Chapter 11
Ice Pick
Two weeks after getting out of the hospital, I'm finally cleared for light duty.
The stitches are out, the wound's healing clean, and the only reminder of how close I came to dying is the angry red scar on my side.
Ava traces it sometimes when we're in bed, her fingers gentle like she's afraid I'll break.
I won't break. It takes more than shrapnel to put me down permanently.
The compound's buzzing with activity when I make my way downstairs.
Ava's article dropped yesterday in three major publications simultaneously, and the fallout's been immediate and brutal.
Castellano's empire is crumbling, his political connections scrambling to distance themselves, and the FBI's fielding tips from all over the country about similar operations.
She did it. She exposed the whole rotten system and made sure the world knows exactly what happened to those twenty girls.
I find her in the common room with Condor, going through interview requests from news outlets that want her on camera. She's wearing one of my shirts again, her hair piled on top of her head, and her reading glasses perched on her nose. The sight makes something warm settle in my chest.
"Morning," I say, dropping a kiss on top of her head.
She looks up with a smile that's all for me. "You're supposed to be resting."
"I've been resting for two weeks. I'm going stir-crazy." I grab coffee from the pot Rook keeps perpetually full. "What're we looking at?"
"Marriage proposals, mostly." Condor grins. "Apparently half the country thinks Ava's a hero and wants to marry her."
"They'll have to get through me first." I settle beside her, scanning the emails on her screen. "These all legit?"
"Most of them. A few are clearly fishing for information or trying to discredit the story, but Robert is vetting everything before I respond." She leans into me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. "CNN wants me for a prime-time interview. So does 60 Minutes."
"You going to do them?"
"I don't know. Part of me wants to make sure this story gets maximum exposure, make sure people understand the scope of what Castellano did. But another part just wants to be done, to move on with my life." She looks up at me. "What do you think?"
"I think you've earned the right to decide what comes next. You want to do interviews, do them. You want to walk away and let the story speak for itself, that's fine too." I press a kiss to her temple. "Either way, I've got your back."
"That's not helpful. I need someone to tell me what to do."
"Since when have you ever done what anyone tells you?"
She laughs, the sound bright and genuine. "Fair point."
Vulture appears in the doorway, Falcon and Sterling beside him, both wearing expressions that say they've got club business. "Ice Pick, we need to talk. Ava, you should probably hear this too."
We follow them to Falcon's office where he closes the door and pulls up something on his computer. It's a news article, and my stomach drops when I see the headline.
Federal Investigation Expands: Outlaw Motorcycle Club's Role in Trafficking Takedown Raises Questions
"Shit," I mutter, reading the piece. It's speculation mostly, connecting dots between the Saints Outlaws and the FBI operation, questioning why an MC was involved in federal law enforcement activities. "This is what we were trying to avoid."
"It's not bad," Ava says, reading over my shoulder. "They're asking questions, but they're not accusing the club of anything illegal. If anything, it makes you look like unlikely heroes."
"We're not heroes. We're an outlaw MC who happened to be on the right side of one fight." Vulture’s jaw is tight. "This kind of attention is dangerous. It makes other clubs think we're working with the feds, and it makes law enforcement think we're assets they can call on."
"So what do we do?" Sterling asks.
"We make it clear that our involvement was an exception, not a pattern.
We helped take down traffickers because it aligned with our values, not because we're cooperating with federal agencies.
" Vulture looks at Ava. "That means you need to be careful about what you say in these interviews.
Don't make the club look like we're informants. "
"I won't. The story's about the trafficking network and Castellano's crimes, not about the Saints." She straightens, and I can see the journalist in her assessing angles. "But I can't ignore the club's role completely. People will ask how I got access, how I stayed safe during the investigation."
"Then you tell them the truth. That you needed protection and we provided it. That when push came to shove, we chose to help because it was the right thing to do." Vulture’s expression softens slightly. "Just don't make us sound like Boy Scouts. We've got a reputation to maintain."
"Understood."
