Chapter Twenty-One
Justice
The cage sits in the far corner of the clubhouse’s garage. It’s behind a hidden door, inside is dark, cold, and reeking of death and blood. The club’s on-site murder room. It’s not something we use often, dealing death in the compound is a recipe for disaster if the local law ever found out.
Only one light burns overhead, a single bulb that flickers every few seconds like it’s nervous.
Ronan is inside, slumped against the bars. Sweat glistens on his face, blood pooling beneath his knee. The sweat is from shock as I’m sure he knows what’s about to happen to him.
Winchester’s in the cage with him, cleaning the wound, bandages nearby to wrap it up.. Creed paces in front of the cage like a predator that hasn’t decided if it’s going to play or eat.
“Out,” Creed says to Winchester without looking at him.
Winchester doesn’t argue. He packs up his gear and leaves, closing the door behind him. The air tightens the second he’s gone.
“Justice,” Creed says, voice low, dangerous. “Lock it.”
Clicking the bolt into place, I turn around and look at the man who doesn’t have long to live.
Ronan looks up, panic flickering in his eyes. “Prez, I swear—”
“Don’t,” Creed orders. “You don’t get to talk yet. You get to listen.”
He steps closer, slow and deliberate. “You let Hector Sanchez waltz into my yard, shoot up my brothers, and walk out like it was a Sunday drive.”
“I didn’t!” Ronan’s voice cracks. “They made me! They have my sister—”
Creed slams a hand into the bars. The sound rings like a gunshot. “You think you’re the first man to lose family in this life? You think that buys you forgiveness?”
Ronan shakes his head, trembling. “They said they’d kill her if I didn’t—”
Creed crouches, eyes level with Ronan’s. “And you didn’t think to come to me?”
Ronan starts to cry, raw and ugly. “I panicked, Prez. I thought I could fix it before it got this far.”
Creed’s jaw flexes. For a moment, I think he’s going to shoot him right there.
Instead, he stands, grabs Ronan by the hair, and forces him to look up. “You didn’t just betray me, Prospect. You betrayed every patch on your back. You got brothers bleeding out there because of you.”
Ronan’s breathing turns shallow. “I—I didn’t know they’d bring Sanchez—”
That name makes Creed pause. His grip loosens, but his expression darkens. “You know Hector Sanchez?”
Ronan nods, tears streaking his face. “He’s the one who sent the Rivet Knights. Said he’s taking back what’s his. The Crimson Wheelers were part of it, Prez. They worked for him.”
A chill runs through the room. The air feels heavier somehow.
Creed looks over at me. “You hearing this?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “And it makes sense.”
Ronan swallows hard. “He said the girl—Jet—belongs to him. That she took something from the Wheelers before she escaped.”
Creed’s voice turns cold. “What kind of something?”
Ronan shakes his head. “Didn’t say. Just that it’s worth killing for.”
Creed lets go of him and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “You just painted a target on every one of us.”
“I’m sorry, Prez—”
“Sorry doesn’t bring back brothers.” Creed’s voice drops to a deadly calm. “You’ll stay in this cage until I decide what to do with you. And pray the Rivet Knights don’t come before I make that call.”
He turns to me. “Watch him. I don’t want him dead—yet.”
Creed leaves, the door slamming behind him.
For a long moment, the only sound is Ronan’s ragged breathing.
He looks up at me, eyes full of fear. “They’ll kill her, Justice. They’ll kill Jet.”
My voice is deadly. “Not on my watch.”
Ronan’s breath rattles in the quiet. For a long second he just stares at the bars, then finds me with his eyes and manages a ragged whisper.
“You gotta listen… please.” His fingers scrabble weakly at the concrete. “Before they came through, before the Wheelers burned, someone hid a book. They called it a ledger. Names. Routes. Payments. All of it.”
“Where?” I ask.
His jaw works. “Toolbox… the mechanic’s shed. Under the floorboards. You lift the old red wrench, and there’s a false bottom. I heard Hector say it. I didn’t know what it was… I swear I didn’t know.”
Cold runs through me. The image stitches itself tight in my head: a squat shed, engine grease on the floor, a toolbox with a red wrench on top. It’s small, stupid and very specific, yet I remember it. It, like everything else in their compound, was burned to the ground.
“Hector thinks Jet took it,” I say. “That’s why he’s cleaning up loose ends?”
Ronan nods once, eyes hollow. “He’ll kill to get it back. He promised. Said he’d bury anyone in the road if they didn’t find it. The Crimson Wheelers weren’t as stupid as Hector thought. They had leverage on him, and he didn’t even know.”
I let the words sit, then stand. The bolt slides home with a hard, measured clack.
Creed’s still in the clubhouse. He looks up when I find him in the meeting room, which now looks like a war room. There’s a map spread across the table, with coffee cups gone cold, scattered around it.
“He talked,” I say without preamble. “Ronan gave a location. The ledger’s real. Mechanic’s shed at the Wheelers’ compound. It was hidden under the floorboards, in a toolbox under a red wrench.”
The map flattens beneath Creed’s palm. For a beat, there’s nothing but the scrape of his hand over the paper. Then he breathes, slow and controlled and says what I already know.
“We burned it to the ground.” His face hardens into the calm that always comes before a storm. “If there was a ledger, it’s ash.”
“Hector thinks it’s real,” I say.
Creed nods. “Winchester, Highway, Justice, you go check it out. Maybe something’s left. Maybe not.” He shakes his head. “But I doubt it.”
“Understood,” I answer.
Creed looks each of us over. “Be careful. Stick together. And for fuck’s sake, if the law’s there, keep moving. Don’t stop.”