Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Aero
We’ve been at it for hours. Sweat burns my eyes and soaks the back of my cut, but no one’s complaining. Not with what we’re doing. Everyone sees the potential this place holds and what it means for the club's future.
The cameras are almost up. Infrared, motion-triggered, and backed by our own system, not some bullshit corporate security feed. Hash Tag handled most of that with Crank running cable like he was born for it.
I watch the crew. They’re tired, dirty, but focused. Crank is mounting a second camera over the east entrance, his brows pulled tight. Hashtag is double-checking the feeds, muttering to himself while he taps at the screen.
Fencing is up too thanks to Surge, Padre and Pike.
Backdraft, Grizzly and I haul crates of weapons out of the hidden room in the warehouse and into a waiting truck. We haven’t stopped moving since Ricci’s call came through. His smug voice is still echoing in my head like a damn warning shot.
“Last one’s loaded,” Grizzly calls out, slamming the truck’s back door shut.
Good. One less problem bleeding into my day.
We were never supposed to find those guns. And I sure as hell am not prepared for whomever will come looking for them.
“I want ‘em out of state before sunrise, before anyone comes sniffing.” I pause. “Somebody wanted us to find those crates and I wouldn’t be surprised if Ricci is behind it. Why else would he care that we are here?”
The truck pulls away with a prospect behind the wheel. And another to make sure no one gets any dumb ideas to double cross me. I watch its taillights fade into the distance, but it doesn’t feel like a win.
“You think he’s trying to provoke us?”
I give him a cold smile. “He’s doing more than that. He’s setting us up to take the fall and we aren’t going down without a fight.”
I can feel it in my bones. In the quiet. In the way the air feels heavy on my skin like something bad is coming. I just don’t know who’s leading the charge yet.
“Cameras are live,” Hashtag announces, walking over and wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “If someone so much as breathes wrong within fifty feet, we’ll see it.”
“Good,” I grunt. “Wanna make sure no one gets close without our say-so.”
The door creaks open as Rancor steps out with a tablet in hand. His mouth is tight, his eyes scanning the screen like he’s looking for a crack.
“Transfer cleared.” He says momentarily looking up before gluing his eyes back on the screen. “Ownership is official once we sign. I had the paperwork couriered. Should be here by morning.”
“Realtor giving us any problems?” I ask.
Rancor tsks dryly. “Claimed we were too aggressive. Said he’s never seen a deal move so fast.”
“He doesn’t know us well then.”
Despite the unease pressing down on me, I breathe a sigh of temporary relief. The only thing left is signing the final paperwork, but that’s just a formality now. This place is ours.
I light a cigarette and lean against my bike, the chrome still warm from the day’s sun. Surge stands beside me, flicking his lighter, the end of his smoke catching with a glow.
The wind’s blowing hard off the bay, carrying that tang of salt that never quite fades.
I flick ash off the end of my smoke and glance toward the warehouse. We’ve turned this skeleton of a building into a fortress by sheer will.
I let the smoke burn slow, watching the way the shadows bend around the far end of the building. It’s quiet, too quiet. That kind of quiet that never lasts.
“You good?” Surge asks. “You've been pacing all damn day.”
I shrug, but it’s a lie. I feel like a wire pulled too tight, and ready to snap. Something’s off. I feel it. That gut-deep pull when something’s about to go sideways.
“You check in with Lacey?” Surge asks, casual.
My jaw tightens.
“No.” He raises a brow, waiting. “Pretty sure she doesn’t want me checking in. She’s moving on.”
“And you believe that?”
I don’t answer.
Truth is, I don’t believe a damn thing. Not her words. Not her silence. And not mine either.
I flick ash to the ground.
Surge exhales slowly. “I talked to Emery.”
My jaw ticks, but I don’t look at him. “Yeah?”
“Did you know Lacey lined up a job?”
My stomach knots, but I force my voice to stay level. “What kind of job?”
Surge glances over. “At the damn casino, man. Il Ritorno.”
I don’t react. Can’t. Not until I know more.
“Garett Ricci offered her a job personally. She went down there right after we left the clubhouse. Emery said she’s been gone all day and won’t answer her phone.”
I drop my cigarette to the gravel and grind it under my boot.
“She say why?” I ask, though I already fucking know the answer.
“Something about feeling like she doesn’t belong. Like she needs to take care of herself.” He pauses. “Said something about being Emery’s friend.”
He shrugs and I swallow hard. That hits harder than I want to admit. I’m the one who said those words like a blade I buried in her on purpose.
Emery's friend. Not my woman. I let my fear win. I told myself that keeping her at arm’s length would protect her. I convinced myself she didn’t belong in this life when the truth is, she’s the only thing that’s felt right in it for a long damn time.
Surge watches me. He’s quiet for a beat, then adds, “Em’s got that feeling, you know? That sixth-sense shit women get. She said something feels off.”
Surge lets that sit for a beat, watching me like he’s clocking my reaction. I grind my teeth, slow and deliberate. My gut’s already twisting. I stare off into the dark, my fists clenched at my sides.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“You gonna go get her?” Surge asks.
I look up at the sky. It’s black, no stars in sight, like the universe closed its eyes on me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m going.”