard.
Methods that worked but crossed lines the Geneva Convention pretends don't exist. Techniques that Delta Force taught us but never officially acknowledged. I got the intel. Saved the convoy. Stopped the attack.
The insurgents didn't walk away unmarked.
Neither did I.
The electrical work in front of me is clean, precise. Follow the diagram, connect the feeds, test the voltage. No moral complexity. Just physics and proper execution.
But my hands remember other work. The targeted elimination in Mosul that wasn't combat. Close range, necessary, surgical. The kind of kill that doesn't make official reports but prevents larger bloodshed down the line.
Still wakes me some nights. Not because I regret the decision. Because I remember how easy it was. How the training took over, how the execution was clean, how walking away felt like just another task completed.
That's the part that bothers me. Not that I did it. That it didn't bother me more.
I finish routing the last camera feed, test the connection. New coverage eliminates blind spots in our security. Won't stop a determined professional, but it'll make it harder.
The security monitor shows multiple angles of the shop, the parking lot, and the approaches to The Forge. Clean feeds, no gaps. Better than what we had.
Not good enough if someone with advanced military training is targeting us.
It's past midnight now, pushing toward one. I'm testing voltage on the final connection when I hear footsteps on the concrete floor.
Will's gait. I recognize the deliberate approach that says he's checking on me rather than seeking me out for business.
"Thought you'd be home," I say, connecting the final wire.
"Gemma's doing inventory at the bar. Wanted to finish before morning rush." Will leans against the doorframe. "Figured I'd see if you were still obsessing."
"Upgrading security isn't obsessing. It's a practical response to demonstrated threat."
"It's past midnight. Most people would call that obsessing."
I test the voltage, confirm clean flow. "Most people don't have federal agents investigating them for weapons trafficking."
"Most people also don't look at said federal agents like they're trying to decide between cooperation and corruption."
I set down the wire strippers, finally look at Will. "You have a point to make?"
"Just an observation." Will moves into the room, studies the new camera feeds on the monitor. "Good coverage. Professional work."
"Learned from the best."
"Delta Force taught you a lot of things. Some of them useful for civilian life, some of them not so much." Will's tone stays neutral, but I hear the subtext. "Question is which category Agent Monroe falls into."
"She's a federal investigator. That's the only category that matters."
"Bullshit. You've been thinking about her since she walked in here yesterday.
Been watching her like you were cataloging data for future use.
" Will turns from the monitor to face me directly.
"I know that look. Seen it before when you're assessing tactical problems. Except usually tactical problems don't have legs like that. "
"Professional assessment. She's a threat that needs to be managed."
"She's also a woman you're attracted to. Both things can be true." Will crosses his arms. "Acknowledge it so it doesn't fuck up your judgment. Pretending you're not interested when you clearly are just makes you sloppy."
He's right. Denying attraction doesn't eliminate it, just makes it harder to account for in decision-making. "Acknowledged. I'm attracted to Agent Monroe. Doesn't change the tactical situation."
"Might actually improve it. Woman like that, she's not going to respond to bullshit and deflection. She's going to respond to honesty. Maybe not right away, but eventually." Will shifts his weight. "You want to know what I think?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"I think Monroe's the first woman in years who's complicated enough to hold your attention.
I think she's also smart enough to see through whatever civilian-friendly version of yourself you try to show her.
And I think you're terrified because the parts of you that are useful in Delta Force are the same parts that don't play well in normal relationships. "
Every word hits like Will's reading from a script I wrote but never showed anyone. "You done?"
"Almost. One more thing." Will's expression shifts, becomes the serious assessment I've learned to respect over years of serving together.
"You're not the same guy you were in the service.
You've got the same skills, same instincts, same darker edges.
But you've also built something here. The shop, the Brotherhood, a life that works.
You know how to exist in civilian space without compromising who you are. "
"Your point?"
"My point is that whoever you become with Monroe, it doesn't have to be either Delta Force operative or civilian shopkeeper.
It can be both. The question isn't whether you're too dark.
