Chapter 3 #3
Falcon and I exchange a look. We both know what this means. Taking on the Reapers is one thing. Going after the people who bankroll them, who use them as muscle for their trafficking operation, that's declaring war on an enemy we might not be able to beat.
But looking at Ava, at the fire in her eyes and the conviction in her voice, I realize we don't have a choice. Not anymore.
"We're in," I say, and Vulture nods his agreement.
"Then let's get to work," Ava says, pulling her laptop closer. "Because we're going to need a hell of a strategy to pull this off."
We spend the next three hours going through every piece of evidence she's collected, cross-referencing names and dates, building a timeline of the Reapers' operation.
The more we uncover, the clearer it becomes that this isn't just about one club.
It's a network, carefully constructed and protected by people with enough money and influence to make problems disappear.
By the time we break for lunch, my head's pounding and my patience is wearing thin. Ava's no better, rubbing her temples and staring at her screen like she's trying to will the answers to appear.
"Take a break," I tell her, standing and stretching. "You're no good to anyone if you burn out."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted. Come on, let's get food."
She follows reluctantly, and we head to the kitchen where someone's set out sandwich fixings. I make two, piling on meat and cheese, and hand one to her without asking if she wants it.
"Bossy," she mutters, but she takes a bite anyway.
"Practical. You need to eat."
We eat in relative silence, the weight of what we're facing settling over both of us. Finally, Ava sets down her sandwich and looks at me.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Depends on the question."
"How does the club afford all this? The compound, the security, the resources you're throwing at helping me. You said you run guns, but that can't be enough to fund an operation this size."
It's a dangerous question, the kind that could get her kicked out or worse if she asks the wrong person. But she's asking me, and after everything I've told her, after the way she held me when I talked about Elena, I find myself wanting to answer honestly.
"Guns are part of it," I say carefully. "We also run security for local businesses, protection services.
Some of the brothers have legit jobs, pool their earnings into the club fund.
And yeah, we deal in some gray areas. Stolen goods, occasionally moving product for people who can't do it themselves. Nothing that hurts innocents."
"That's a fine line."
"It is. But it's our line, and we don't cross it." I meet her eyes. "We're not saints, Ava. But we're not monsters either."
"I'm starting to see that."
“Tess runs a bar,” I add, watching her expression. “Legit money. Legit eyes. And Cara’s got a whole pipeline helping women who get out; jobs, housing, and paperwork. That takes cash, and we fund it because we don’t leave women to rot after the rescue.”
The moment stretches between us, charged with something I'm not ready to name. Then the kitchen door bangs open and Zip walks in, his scarred face splitting into a grin when he spots us.
"There you are, Ice Pick. Vulture wants us all in church in ten, something about the Reapers making noise."
My stomach tightens. "What kind of noise?"
"The kind that usually ends with someone bleeding. Come on, let's go."
I look at Ava, who's already standing. "You need to stay here."
"Like hell. If this is about me, I have a right to know."
"Church is for patched members only. No exceptions."
"Then I’ll wait outside the door and you’ll tell me everything when you're done." She crosses her arms, and I can see there's no point arguing. "I'm not sitting in my room like a helpless damsel while you all decide my fate."
"Fine. But you stay out of sight, and if anyone asks why you're lurking in the hallway, you tell them Ice Pick said you could be there."
"Deal."
We head down to the basement where the chapel's located.
It's a large room with a heavy oak table in the center, chairs around it marked with each officer's position.
Vulture at the head, Falcon to his right as VP, Sterling on his left as chaplain.
I take my spot as Sergeant-at-Arms, and the other brothers file in until we're all seated.
Vulture waits until the door's closed before speaking. "The Reapers know where Ava is."
My blood goes cold. "How?"
"They've got eyes on our compound. Spotted her coming in this morning." He slides a photo across the table, a blurry shot of me and Ava on my bike. "This hit our secure line twenty minutes ago. The message was clear. They want her, and they're willing to negotiate."
"Negotiate?" I spit the word like poison. "What the hell do they think they can offer us?"
"Territory. They'll back off our eastern routes if we hand her over."