Church is called an hour later, and this time Ava doesn't ask to attend. She's learning the boundaries, understanding when things are club business and when they're not. I leave her with Condor going through more interview requests and head down to the chapel where brothers are already gathering.
The table's full when Vulture calls the meeting to order. Every patched member is present, their faces serious, knowing this conversation could determine the club's future.
"We've got a publicity problem," Vulture starts without preamble. "Ava's article put us in the spotlight, and not everyone's happy about it. I've had calls from three other MCs in the region asking if we've turned informant."
Grumbles around the table, brothers exchanging dark looks.
"We haven't," I say firmly. "We took down traffickers who were operating in our territory without permission. We protected a civilian who needed help. That's all."
"That's all to us," Hustler counters. "But to the outside world, it looks like we're working with the feds. That makes us targets."
"Or it makes us respected," Sterling argues. "We took out a billionaire trafficking network. That sends a message that we've got principles, that there are lines we won't cross."
"It also sends a message that we're soft," Falcon says. "That we care more about saving innocent girls than about protecting our own interests."
"Since when is saving innocent lives soft?" The words are out before I can stop them, my voice hard. "Elena was innocent. Those twenty girls were innocent. You want to tell me we should've let them be sold because helping them made us look weak?"
The room goes silent. Most of the brothers know about my sister, but I don't talk about her. I don't use her memory to win arguments, but this matters too much to stay quiet.
"Ice Pick's right," Falcon says after a moment. "We're not soft for having standards. We're smart. Trafficking brings heat we don't need, it hurts people who can't defend themselves. Taking a stand against it doesn't make us weak. It makes us different from the monsters we're fighting."
"So what's the play?" Rook asks.
"We continue business as usual. We run our operations, protect our territory, maintain our reputation, but we also make it clear that the trafficking takedown was personal, not professional.
A one-time thing, not a pattern." Vulture looks around the table.
"Anyone who's got a problem with that can speak now. "
No one does. The vote's unanimous when it comes, and church breaks up with brothers dispersing to their duties. I hang back, waiting until it's just me and Vulture.
"You used Elena to make your point," he says quietly.
"I know, but it needed to be said." I lean against the table. "The brothers needed to understand why this mattered, why we couldn't just look the other way."
"They understand, but be careful how often you pull that card. Grief's a powerful weapon, but it loses impact if you use it too much."
"Noted." I head for the door, then pause. "Vulture, are we making a mistake letting Ava into our world, letting her write about us?"
"Maybe, but some mistakes are worth making." He stands, coming around the desk. "She's good for you, Mason. Good for the club in ways we didn't expect. And if the cost of that is some uncomfortable publicity, I'll take it."
I head back upstairs to find Ava's moved to my room, her laptop open and phone pressed to her ear. She's pacing while she talks, animated and engaged, and I lean against the doorframe watching her work.
"Yes, I understand the time commitment. And no, I won't reveal my sources." She listens, then laughs. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested in a book deal right now. Maybe down the line." More listening. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."
She hangs up and notices me. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to hear you turn down a book deal. That's a lot of money to walk away from."
"It's also a lot of commitment to something I'm not sure I want to relive." She closes her laptop and crosses to me. "How was church?"
"Tense. Some brothers are worried about the publicity, but Falcon kept everyone in line." I pull her against me, needing the contact. "We're going to be okay. The club, I mean. This'll blow over."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we deal with it together." I catch her mouth in a kiss that starts gentle and quickly becomes something more desperate. "I need you."
"You have me." Her hands slide under my shirt, careful of my healing wound. "What do you need?"
"You. Naked. In my bed." I back her toward the mattress. "I need to feel you, need to forget about club politics and media attention and everything except us."
"I can work with that."
We strip each other with practiced efficiency, clothes hitting the floor in a trail to the bed.
When we're both naked, I pause just to look at her.
She's beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with physical appearance and everything to do with who she is.
Strong, fierce, unbreakable despite everything she's been through.
"What?" she asks, catching my stare.