Chapter 7 Mia #2
The disgraced Fed glares, checking the exits with a flushed, sweating face. Shane still holds the pump-action shotgun steady. Logan keeps his pistol resting over the bar. Austin casually adjusts the brass knuckles wrapped tight over his thick fingers.
Other patch-wearing brothers filter in from the back hallway. Chase, the Enforcer, fills the archway like a human tank. A younger guy named Blake—a Prospect—wipes machine grease off his palms with a shop rag, a heavy wrench dangling from his belt.
The club forms an unbroken wall, creating a silent, leather-clad semicircle directly behind Elias. Logan steps up to his Treasurer's right shoulder, while Shane takes his left, their physical presence an undeniable barricade.
They don't just stand behind him; they flank his claim. These men barely know me. I arrived merely as the outside auditor hired to examine their ledgers. Yet, because Elias publicly claimed me, planting his uncompromising mark on my existence, I am instantly recognized as family.
His brothers are ready to start a war with the federal government simply because I belong to him. After escaping years of transient foster homes and temp jobs, the terrifying reality of standing alone evaporates into the heavy smell of gun oil and absolute, unwavering brotherhood.
Buzz Cut cradles his arm, favoring his splinted wrist—a brutal reminder of his first encounter with the Treasurer on the mountain road. The federal agent looks from Elias to the assembled wall of bikers, his defiance shattering.
Straightening his ruined suit jacket, the agent desperately claws for a shred of dignity. "This is far from over, Gunnar. We’ll find a judge to sign off on a hard warrant. We’ll be back."
"Bring a calculator," Elias orders dryly. "You’re going to need to count your losses."
The agents back step toward the exit. Retreating is their only surviving option, fully aware they are outgunned and dangerously isolated from backup.
Slamming shut behind them, the heavy oak door locks out the federal threat.
The thick tension suffocating the room instantly shatters.
Shane lowers the barrel of the shotgun, flashing a lethal grin. "Man, I hate those feds. They stink of cheap cologne and desperation."
Logan holsters his pistol, striding around the polished wood of the bar. Stopping directly in front of us, his dark eyes drag over Elias before landing heavily on me.
"You bleeding, Mia?"
Swallowing hard, I force the knot out of my throat. "I’m intact. Thank you. All of you."
Logan dips his chin, shifting his focus back to his Treasurer. "You lost your control, brother."
"He reached for her," Elias bites out. The primal justification hangs in the air, requiring zero further explanation to a room full of outlaws.
"I saw." A tiny twitch hits the corner of Logan’s mouth. "Just making sure you’re back in the driver’s seat. Fighting the federal government and the Costa cartel requires strategy, not just blind adrenaline."
"I’m balanced," Elias lies smoothly.
Turning fully toward me, his massive, scarred hands lift to frame my jaw. A faint tremor vibrates through his palms as he tilts my head upward, dragging his piercing gray gaze over my skin to inspect for damage.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No," I whisper. "You didn't give him the chance."
Rough thumbs drag over the sharp arches of my cheekbones, anchoring me to the present. "That bastard was right about one thing. The tip originated from inside the network. The mirror signal is escalating."
"The cartel knows we’re close to untangling the ghost ledger," I reply, my brain finally matching the frantic pace of my pulse. "Tipping the feds was a tactical move to rip me out of the Vault."
"If they want you exposed out here," Elias rumbles, that deep, possessive growl vibrating through my jaw, "it’s because they can’t touch you inside the server room. We’re going back in."
"Wait," I interject, pulling an inch backward. "Elias, a hard warrant means the steel door won't stop them. A breaching team will bring a cutting torch. Hiding isn't a viable long-term strategy."
"We aren't hiding," he counters immediately. "We’re working. Twelve hours remain on the clock, Mia. Can you finish the final reconstruction to mathematically prove your innocence?"
The sprawling spreadsheets flash behind my eyes, filled with the chaotic patterns of the mirror signal.
"Yes," I confirm. "But the Vault’s server isn't enough. The hard copies from the last three fiscal years are mandatory. The boxes stored in the off-site archive."
"That’s right in the middle of town," Austin, our VP, points out from his spot over the maps. "Stored at the Outfitters. Legitimate business records."
"Then we drive into town," Elias decides instantly.
"High risk," Shane warns, racking the shotgun again. "Town is wide open ground."
"Staying here turns us into sitting ducks for the next judicial signature," Elias argues, his voice dropping into that lethal, calculated register. "Moving allows us to control the variables. We’re taking the armored truck. Chase, you’re behind the wheel. I’m staying in the back, pinned to Mia until we hit the Outfitters and secure the hard copies. "
Logan considers the tactical advantage, his gaze tracking the way Elias’s hand has tightened possessively on my waist.
"Smart," Logan agrees. "But you’re not going with just one driver. Oliver, you’re on rear guard in the SUV. If the Costa cartel shows their faces on the main road, you run interference so the truck can get through."
Elias nods as he pulls me flush against his side. "Chase, get the truck running. Oliver, stay on our six. I’m not letting a single soul near her until this audit is closed."
"Done," Logan says, his expression grim. "Get moving before the Feds find a judge willing to play ball."
Elias’s jaw works, a muscle jumping in his cheek, before he finally dips his head in a tight gesture of agreement. The cold, detached numbers man remains buried beneath a volatile, dangerously reactive surface.
"Fine," Elias grunts.
Shifting his piercing gaze back to me, he asks the final question: "You ready to run, Mia?"
My gaze drifts to the heavy door, then to the bullet holes decorating the drywall. Finally, I stare directly up at the massive, tattooed treasurer who just threatened to turn a federal agent into a dental record for reaching for my arm.
"I’m not running," I declare, lacing my fingers through his. "I’m auditing. Let’s go hunt down my numbers."
A slow, dark smirk crawls across Elias's face. The sharp, dangerous curve of his mouth resembles a freshly honed blade.
"That’s my girl," he murmurs.
"Christie at the diner just texted. She spotted a black SUV circling Main Street this morning," Austin adds, scrolling through his glowing phone screen. "Small town gossip moves faster than police scanners. If the cartel is in town, we’ll see them coming."
"Good," Elias responds, his voice dripping with lethal anticipation. "Let the bastards watch. I want them to see us."
His grip tightens over my hand. The rough calluses pressing into my skin deliver an uncompromising promise of extreme violence and absolute safety.
"Let’s go balance the books."