Chapter Fifteen
Bones
“How’s Sunny?” Maverick asks as I enter the war room. “Spike filled me in on everything that happened.”
“She’s in pain today,” I growl, jaw tightening. It grates on me knowing she’s hurting, knowing it was my damn fault. Even if it was to save her life. “The girls are sitting with her until I get back.”
“Is the beautiful sunshine girl domesticating our Bones?” Skip grins from where he’s lounging back in his chair, fingers twirling a pen like it’s a butterfly knife. His eyes sparkle with mischief, as always.
I shoot him a look that could make concrete crack. But he continues to fucking smile.
“She’s not domesticating me,” I mutter. “She’s surviving. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says with a low chuckle. “But I bet if she asked you to kill a spider you would do it without blinking.”
I don’t answer. Mostly because if she asked me to kill anything or anyone, I would do it without hesitation.
“Alright,” Spike says, stepping in and killing the teasing vibe with the drop of his voice alone. “Let’s get to it.”
The mood shifts instantly, the easy banter replaced with the tension that always hits when the club’s under threat. We file into our usual spots, the big table scratched and worn from years of fists, bottles, and decisions that shaped who we are today.
Maverick leans against the far wall instead of taking a seat, arms crossed, one boot braced up behind him like he’s just passing through. But I know better. That man sees everything, stores it away in that steel-trap brain of his.
Even though he’s not patched, he’s earned his place here. In blood. In loyalty. In ways that can’t be measured by ink on leather.
“Girls getting dosed was a message,” Crusher says. “Question is: who the hell’s trying to talk to us and what the hell are they saying?”
“Los Fantasmas,” I say with no hesitation. “Billy didn’t come out and say it, but I’m pretty sure Muerte is the leader. He used to just be Luis but got himself a new name. So, if he went back to tattle on us for kicking his ass out, this could be revenge.”
“Yeah,” Skip says. “I remember the name Luis. So, Muerte and Luis are the same person?”
“Makes sense,” Tank says. “There was never any rumor of leadership changing hands.”
“We don’t know shit about them,” Spike says, fingers drumming against the table.
“Which is one of the reasons why I’ve got Vipers in place, working angles.
We needed someone on the inside and we’ve got him.
Just got word last night. They’ve greenlit the op.
Our guy’s going under with Los Fantasmas starting tomorrow. ”
A low hum of tension rolls through the room. Even Maverick straightens up from the wall.
“Can we trust them?” Knuckles asks, brow raised.
“No,” Spike answers flatly. “But just like we discussed, they’re desperate for our help.
If they give us false intel, then help will be the last thing they get.
And if Max is involved in that group and what’s been happening here, we’re going to have to be careful.
He knows everything there is to know about us. ”
“I’m so fucking conflicted about Max,” Knuckles says. “He betrays us and then helps us. Something isn’t adding up.”
“It’s not,” Spike agrees. “We’re going to get answers one way or another. Until then, let’s focus on this fucking drug. Foster, did you get info on the people who worked at the diner?”
“I did,” Foster says, flipping open his laptop. “I’m running a check on all of their employees right now. It’ll take a few hours. But, we may have another issue. Data traffic out of the clubhouse suggests someone else has been accessing secure info, maybe remotely. I’m still trying to pin it down.”
My jaw clenches. “Do you think Max is smart enough to hack into our systems from the outside?”
Foster gives a grim nod. “It’s possible. I’ve put up trackers, though. From now on, every time our systems are accessed, I’ll be notified of who they are and what location they’re at. I just need them to do it one more time so my poison can take effect.”
“Speaking of poison,” Spike cuts in, his voice cold and sharp. “The cookies that hit Riley and Sunny were laced with enough fentanyl to drop a man Maverick’s size. Twice.”
A low whistle cuts through the room.
“Which, in the grand scheme of things, ain’t all that much,” Skip mutters, twirling his pen again. “Stuff’s lethal in pinches. A little goes a long damn way.”
“The real question is,” I say, my voice like gravel over concrete, “did they make a whole laced batch? Or were those cookies meant for just them?”
“They were meant for me,” Spike growls. “Or, at the very least, someone inside the compound. I’m the one who ordered the food to go. They figured it was going to a Shadow.”
“A message,” Tank mutters. “So, who was stupid enough to go after one of ours?”
“I have an entire basement full of filleting knives for whoever it was,” I growl.
Foster’s already typing. “I’ll pull surveillance from the store. Cross-check employees and deliveries with anything we’ve flagged. And I’ll loop in the Vipers’ contact to see if anything matching this kind of hit has shown up in their territory.”
There’s a heavy pause. A storm gathering in the silence.
Because this wasn’t just a hit.
It was a message.
And the bastards behind it were still whispering.