Chapter 4
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— Holden —
C hurch at two meant everyone in their seat by one forty-five.
That was how Dutch ran things—expectations were clear, and you exceeded them or suffered the consequences.
I’d seen him freeze out brothers who strolled in at the actual meeting time, giving them that cold stare that said more than any lecture.
I was there by one-thirty, because that was how I ran things.
Church was the heart of the clubhouse, a windowless room at the back with a heavy wooden table and chairs for the officers.
Dutch’s seat at the head was slightly larger than the rest, carved with the Venom Riders logo.
The walls were decorated with photos of fallen brothers and framed club patches from alliances going back thirty years.
I spread my maps across the table before anyone else arrived, weighting the corners with the ashtrays that no one used anymore since Dutch had quit smoking. The route was perfect. I’d checked it a hundred times. But seeing it laid out, every detail accounted for — that helped.
Colt was the first to arrive. He nodded at me and took his seat, moving with an ease I still wasn’t used to seeing from him.
For seven years, Colt had walked around like a loaded gun with the safety on.
Now that Lilac was back, that tension was gone.
Today, though, he looked like he’d had a sleepless night — and not the good kind.
“The boys keeping you up?” I asked.
“Luca had a nightmare last night.” Colt’s expression softened in a way I’d never seen before Lilac. “Climbed into bed with us at three AM and kicked me in the kidneys until dawn.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It was.” He said it without irony. Meant it, too. “Knox slept through the whole thing, naturally. That kid could sleep through a hurricane.”
Handful came in next, loud and grinning as always. He draped himself over his chair like he owned the place, immediately pulling out his phone to show Colt something that made them both laugh.
“What’s the joke?” I asked.
“Nothing. Club business.” Handful’s grin widened. “The very serious business of ranking the prospects by how badly they fuck up simple tasks.”
“That’s not club business.”
“It is when the fuck-ups affect club runs.” He leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Which reminds me, you putting Danny on this one?”
“Yes.”
“The kid’s green, Holden. Really green.”
“Everyone’s green until they’re not.” I met his eyes. “I’ll have him riding behind me where I can watch him. He needs the experience.”
Handful opened his mouth to argue, but Glitch’s arrival cut him off. He had his laptop under one arm and that focused look he got when he was running something in his head. He dropped into his chair without greeting and started typing immediately.
“Ran comms on your route this morning,” he said without looking up. “Found a new dead zone on the secondary.”
“Where?”
He pulled up a map on his screen and rotated it toward me. “Here. About thirty miles past the Riggins junction. Cell coverage drops to nothing for about eight minutes at highway speed.”
I studied the map, cross-referencing it with my own notes. “I had that marked as intermittent coverage, not dead.”
“It was. They’re doing unplanned tower maintenance this week. I checked with the carrier—service won’t be back until the fifteenth.”
Shit. That was two days after the run. “Can we work around it?”
“Already planned.” Glitch turned the laptop back toward himself.
“I’ll set up a repeater at this location—” he pointed to a spot on the ridge above the dead zone “—and boost the signal through our encrypted channel. You’ll have coverage, just routed differently.
Right now, it’s a thirty-second delay instead of real-time. It’ll be real-time by go time.”
“That could be the difference between—”
“I know what thirty seconds can mean.” His voice was flat. “That’s why I caught it now instead of day-of. You’ll have comms. I guarantee it.”
Before I could respond, Dutch walked in. The room went quiet, that automatic shift in energy that happened whenever the prez was present. Dutch didn’t demand attention. He just had it.
He took his seat at the head of the table, gray eyes sweeping over each of us. “Everyone’s here. Good.” His gaze settled on Colt. “Brother. You had something.”
Colt cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He drew a breath. “Lilac’s pregnant. Eight weeks. Keep it close for now — she’s not ready for it to be common knowledge yet.”
For half a second, nobody moved. Then Handful let out a whoop that shook the table and lunged across it to clap Colt on the shoulder. “About goddamn time, brother. I want in on the betting pool. Due date, compound odds.”
Colt shot him a look that might have been cold if his mouth hadn’t twitched. “There is no betting pool.”
“There is now.”
Glitch closed the laptop and nodded at Colt. I’d seen him keep typing through a bar fight. Dutch’s mouth did the thing that in another man would have been a smile.
