Chapter 5
Ice Pick
Iwake to the smell of Ava's shampoo on my pillow and the weight of her body against mine.
She's still asleep, one leg thrown over my thigh, and her hand resting on my chest like she's staking a claim. The morning light filtering through the blinds paints her skin gold, and for a moment I just lie there, memorizing the way she looks right now. Peaceful. Vulnerable. Mine. This won’t stay private.
Tess will know before lunch. Cara will already be deciding whether this makes me a liability.
Nothing inside Saints Outlaws exists without ripple effects.
That last thought should scare me more than it does.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it carefully, trying not to wake her. There’s a text from Vulture.
Vulture:
Church in an hour. We've got movement on the Reapers.
I type back quickly.
Me:
Be there.
Ava stirs against me, her eyes fluttering open. For a second she looks confused, trying to figure out where she is, then memory floods back and her cheeks flush pink.
"Morning," I say, my voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." She doesn't pull away, which I take as a good sign. "Was that your phone?"
"Yeah, Vulture. Church in an hour. The Reapers are making moves."
That wakes her up completely. She sits up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and I have to force myself to focus on her face instead of her bare breasts. Last night wasn't enough. It might never be enough when it comes to her.
"What kind of moves?" she asks.
"Don't know yet, that's what church is for." I swing my legs out of bed, standing and stretching. "You need to stay in your room while we meet. No exceptions this time."
"Mason." She uses my real name like a weapon, and hearing it from her mouth does things to me. "If they're planning something that involves me, I deserve to know."
"And you will know. After church, I'll tell you everything. But right now, I need you to trust me and stay out of sight." I pull on my jeans, watching her process this. "Can you do that?"
She's quiet for a long moment, then nods. "Fine, but only because I know arguing right now won't get me anywhere."
"Smart woman." I lean down, catching her mouth in a kiss that's too brief. "Get dressed, go to your room, lock the door. I'll come find you as soon as we're done."
"Be careful."
"Always am."
It's a lie, and we both know it. But she doesn't call me on it, just watches as I finish getting dressed and put on my cut. When I'm fully armored in leather and attitude, I feel more like Ice Pick and less like the man who spent last night worshipping her body.
I leave her in my room with a final warning to lock up behind me, then head downstairs where brothers are already gathering for church. The tension's thick enough to cut, everyone's faces grim as they filter toward the basement.
Zip catches my arm as I pass. "Heard you had company last night. Walls aren't exactly soundproof."
"Mind your own business."
"It is my business when our Sergeant-at-Arms is fucking the civilian we're protecting. That's a complication we don't need." His scarred face is serious, none of his usual humor present. "You're in deep, brother. Deeper than you should be."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're letting your dick make decisions your brain should be handling."
I step closer, using my size deliberately. "You got a problem with how I'm handling this situation, take it up with Vulture. Otherwise, back the fuck off."
He holds my stare for a beat, then nods once. "Just looking out for you, Ice Pick. That's what brothers do."
The anger drains out of me as quickly as it came. Zip's right to be concerned. Getting involved with Ava complicates everything, puts both her and the club at risk. But I can't seem to stop myself, can't seem to care about the consequences when I remember the way she felt in my arms.
"I appreciate it," I say, my voice lower. "But I've got this under control."
"Hope you're right." He claps me on the shoulder. "Come on. Vulture’s waiting."
We head down to the chapel, taking our seats around the table. Vulture and Falcon are already there, Condor is beside them with a laptop open. That's unusual. Condor rarely comes to church, he prefers to work remotely and keep his tech skills separate from club business.
When everyone's seated, Vulture calls the meeting to order with three sharp strikes of his gavel.
"We've got a situation," he starts without preamble. "Condor's been monitoring Reaper communications, and they're planning something big. Condor, fill them in."
Condor turns his laptop so we can see the screen.
It's covered in text messages, encrypted but decoded by whatever software he's running.
"The Reapers are moving a shipment tonight.
A big one; twenty girls, ages fifteen to twenty-two, coming up from Louisiana.
