Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Slayer
I follow Rip into his office and sit in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish pouring two fingers full of scotch into his glass before he sits in his own chair.
The heavy scent of the liquor fills the small, wood-paneled room, a sharp contrast to the humid night air we just left behind at the gates.
Rip doesn’t say a word at first, his focus entirely on the amber liquid as he swigs it around in the glass, his mind likely still replaying the meeting with the feds.
He finally looks up, his stare level and piercing.
I wait for him to drop the down low on Jerome, Patrick, and the evidence that’s going to finally dismantle the Dragons.
I’m desperate for the news that will ensure the safety of the unit I’ve built with Jersey, Boston, and Carolina.
I need to know that the wall I’ve erected around them is finally backed by the full, crushing weight of the law, making us truly untouchable.
“Something wrong? Did the meet not go well, Rip?”
“Somewhat,” he growls. “They already have the information on the councilwoman, she’s going down so we won’t have to lift a finger on that front.”
“But—” I leave hanging out there because I’ve come to expect that there’s always a but when dealing with law officials.
Rip sets his glass down on the scarred mahogany of his desk, the heavy crystal making a sharp, final sound.
“But the Dragons aren’t as isolated as we thought.
The agent I met with confirmed that Jerome and Patrick have been funneling some of their profits into a higher-tier syndicate out of Dallas.
If we hit the Dragons too hard before the feds are ready to roll on the whole operation, we might just be kicking a hornet’s nest that’s bigger than this entire town. ”
I feel a cold weight settle in my gut. The prospect of an even larger threat looming over the compound is enough to make my battered ribs throb in sympathy.
I’ve worked too damn hard to carve out this safe harbor for Jersey and the kids.
“So what’s the play? Do we sit on our hands while the feds take their sweet time building a RICO case, or do we handle our business before Jerome decides to make another move on us? ”
“We wait for the signal,” Riptide rumbles, his eyes fixed on mine. “The fucker promised they’d keep us in the loop, but until they give the green light, we keep the lockdown tight. I won’t risk the club’s future on a premature strike.”
“I don’t like it, not one motherfucking bit, but I agree,” I admit, forcing myself to use my head instead of my raw need to just go out and eliminate the target.
If the feds can actually dismantle the whole rotten operation, from that bitch councilwoman all the way to the Dallas syndicate and finally those Dragon fuckers, then we’ll finally be clear of this cloud over the club.
I have to trust the process, even if it feels like we’re just handing Jerome a silver platter of more time to find another way to reach through our gates and snatch what belongs to us.
I’ll head back to the trailer, hold Jersey a little tighter tonight, and wait for shit to hit the fan.
But when that signal comes, I’m gonna be the first one out that gate to finish this shit once and for all.
“Patrick’s going to be vulnerable once his mom is taken down.
We can’t sit idle, Rip. Once she’s behind bars, he’s going to run the fuck away and join Jerome.
Whoever’s hiding that fucker has deep pockets,” I remind him, my voice tight with the frustration of being a spectator in our own war.
“Once he’s gone, he’ll be gone with a capital G. ”
Riptide’s jaw works as he stares at the amber liquid in his glass.
He knows I’m right. Patrick is the weak link, a spoiled brat who’s spent his whole life hiding behind his mother’s political skirt.
But Jerome is a different breed of predator—one who knows how to use a desperate man like a tool.
If Patrick slips through our fingers, he becomes Jerome’s primary asset, and with the kind of financial backing we’re suspecting from that Dallas syndicate, they could disappear into the shadows and rebuild before we even know the net has been cut.
“We can’t let that happen, Slayer,” Riptide finally rumbles, setting his glass down with a heavy thud that echoes the finality in his tone.
“We took out his father, we can take him out too. We just have to find the piece of shit first. The feds want a clean sweep, but I won’t let their timeline compromise the safety of this club.
If Patrick looks like he’s ready to bolt, we move. Regardless of what the signal says.”
“Good,” I say, the word feeling like the first real breath I’ve taken since their return.
The weight of the coming hours is still there, a constant pressure in my chest, but knowing that Rip is willing to take the shot when it presents itself gives me the focus I need.
