Chapter 6 #2
As we completed our security check, I felt myself calm slightly. The house Razor had transformed into our home was solid, secure. The walls that had initially felt like a cage now represented protection, a barrier between us and whatever—whoever—lurked outside.
My phone remained silent, no response yet from Razor.
I checked the security feeds once more as Dante returned to his cars, sipping his juice between engine sounds.
The shadow by the tree line haunted me, that brief movement confirming what I'd sensed in the sandbox. We were being watched. Found. Followed.
But this time, unlike with Tyler, I wasn't facing the threat alone.
Razor
I slammed my palm down on the table, the sound echoing through the chapel like a gunshot.
Several brothers flinched, not used to seeing the club's normally calm treasurer lose his cool.
But this wasn't about club finances or business deals.
This was about family—my family—and Mustang was brushing off a legitimate threat like it was nothing more than a woman's hysteria.
"This isn't just about Ophelia," I said, my voice deadly quiet in the sudden silence.
"It's about our word. Our honor. When did Wicked Mayhem start breaking promises? "
Mustang's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, his face hardening into the expression that had made grown men piss themselves during territory disputes.
But I held his gaze, fifteen years of respect warring with my newfound protective instinct.
The air in the chapel felt electric, brothers shifting uncomfortably in their seats as they watched the confrontation unfold.
"Careful, Razor," Mustang warned, his voice dropping to that quiet register that usually preceded violence. "You're crossing a line."
"I crossed a line the moment I put a ring on that woman's finger," I replied, not backing down. "Made her and her kid my responsibility. Made them club family. And club family gets protection—that's always been our code."
Socket nodded from his place further down the table. "He's right, Prez. We don't leave our own hanging."
"She's been his old lady for what—a week?" Mustang scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Convenient how you're suddenly all about family values."
The jab stung, but I kept my expression neutral. "Doesn't matter if it's been a day or a decade. Marriage means something in this club. Always has."
A few murmurs of agreement rippled around the table. Loch cleared his throat, speaking up from his seat across from me. "Razor's right. We made a deal with Hades Abyss. Pretty Boy pulled our asses out of the fire with that Heathens situation last year. We owe him."
"And I'm telling you," I continued, pressing my advantage, "the threat is real. Ophelia survived for years with that abusive judge's son. She knows when she's being watched. If she says someone was there, someone was there."
Mustang's fist crashed down on the table this time, rattling the ashtray and empty beer bottles. "Don't tell me how to run my club!" he roared, standing to tower over the table. "Watch yourself, Treasurer. Don't forget who's in charge here."
The room fell dead silent. Challenging the president directly was dangerous territory.
I'd seen men stripped of patches, beaten, even exiled for less.
But the moment I saw fear in Ophelia's eyes, my priorities changed hard and fast. The line between risk and necessity no longer looked the same when it came to protecting her and Dante.
I straightened to my full height and stepped around the table, moving closer to Mustang until we stood nearly chest to chest. Every brother in the room tensed, hands instinctively drifting toward concealed weapons. Nobody expected violence between officers, but nobody ruled it out either.
"And don't you forget," I said, my voice low enough that only Mustang and those closest could hear clearly, "that Pretty Boy and Hades Abyss will come down on all of us if anything happens to his sister.
You willing to risk war with our strongest allies because you think my old lady's jumping at shadows? "
Mustang's jaw worked silently, a vein pulsing in his temple. I could almost see the calculations happening behind his eyes—weighing his pride against club safety, his authority against practical reality.
"If you were anyone else," he growled, "you'd be bleeding on this floor right now."
"If I were anyone else," I countered, "I wouldn't be treasurer. Wouldn't have earned the right to be heard."
The standoff stretched for what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds. Around us, brothers watched with tense anticipation, the room so quiet I could hear the distant sounds of J.D. stocking the bar in the main room and the steady drip of a leaky faucet in the corner.
Finally, Screwball broke the silence. "Prez, maybe we should consider what Razor's saying. If her ex is connected like Pretty Boy told us—judge father, police chief uncle—they've got resources to find her. We promised protection."
Mustang's eyes never left mine, but I could see the shift happening. The pragmatic part of him—the part that had kept him president for twelve years—was taking over from the wounded pride.
"Fine," he finally spat, taking a half-step back to create space between us.
"Two brothers on rotation at your place.
But this is temporary. One week of surveillance, then we reassess.
And," he jabbed a finger at my chest, "you're still responsible for the Martinelli shipment.
Your club duties don't stop because you got yourself a ready-made family. "
It wasn't everything I wanted, but it was enough for now. I nodded once, curtly, knowing better than to press my advantage further. "Appreciated."
Mustang threw himself back into his chair, grabbing his gavel. "Church dismissed. Razor, set up the rotation. Socket, you handle schedules." He banged the gavel with unnecessary force, signaling the end of discussion.
Brothers began filing out, the tension slowly bleeding from the room. Several nodded to me as they passed, silent acknowledgment that I'd fought for people who mattered. A few clapped me on the shoulder, their touch conveying support they wouldn't voice openly in front of Mustang.
Loch lingered behind, waiting until most had left before approaching. "I'll take a shift tonight," he offered. "Got nothing better to do anyway."
"Appreciate that," I said, meaning it. Loch and I had history—not always smooth but built on mutual respect. If someone was watching my house, I wanted his eyes on the perimeter.
Screwball joined us, keeping his voice low. "You really think someone's hunting them?"
"I know it," I replied, pulling out my phone. "Ophelia doesn't spook easily. She survived that bastard ex for years. If she says someone was there, I believe her."
My phone vibrated in my hand, a message notification appearing on the screen. From Ophelia: "Be careful. I love you."
Those three words hit me harder than any punch I'd taken in club fights.
I love you. Not words we'd said to each other yet, not words I'd expected so soon.
But seeing them there, knowing she'd chosen this moment to say them—while I fought for her safety, while she sat alone and afraid—locked the change inside me into place.
What started in Vegas had become real whether I was ready to admit it or not.
"You okay?" Loch asked, noticing my expression change.
"Yeah." I tucked the phone away, those words burning into my memory. "Setting up the rotation now. You, Socket, and Screwball take first shifts. I'll have J.D. coordinate the rest."
As they moved away to gather gear, I texted Ophelia back: "Protection arranged. Brothers coming. Home soon." I paused, fingers hovering over the keys, then added: "I love you too. Stay safe."
I walked out into the main room, my mind already mapping security improvements for the house, cataloging potential suspects, planning countermeasures.
Mustang might have given me a week, but I knew this was just the beginning.
Tyler would keep coming. Ophelia's parents would keep searching.
And I'd keep fighting—even if it meant challenging Mustang again, even if it risked my position in the club.
Because in the short time since I'd opened that motel room door, my priorities had realigned. The club was still family, still brotherhood. But Ophelia and Dante—they were my future. And I protected what was mine.