They're staging at the warehouse on Fifth Street before moving them to buyers. "
My blood runs cold. Twenty girls. Twenty lives about to be destroyed.
"Where's the intel coming from?" Sterling asks, leaning forward.
"Intercepted communications between the Reapers and their contact south of the border. They're using burner phones, but they're not as careful as they think they are." Condor pulls up another screen. "Here's the thing, they're expecting company."
"What kind of company?" Falcon's voice is tight. After everything that Cara went through he finds it hard to think about the women and children being sold.
"The buyers. Several of them are flying in specifically for this shipment. They want to inspect the merchandise before purchase." Condor's face is hard. "This is the kind of operation that could bring down their entire network if we play it right."
"Or get us all killed if we play it wrong," Hustler mutters.
"That's why we're not going in blind." Vulture looks around the table. "We're going to hit that warehouse, free those girls, and collect enough evidence to bury the Reapers and everyone connected to them."
"That's suicide," Rook says. "They'll have guards, probably armed. And if the buyers are there, they'll have private security too."
"Which is why we're calling in favors." Falcon nods to Condor, who pulls up another file. "Robert Samson has contacts in the FBI. Real ones, not the dirty cops on the Reapers' payroll. He's willing to coordinate with them if we can provide solid evidence and a clear path to prosecution."
"You want to involve the feds?" I can't keep the skepticism out of my voice.
"I want to make sure those girls get home and the people responsible face justice.
" Falcon's eyes are hard. "We can't do this alone.
We're bikers, not a tactical assault team.
But we can provide intel, we can create opportunities, and we can make sure the right people are in the right place at the right time. "
The room's quiet as everyone processes this. Working with law enforcement goes against everything the club stands for. We handle our own problems, take care of our own people. Bringing in the feds is admitting we're out of our depth.
But Falcon's right. This is bigger than us.
"What about Ava?" I ask. "Her investigation, her evidence, that's what started all this. She deserves to be part of it."
"She will be. Her recordings, her documentation, that's what we'll use to convince the FBI this is worth their time." Vulture looks directly at me. "But she stays out of the actual operation. No arguments, Ice Pick. She's too valuable as a witness to risk in the field."
I want to argue, want to insist that Ava's tough enough to handle herself. But he's right. If something happens to her, if she gets hurt or worse, all her work means nothing.
"Understood," I say.
"Good. Now here's the plan." Falcon spreads out a map of the warehouse district. "The shipment arrives at midnight. Buyers show up an hour later. That gives us a window to position ourselves, get eyes on the location, and coordinate with the feds."
"What's our role?" Zip asks.
"Reconnaissance. We watch, we document, we make sure the feds have everything they need for a clean raid.
We do not engage unless absolutely necessary.
" Falcon's tone makes it clear this isn't negotiable.
"Our goal is to get those girls out safely and collect enough evidence to prosecute everyone involved.
" Clearly he’s taking the lead on this one.
Vulture is watching over him, ready to jump in if necessary.
"And if the Reapers spot us?" Rook's question hangs in the air.
"Then we defend ourselves. But we do it smart. No unnecessary risks, no cowboy shit." Vulture looks around the table. "Everyone clear?"
A chorus of "aye" answers him.
"Good. Ice Pick, you're with me and Zip.
Sterling, you coordinate with Robert and the FBI.
Rook, you handle logistics, make sure our exits are clear.
Condor, you monitor communications and give us real-time updates.
" He pauses. "And someone needs to stay here with Ava.
Keep her safe and keep her from doing something stupid like trying to follow us. "
"I'll do it," Hustler says, and everyone turns to look at him. "What? I'm good at babysitting."
"You're good at pissing people off," I correct. "But fine. Just don't let her talk you into anything."
"She's a journalist, not a magician." Hustler grins. "I think I can handle one stubborn woman."
"You haven't met Ava," I mutter.
Church breaks up with everyone moving to their assignments. I hang back, waiting until it's just me and Vulture.
"You got something to say, say it," I tell him.
"I heard you and Ava got close last night. The whole compound heard, actually." He doesn't look angry, just tired. "Tell me this isn't going to be a problem."
"It won't be."