It's whether she's strong enough to handle the truth.
" Will heads for the door, pauses. "My money's on her being stronger than you think.
Three years deep cover with the Devils takes a particular kind of spine. She might surprise you."
He leaves me alone with upgraded security feeds and too many thoughts.
I pull up my laptop, start running background searches.
If someone's framing us for weapons trafficking, they've got motivation and capability.
That narrows the suspect pool to people with connections to gun shows, knowledge of our operations, and reason to want the Brotherhood under federal scrutiny.
The searches pull patterns but no clear answers.
Public records show multiple ex-military contractors working the gun show circuit across the Pacific Northwest. Several with other-than-honorable discharges, forced out for violations ranging from theft to unauthorized weapons modifications.
Any of them could have the skills and motivation to run a sophisticated setup operation.
Cross-referencing names with news coverage of Monroe's UC case gets more interesting. Several contractors appear in articles about the Devils MC takedown in Nevada. Could be coincidence. Could be someone with a grudge against the agent who took down their business connections.
I make notes, compile files, but nothing's conclusive enough to take to Monroe yet. Just patterns. Concerning patterns, but not proof.
What I do know: whoever's doing this has operational knowledge of our systems, practiced execution skills, and escalating aggression. The ghost orders were careful, calculated. The pattern suggests someone getting worried, making riskier moves.
Worried people make mistakes. I just need to be ready to catch them when they do.
I'm saving the research files when the security alert sounds. New camera feed, the one covering the back approach to The Forge. Motion detected.
I pull up the footage. A figure moving through shadows, avoiding the old camera positions with practiced ease. But the new feed catches them. Just for a moment, just enough to see the build, the movement pattern, the spatial awareness.
Operator-level. Military training, combat experience. Moves like someone who's worked hostile territory. Professional enough to avoid our old cameras, not good enough to know about tonight's upgrades.
This isn't a local gun runner. Not amateur vandalism or random crime. This is someone with serious training who just made their first mistake.
I capture stills from the footage, enhance the images. Can't get a clear face, but I can see enough of the build and movement to know this is expert-level work. Someone targeting The Forge specifically.
I grab my phone, text Will:
Security breach at The Forge. Operator-level threat. Sending footage.
His response comes back immediately:
On my way. Don't engage alone.
I'm already moving toward my truck, laptop tucked under my arm. The Forge is private Brotherhood property, but it's also home to a community that depends on safety and discretion. Someone targeting it isn't just threatening the club. They're threatening people who trust us to protect them.
That crosses a line I won't tolerate.
The drive to The Forge takes minutes. Long enough for Will to arrive from the opposite direction, his bike pulling up as I'm reviewing the security footage one more time.
"Show me," Will says, no preamble.
I pull up the enhanced stills. "Professional. Knows standard security patterns, avoided old cameras, got caught on new feed I installed tonight. Movement patterns say serious military training. Combat experience. Someone who's comfortable operating at night in hostile territory."
Will studies the images. "Related to the gun running setup?"
"Has to be. Too coincidental otherwise. Someone frames us for weapons trafficking, now they're trying to access The Forge." I close the laptop. "Escalation pattern. They're not just setting us up anymore. They're actively targeting Brotherhood property."
"We calling the cops?"
"And explain what? That someone tried to break into our private BDSM club?" I shake my head. "We handle this ourselves. Figure out who they are, what they want, stop them before it gets worse."
Will nods. Understands the calculation. Involving local law enforcement means exposing The Forge to scrutiny we can't afford. Means questions about the club, the members, the activities. Means destroying the privacy that makes the space work.
"I'll put Nash and Tate on rotation. Round the clock security until we know what we're dealing with." Will pulls out his phone. "You focus on finding who sent them."
I pull up the property schematics on my laptop, start mapping defensive positions. Watch the empty space where the figure disappeared into shadows. Operator-level skills, sophisticated setup, escalating aggression. Someone with resources and motivation.
Someone who just graduated from framing us to actively threatening our people.
That's a different kind of problem. One I'm equipped to solve.