Chapter 7 #3
"Socket, Loch. Screwball's leaning our way. Talking to Torque tonight." I hesitated, then added, "And reaching out to Pretty Boy. Hades Abyss needs to know we're handling the situation with Ophelia seriously, even if Mustang isn't."
"Bringing in outside support," Fury mused, not criticism but consideration. "Risky play."
"Calculated risk," I corrected. "This isn't just about club politics anymore. It's about—"
The distinctive sound of heavy boots in the corridor outside cut me off mid-sentence—the measured, deliberate stride that could only belong to Mustang.
Fury and I moved with the synchronicity of men who'd worked alongside each other for years, both of us suddenly bent over the Softail engine, hands busy with tools, heads down as if deep in mechanical conversation.
"Pass me that socket wrench," I said loudly, my voice carrying to the doorway where a shadow now fell across the concrete floor.
Fury handed me the tool without looking up. "Thinking this valve's shot," he responded, his tone casual but his body as tense as a drawn bowstring.
The shadow in the doorway lengthened, then paused. I could feel Mustang's eyes on us, searching for anything out of place. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained steady on the engine parts, moving with the practiced confidence of a man who'd rebuilt dozens of bikes over the years.
"Progress?" Mustang's voice cut through the shop, the single word laden with more than just a question about the motorcycle.
"Getting there," Fury answered without looking up. "Few more hours of work."
A moment stretched between us, taut with unspoken suspicions. Then Mustang's shadow receded, his boots continuing down the hallway toward the chapel. I waited until the sound had faded completely before straightening, muscles aching from the artificial position.
"He knows something's up," Fury said quietly, setting down his tools. "Got eyes in the back of his head, that one."
"All the more reason to move carefully," I agreed, wiping grease from my hands. "So. Are you with me? All the way?"
Fury's gaze held mine, measuring, assessing. Then he extended his hand, palm up, offering not the casual clasp of brothers but the formal grip of an alliance being cemented. "All the way," he confirmed. "Family comes first. Always has, always will."
As our hands clasped, firm and certain, I felt another piece of my plan falling into place.
The path ahead remained dangerous, full of unseen pitfalls and potential betrayal.
But with each brother who sided with family over outdated loyalties, the possibility of building a better club—a club that protected instead of endangered the people who mattered most—grew stronger.
"Tomorrow night, eight o'clock," I said, releasing his hand. "My place. We gather everyone who's on board and make concrete plans."
Fury nodded once, decisive. "I'll be there. And Razor?" He picked up a wrench, turning it over in his hands like he was weighing more than just metal. "About time someone has the balls to challenge him. Been waiting years for this."
I knocked twice, paused, then three times in quick succession—the signal Loch had insisted on.
Security measures had doubled since our planning began, paranoia spreading through our small group like a contagion.
The peephole darkened as someone looked through it, then the door swung open to reveal Loch, his face set in its perpetual half-smirk.
"The Calculator arrives," he drawled, stepping aside to let me in.
"Right on time. Some things never change.
" His apartment smelled of cigarettes and gun oil, the familiar scents of club life concentrated in the small space.
Through the living room window, I could see my bike parked between two SUVs—hidden from casual observation, just as we'd discussed.
"Pierce here yet?" I asked, shrugging off my cut and draping it carefully over the back of a chair.
"Downstairs, probably rearranging my ammo for the third time." Loch rolled his eyes. "Kid's nervous as a prospect at a police checkpoint."
I followed him through the kitchen to a door that looked like it might lead to a pantry but instead opened onto a steep staircase.
The basement lights cast harsh shadows as we descended, illuminating a space that had clearly been converted into an unofficial club meeting spot.
Weapons lined one wall—handguns, shotguns, rifles, all mounted on custom racks.
Motorcycle memorabilia covered another—vintage signs, framed photos of historic bikes, patches from rallies dating back decades.
A heavy wooden table dominated the center of the room, scarred with cigarette burns and knife marks from years of use.
Pierce sat at the table, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the wood. He jumped to his feet when he saw me, tension radiating from his lanky frame. At twenty-nine, he was one of our younger members, still eager to prove himself, still searching for his place in the hierarchy.
"Razor," he greeted, hand extended. "Got here early to help set up."
"I see that," I replied, noting the neatly arranged papers on the table, the cleaning supplies beside a disassembled pistol that Loch had obviously been working on before my arrival. "Appreciate the dedication."
Loch dropped into a chair across from me, propping his boots on the table edge. He resumed cleaning his gun with practiced movements, his fingers automatically reassembling the weapon as he spoke. "So, Calculator, you've got five brothers on board now. Half the club. Not bad for three days' work."
"Should be more," I said, setting my phone on the table within easy reach. Ophelia had texted an hour ago that she was fine, Fury keeping watch outside, but I still checked for updates compulsively. "Mustang's leadership is putting us all at risk, not just my family."
"Yeah, but your family's what lit the fuse," Loch observed, sliding the magazine into his weapon with a satisfying click. "Never seen you this worked up over club business before. Not even when we lost fifty grand in that bank heist gone wrong."