The room erupts in argument, brothers shouting over each other, some saying we should take the deal, others calling them cowards for even suggesting it. I don't say anything. I can't say anything because if I open my mouth right now, I'm going to start breaking things.
Vulture lets it go on for a minute before slamming his gavel down. "Enough. We're not trading her. She's under our protection, and that means something."
"Does it?" Hustler asks, leaning back in his chair.
“We don’t bargain with traffickers,” Falcon adds, voice like steel.
“Not for territory. Not for profit. Not ever. Because if we trade one woman, we trade every woman who trusts our name; including the ones Cara’s trying to put back together.
” I watch as the darkness runs through Falcon’s eyes at the thought of anyone bargaining for a woman’s life after what Cara went through.
"I understand that, but from where I'm sitting, we're risking a lot for one civilian who's got half the criminal underworld looking for her."
"She's got evidence that could take down the Reapers' entire operation," Knox counters. "That's worth the risk."
"Is it, though? Or are we putting the club in danger for personal reasons?" Hustler's eyes flick to me, and I know exactly what he's implying.
I'm on my feet before I can think better of it, my chair scraping back. "You got something to say to me, say it."
"Fine. You brought her here. You claimed protection. And now we're all on the line because you've got a hard-on for some reporter with a death wish." He stands too, meeting my challenge. "Maybe your judgment's compromised, Ice Pick. Maybe you need to step back and let someone else handle this."
I can feel the whole room tighten; not just patched brothers, but the prospects lined along the back wall, learning what loyalty looks like under pressure. Somewhere upstairs, women are going quiet too, because how the club treats a protected woman isn’t just politics. It’s identity.
Challenging another officer's judgment in church is serious business, the kind of thing that can fracture a club if it's not handled right.
Vulture’s voice cuts through the tension. "Sit down. Both of you."
I don't move, too busy staring down Hustler and imagining all the ways I could make him regret those words. But Vulture’s gavel slams again, harder this time.
"I said sit the fuck down."
Slowly, reluctantly, we both sit. The air's still crackling with violence, but Vulture's authority holds it in check.
"Ice Pick's judgment isn't compromised," Vulture says, his tone brokering no argument. "He's doing exactly what a Sergeant-at-Arms should do, protecting someone who needs it and serving the club's interests at the same time. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me after church."
No one speaks. Hustler's jaw is tight, but he nods once, accepting the president's word.
"Good. Now here's what we're going to do. Ice Pick, you keep Ava close. Don't let her out of your sight. Zip, I want double patrols on the perimeter. Sterling, reach out to our contacts in the city, find out who's bankrolling the Reapers' trafficking operation. We're going on the offense."
"What about the Reapers' offer?" Rook asks.
"We send them a message. Tell them if they come near our compound or our people, we'll burn their clubhouse to the ground with them inside it." Vulture stands, signaling the end of the meeting. "This is war now, brothers. Act accordingly."
Church breaks up, brothers filing out with grim expressions. I stay behind, waiting until it's just me, Falcon, and Vulture.
"Knox was out of line," I say.
"He was honest. There's a difference." Vulture leans against the table, looking tired. "But he wasn't wrong about one thing. Your judgment might be compromised."
"It's not."
"Then prove it. Keep Ava safe, get the evidence we need, and don't let whatever's building between you two fuck up this operation." He meets my eyes. "Because if this goes sideways, it's not just her who'll pay the price. It's all of us."
I nod once and walk out of the room, finding Ava exactly where I left her, leaning against the wall near the chapel door. She straightens when she sees me, questions written all over her face.
"They know you're here," I tell her without preamble. "The Reapers are watching the compound."
Her face pales, but she doesn't panic. "What happens now?"
"Now? Now I don't let you out of my sight until this is over." I grab her hand, pulling her toward the stairs. "Come on. We've got work to do."
And if my hand stays wrapped around hers longer than necessary, if I pull her just a little closer than I should, well, that's nobody's business but mine.
Even if it might get us both killed. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I can already hear Vulture’s voice when he finds out the Reapers spotted her on my bike. Vulture doesn’t tolerate sloppy. If this goes wrong, it won’t just be my blood on the floor.