Chapter 3 #2
I could lie. I should lie. But something about the way she's looking at me, bruised and exhausted but still demanding honesty, makes me pause.
"I had a sister," I say finally, the words rough like gravel. "Elena. She was fifteen when she disappeared. Taken by a trafficking ring that operated out of Nevada. They found her three months later in a shallow grave outside Reno."
Ava's hand tightens on my arm. "Mason, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. Sorry doesn't bring her back.
But making sure it doesn't happen to other girls?
That does something." I look down at her hand, still touching me, and feel the old rage stirring in my chest. "You're investigating the same kind of monsters who took Elena.
So yeah, I'm helping you. Someone should've helped her, and they didn't."
Cara would understand this part if I ever said it out loud. She turns pain into purpose like it’s oxygen. But I don’t share my ghosts; not with the club, not with the women, not with anyone, except Vulture. Until Ava.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with shared grief and understanding. Then Ava does something unexpected. She steps closer and wraps her arms around me, pressing her face against my chest.
It's not sexual. Not romantic. Just human, offering comfort in the only way she knows how.
I freeze, every instinct screaming at me to pull away, to maintain distance, to not let this woman under my skin any more than she already is. But my arms come up anyway, circling her shoulders, holding her against me while she holds me back.
"We'll get them," she whispers against my leather cut. "The Reapers, the traffickers, whoever's pulling the strings. We'll expose all of it."
"Yeah," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "We will."
She pulls back first, stepping out of my embrace with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you for telling me about Elena."
"Don't mention it. Seriously. The club doesn't know that story, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Your secret's safe with me." She makes a crossing motion over her heart. "Scout's honor."
"You were never a scout."
"How do you know?"
"Because scouts follow rules, and you break them every chance you get."
That earns me a real smile, bright and genuine despite the bruises. "Fair point."
I leave before I do something stupid like stay, I head back downstairs where more brothers are starting to filter in for breakfast. Zip's at the bar arguing with Sterling about something, their voices carrying across the room.
Hustler, our treasurer, is hunched over a laptop at one of the tables, probably running numbers on our latest gun shipment.
The prospects hover at the edges: Dynamite refilling coffee, Gull wiping down tables like the world depends on it, and Digger’s getting razzed for doing it wrong.
And in the far corner, Cara’s at a table with two women I don’t recognize, both of them quiet, guarded, like they’re still learning how to exist without flinching. Cara’s voice is calm, steady. The kind of steady that saves lives.
Vulture catches my eye from across the room and jerks his head toward the hallway that leads to his office. I follow, knowing this conversation's been coming since we pulled into the compound.
His office is sparse, but functional. There’s a desk, filing cabinets, and a wall of monitors showing security feeds from around the property. He drops into his chair and pins me with a look that's seen through too much bullshit to be fooled by mine.
"Tell me you know what you're doing," he says without preamble.
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you just brought a civilian reporter into our clubhouse, claimed protection over her in front of the brothers, and judging by the way you're standing right now, you're about five seconds from doing something that'll complicate this situation even more."
I force my shoulders to relax, unclenching fists I didn't realize I'd made. "She's got information we need. Intel on the Reapers' operation, connections to their suppliers, maybe even names of the buyers. That's worth the risk."
"Is it? Or is this about something else?" Vulture leans forward, elbows on his desk. "You told her about Elena."
My blood runs cold. "How the hell do you know that?"
"Because I know you. And I saw the way you looked when you came downstairs just now. Like someone opened an old wound and you're trying not to bleed all over the floor." He pauses, letting that sink in. "This isn't about the club, Mason. This is personal."
"So what if it is? The end result's the same. We take down the Reapers, expose their trafficking operation, and make damn sure they can't hurt anyone else."
"And if Ava gets caught in the crossfire? If she ends up dead because we used her to get to them?"
"That won't happen."
"You can't promise that."
"I can, and I am." I step closer to his desk, meeting his eyes with all the conviction I've got. "She's under my protection. That means I'll die before I let anything happen to her."