“We told the boys this morning,” Colt added, aiming for casual and not quite landing it. “Luca immediately tried to start campaigning for names. Thunder. And Lightning, as a backup.”
Handful lost it — and then, to my complete lack of surprise, dug a pen out of his cut and started writing on the back of a napkin.
He underlined the heading twice: Colt Baby Pool .
We all watched as he created a list. Due date.
Birth weight. First name Lilac vetoes. Baby Spencer name.
Bar fights started before the kid arrives.
Number of prospects Colt makes cry before baby Spencer arrives.
Colt was looking at the table, working hard at neutral. But I’d known him long enough to see the grin fighting through at the corner of his mouth, and the way his hands had gone still on the wood in the particular way they did when something mattered more than he wanted to let on.
“Congratulations, brother.” Dutch’s voice was quiet. He rapped once on the table. “Now, the run.”
I stood and walked to my maps, falling into the familiar rhythm of the briefing. “Primary route takes us east on 20, then north on 95 to the pickup point. Four hours total, with a thirty-minute buffer for fuel and any unforeseen delays.”
I traced the route with my finger, pointing out landmarks and waypoints. “We’ll ride in formation—me on point, Danny behind me, Colt flanking the cargo vehicle. Dutch brings up the rear. Handful runs the follow van with Reyes, Fewin, and Baxter, fifteen minutes back.” I looked up. “Questions?”
Nobody asked why fifteen. They knew.
“Why Danny on point?” Handful asked. “No offense to the kid, but shouldn’t we have experienced riders up front?”
“Danny’s on point with me so I can watch him,” I explained. “If something goes wrong, I need to see it happen. And having fresh eyes up front sometimes catches things the rest of us miss.”
Dutch nodded. “Makes sense. Continue.”
“Secondary’s our checkpoint fallback — slower, but off the main highways. Tertiary is emergency only, if we’re actively being tracked. Bad roads back there, but nothing can follow us.” I looked at Glitch. “Tech update?”
Glitch walked them through the comms setup, the repeater solution, the encrypted channels we’d use. He talked like a man reading off a solved problem. Glitch knew his shit.
“Questions?” Dutch asked when Glitch finished.
Colt raised a hand. “What’s our intel on rival activity? Wolves, anyone else who might be interested in this shipment?”
“Minimal,” Dutch said. “Razor still has no interest in Montana and no interest in us. We’ve confirmed that. The coup settled it.” He paused. “And the Spokane crews know better than to fuck with us on a sanctioned run.”
“What about cops?”
“Paid off where we need them.” Dutch’s expression didn’t change, but there was steel underneath. “The route crosses three jurisdictions. We’ve got friends in two of them, and the third is too understaffed to patrol effectively.”
Handful whistled. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”
“This shipment is worth it.” Dutch looked at each of us in turn. “Three months of operating funds, gentlemen. Club repairs, legal fees, family support. Everything we need to keep the lights on while we finish the Louisville set up. This run matters.”
Nobody argued.
“Any other questions?” Dutch waited, then nodded.
“Good. We ride at dawn, six days from now. Final church the night before — we go over everything one more time. Between now and then, Holden and Glitch keep eyes on the route and the comms. Anything changes, I want to know.” He paused.
“Everyone else, get some rest. Holden, make sure everyone knows their position.”
“Already done.” I’d sent the assignments out yesterday, along with individual briefings for anyone who wanted them. Only Danny had taken me up on the offer.
“Then we’re finished here.” Dutch stood, signaling the end of formal proceedings. “Holden, stay for a minute. Everyone else, you’re dismissed.”
The brothers filed out, Handful clapping me on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t let Dutch bust your balls too hard,” he muttered. “You’ve earned a little praise for once.”
When the door closed behind the last of them, Dutch moved to the wall of fallen brothers. His back was to me, shoulders set in that way he had when he was thinking through something difficult.
“You’ve done good work on this route,” he said finally. “Better than good. The contingencies, the fallbacks, the tech integration—it’s the most thorough planning we’ve ever had for a run this size.”
“Thank you.”
“But I need to know something.” He turned to face me. “Are you okay?”
The question caught me off guard. Dutch didn’t do emotional check-ins.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He crossed to the table and leaned against it, arms folded. “I’ve known you twelve years, Holden. I know when something’s eating at you. And for the past week, you’ve been wound tighter than I’ve ever seen.”