I met his gaze steadily. "This is different."
"No shit." Loch's mouth quirked into his trademark sardonic grin. "The Calculator's finally found something worth more than money. Who'd have thought?"
The jab might have angered me a week ago, but now I simply nodded. "Family changes things."
"Clearly." He chambered a round with practiced efficiency, then set the gun on the table, his actions belying his casual tone. "So, what's the plan? We've got five brothers at your gate to protect what's yours. What next?"
Pierce leaned forward, eager energy practically vibrating from him. "Whatever you need, I'm in. Protection duty, intel gathering, anything."
I studied them both—Loch with his calculated indifference masking genuine loyalty, Pierce with his transparent desire for belonging. Different personalities, different motivations, but both now aligned with my cause.
"We need to formalize the protection rotation," I said, pulling out the schedule I'd drafted.
"Five brothers working four-hour shifts means constant coverage.
Fury's taking the overnight, he's already at the house.
Socket and Screwball afternoons. Pierce, you're mornings.
Loch, you and I split the evening shifts. "
Pierce nodded enthusiastically, already memorizing the schedule I'd laid out. "I'll be there. You can count on me."
"Beyond that," I continued, "we need to neutralize the threat itself. Not just react to it."
"The ex," Loch surmised, his expression darkening. "Tyler Whatever-The-Fuck."
"Tyler Whitcomb," I clarified. "Judge's son. Police chief's nephew. Connected enough to be dangerous."
Loch whistled low. "Picked a real winner to go up against, didn't you?"
"Didn't exactly choose this fight," I pointed out. "But I'm damn well going to finish it."
"How?" Pierce asked, his fingers finally stilling on the tabletop. "If he's got law enforcement connections..."
"That's why we need more than just our club resources," I explained, gauging their reactions carefully. "I'm meeting with Pretty Boy tomorrow. Bringing in Hades Abyss."
Loch's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise breaking through his carefully maintained facade of indifference. "Outside support? Mustang will lose his shit."
"Mustang's already lost it," I countered. "We made a deal with Hades Abyss when we married Ophelia into our family. They have a stake in her safety too."
"Plus, they've got better tech than we do," Loch acknowledged, warming to the idea.
"Surveillance equipment, contacts in different jurisdictions.
Makes sense." He loaded a clip into his weapon as he spoke, the action seemingly casual but conveying his readiness for whatever came next. "Smart play, bringing them in."
"I thought so too," I agreed, relieved that he saw the logic rather than viewing it as disloyalty to our club. "Pretty Boy's her brother. He's got more motivation than anyone except me to keep her safe."
Pierce nodded, his expression serious. "The Abyss has resources we don't. And their president respects you after that arms deal you brokered last year."
My phone vibrated against the table—another text from Ophelia.
I checked it quickly: "All quiet. Fury still patrolling.
Miss you." My chest tightened at those last two words, the reaction still unfamiliar enough to throw me off balance.
I typed back a brief reassurance before returning my attention to the men waiting for my next instructions.
"We need to move on two fronts simultaneously," I continued, laying out photos I'd compiled of Tyler, his father, and the uncle who served as police chief in their county.
"Protection of my family is priority one.
But we also need to gather intelligence on these three.
Know their movements, their weaknesses, their pressure points. "
"I can handle surveillance on the ex," Pierce volunteered immediately. "I'm good at staying invisible."
Loch snorted. "Better than running your mouth, at least." But his tone lacked real bite, and he was already studying the photos with professional interest. "Police chief's going to be tricky. Cops notice when they're being watched."
"That's where Hades Abyss comes in," I explained. "They have contacts in law enforcement two counties over. Can get us intel without direct surveillance."
The plan was taking shape, becoming more concrete with each brother's input.
What had started as a desperate need to protect Ophelia and Dante was evolving into a larger change within the club itself—a shift in priorities that placed family security at the center instead of treating it like an afterthought.
"This goes beyond just protecting your old lady," Loch observed, his perceptiveness cutting through to the heart of the matter. "You're changing the whole foundation of how we operate."
"Maybe it needs changing," I said simply. "Maybe it's been needing it for a long time."
Pierce straightened, a new resolve evident in his posture. "I believe in this. In what we're doing. It feels... right."
"Don't get sentimental on us now," Loch drawled, but there was no mistaking the commitment in his eyes as he slid his reassembled weapon into his holster. "So, we're really doing this? Taking on Mustang, bringing in The Abyss, restructuring the club around family protection?"
I nodded once, decisive. "We're really doing this."
Loch's trademark smirk returned as he stood, extending his hand across the table. "Well then, Calculator, guess we better make damn sure we don't fuck it up."
As we clasped hands, sealing our alliance with the grip of brothers committed to a cause, I felt the weight of responsibility settling more firmly on my shoulders.
One week ago, I'd been a lone wolf, the club's numbers man with no attachments beyond brotherhood.
Now I stood at the center of a growing coalition, driven by a family I'd never expected to have—a family worth fighting for, worth changing everything for.
And God help anyone who tried to take that away from me.