I’m done with waiting for the world to reach through and make us its bitch.
I’m ready to be the one reaching out and snuffing the danger before it ever touches a single member of our family.
I stand up and square my shoulders, ready to haul my ass to my woman. “See you in the morning, Rip.”
“See ya,” he says, waving his hand and dismissing me.
His expression remains grim, the weight of the federal meeting still etched into the lines of his face.
As I turn to leave the office, I can’t believe we’ve discovered there’s a third party organization involved.
A group out of Dallas wasn’t on my radar, and until we have the specifics on them, I’m worried we have another enemy on our backs just when we thought we were closing the chapter on the ones we’ve known about.
I walk out of the clubhouse, my boots crunching on the loose, pebble stones as I head away from my brothers and tomorrow’s problems. The knowledge that a larger network is pulling the strings makes the safety of the compound feel more fragile than it did an hour ago.
Every shadow seems deeper, every distant sound more menacing.
I need to get inside, lock the door, and pull Jersey into my arms. She’s the only thing that can quiet the roar of my mind.
The next morning, we all find ourselves seated in church.
Inside the room, the atmosphere remains thick with the smell of stale tobacco and a tension that’s rapidly reaching its breaking point.
“So let me get this straight,” Rebel says, his voice a low, menacing rumble as he leaned his weight against the table, his knuckles popping.
He looks from Riptide to the rest of the inner circle, his eyes burning with a localized fury that mirrors my own.
“The councilwoman is going down because of the feds, but her son and those motherfucking Dragons are gonna be left unaccounted for? We’re just gonna let the real vipers slink back into the tall grass while we celebrate a political win? ”
“No, that’s not what’s going to happen,” I correct.
I lean forward, meeting Rebel’s heated stare with a calm that I don’t entirely feel.
The room is silent, every brother leaning in, the weight of this situation pressing against the walls of the church.
“We’re gonna let the government take care of that skanky bitch, but we’re going to be the downfall of Jerome, Patrick, and the rest of the Dragons. ”
I lock eyes with Riptide, whose sharp, resolute nod confirms the plan.
We’ve endured enough nights hunkered down behind these iron gates, guarding our women and little ones from the vultures who want to end us, to ever allow the true assholes to slink away.
The councilwoman’s political demise is merely the opening act.
While the government officials orchestrate their high-profile media circus, the Kings will be working in the grime and the grit, exactly where the Dragons mistakenly believe they’re untouchable.
Jerome and Patrick have constructed a legacy fueled by violence and terror, and I’m more than ready to watch their kingdom burn.
My mind drifts to Jersey, to the fragile tranquility she’s discovered, and that lethal promise I swore to her—that nobody fucks with what’s mine, because I am a King down to the marrow of my bones.
If the feds lack the balls to finish this, the Kings sure as hell don’t.
“How are we going to remove Patrick from the equation?” Renegade asks, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. He leans forward, his hands clasped tightly, eyes reflecting the same hunger for justice that is currently clawing at my insides.
“We keep spying on their mansion, once the feds step in and remove the councilwoman in handcuffs, we make our move. We don’t give him time to get in touch with Jerome and disappear.
” I let the words settle, the strategy clear and uncompromising.
We have the intel on her corruption, her drug deals involving the governor’s son, and the syndicate ties in Dallas.
Once her political shield is shattered by the arrest, Patrick will be exposed, a spoiled bully without his mother’s protection.
We’ll be the ones waiting in the shadows to ensure he pays the price for the terror he’s helped Jerome unleash on our town.
“So we just sit on our hands?” Shade asks, the agitation clear in his throaty tone.
He’s a man built for the hunt, his mindset a near mirror image of Icer’s lethal focus.
While he hasn’t reached the frozen tundra of our enforcer, he’s damn close.
I watch him grind his jaw, his fingers tapping out a restless staccato against the battered wood of the table.
For a combatant like Shade, every heartbeat we spend in limbo is another second those Dragon fuckers are allowed to draw air, and I can tell his fuse is wire thin.
He’s hanging on to his temper by a mere thread.