Vulture’s quiet for a long moment, studying me like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Then he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "You're in deep already, aren't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. But we'll pretend you don't because that's easier than admitting you're falling for a woman who could destroy everything we've built." He stands, coming around the desk. "Fine. She stays. You protect her. But the second this becomes a liability to the club, it ends. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Now get her files and let's see what we're actually dealing with. If she's got solid evidence against the Reapers, we need to move fast before they figure out where she is."
I head back upstairs, knocking on Ava's door. She opens it almost immediately. She’s changed into fresh clothes from her bag, and her hair is still damp from a shower. The bruises on her face look worse in the daylight, with purple and yellow blooming across her cheekbone.
"Vulture wants to see what you've got," I tell her. "Bring everything."
She grabs her messenger bag and laptop, and follows me back down to the office. Vulture’s cleared space on his desk, and we spread out her files like we're planning a military operation. Because in a way, we are.
Knox appears in the doorway like he was summoned by the word bruises. He doesn’t say much, just looks Ava over with clinical eyes. “Concussion symptoms?” he asks, like he’s asking the weather.
Ava stiffens. “I’m fine.”
“No one’s fine,” Knox replies, and tosses me a small packet. “Ice for swelling. And don’t let her sleep if she starts slurring.”
He’s gone as quickly as he arrived.
Photos of the Reapers' clubhouse, supply routes mapped on printed maps, names scrawled in her handwriting with question marks next to ones she hasn't verified.
The USB drive contains recordings, conversations she'd captured before they caught her, voices discussing shipments and pickups and girls being moved through a pipeline that stretches from Louisiana to Canada.
"This is good," Falcon says, scrolling through the audio files. I didn’t even notice him coming into the room. "It’s better than good. This is prosecutable evidence if we can tie it to specific names."
"I've been trying," Ava says, pointing to her notes. "But they use code names. The Collector is mentioned repeatedly, but I haven't been able to identify who that is. Same with the buyers. They're careful."
"Not careful enough." Falcon pulls up one of the photos, zooming in on a license plate visible in the background. "We can run this, see who it belongs to. And these shell companies you've tracked, we've got contacts who can dig deeper."
"Contacts?" Ava asks, suspicion creeping into her voice.
"People who owe us favors. People who move in circles we don't." Vulture glances at me. "Mason, call Condor. Tell him we need a deep dive on these corporate structures."
I pull out my phone, stepping aside to make the call. Condor's our inside man, works at a tech firm downtown and has access to databases most people don't even know exist. He answers on the third ring.
"What's up, Ice Pick?"
"Need you to run some companies for me. Shell corporations, probably laundering money. Can you do it quietly?"
"Can a bear shit in the woods? Send me the names."
“And keep it clean,” I add. “If Vulture hears the word leak, he’ll shut this whole city down until we find it.”
I text him screenshots of Ava's notes, waiting while he pulls them up on his end. The silence stretches long enough that I start to worry, then he whistles low.
"These are connected to some heavy hitters, brother. I'm talking political donors, real estate moguls, a few names I recognize from the society pages. If they're involved in something dirty, it goes deep."
"How deep?"
"Deep enough that you're going to need more than muscle to take them down. You're going to need someone who can navigate the legal system without getting buried under it."
I glance at Ava, who's watching me with those sharp eyes. "We might have someone like that."
"Good, because if you go after these people without a plan, you're all going to disappear. And I mean that literally." He pauses. "Be careful, Ice Pick. Whatever you're into, it's bigger than the club."
"Noted. Thanks, Condor."
I hang up and relay the information to Falcon and Ava. Her face pales slightly, but her jaw sets with determination.
"I'm not backing down," she says before either of us can suggest it. "This is exactly the kind of story that needs to be told. The kind that powerful people try to bury."
"And the kind that gets people killed," Vulture counters. "You sure you're ready for that?"
"I've been ready since I started investigating. The question is whether you're ready to help me finish it."