Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Razor
I cut the engine of my Harley, letting silence envelop the abandoned gas station like a shroud.
Midnight cast long shadows across the cracked concrete, the skeletal remains of gas pumps standing like forgotten sentinels against the darkness.
The place had been closed for years, making it perfect for conversations that couldn't happen at the clubhouse or anywhere Mustang might have eyes.
I lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating my face before I snapped the lighter shut.
The cherry glowed red in the darkness as I inhaled, the only point of light besides the distant stars and the occasional sweep of headlights on the highway half a mile away.
The burner phone in my pocket vibrated—a text from Ophelia confirming that Socket had arrived to relieve Fury for the overnight shift.
I'd memorized the protection rotation, knew exactly who should be watching my family at any given moment, but her confirmation still eased the pressure in my chest. Four days since she'd sensed someone watching them, and I'd transformed from club treasurer to rebellion leader, gathering allies like ammunition for a war I hadn't chosen but wouldn't hesitate to fight.
Headlights appeared in the distance, twin beams cutting through the darkness.
I straightened, one hand instinctively moving toward the gun holstered at my hip before I recognized the distinctive rumble of Torque's motorcycle.
He approached cautiously, circling the perimeter of the gas station once before pulling up alongside my bike.
Always thorough, always checking for threats—one of the reasons I'd wanted him on my side.
He killed his engine and dismounted in one fluid motion, removing his helmet to reveal eyes that swept the surroundings with military precision before settling on me.
"Calculator," he greeted, using my club nickname with the familiarity of a decade's brotherhood. "Unusual meeting spot."
"Unusual times," I replied, offering him a cigarette from my pack. He accepted with a nod, leaning in as I struck another match. The flame briefly illuminated the lines of tension around his eyes, the set of his jaw that spoke of recent troubles.
"Heard you've been busy," he said after taking a deep drag, smoke curling around his face in the still night air. "Building plans behind Mustang's back."
I didn't bother denying it. "Building protection for what matters," I corrected. "My family. The club's future."
"Family," he repeated, the word hanging heavy between us. "Your new wife and her kid."
"Ophelia and Dante," I confirmed, their names feeling natural on my tongue despite the newness of them in my life. "Someone's been watching our house. Ophelia spotted them four days ago."
Torque's expression hardened immediately. "Confirmed threat?"
"To her, yes. She survived her abusive ex for years by recognizing danger before it struck. When she says someone was there, I believe her." I took another drag, watching his reaction carefully. "Mustang doesn't."
"Mustang wouldn't," Torque muttered, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Not if it came from a woman."
"Exactly." I studied him in the darkness, reading the tension in his shoulders. "You've had your own issues with his leadership style."
Torque's laugh held no humor. "You could say that.
" He flicked ash onto the cracked concrete, eyes fixed on the glowing embers as they scattered.
"Bristol was in the hospital last month.
Complications with the pregnancy. Mustang called Church anyway, expected me there even though doctors weren't sure she'd make it through the night. "
The revelation didn't surprise me—I'd been at that Church meeting, had noticed Torque's absence and Mustang's thinly veiled anger about it. What did surprise me was the raw emotion in Torque's voice now, the barely contained fury that hadn't been resolved in the weeks since.
"Family comes first," Torque stated firmly, his voice low and intense. "Always. Brotherhood means nothing if we can't protect our own."
"My thoughts exactly," I agreed, feeling the alignment of our perspectives like pieces clicking into place. "But Mustang's operating like it's still 1985—like families are distractions from club business instead of the reason for it."
"Been feeling that way for months now," Torque admitted, stomping out his cigarette with unnecessary force. "Every time I need to be there for Bristol, every time I put her health above club business, I get the same speech about priorities and loyalty."
The distant rumble of a semi-truck on the highway briefly interrupted our conversation.
I used the moment to check my phone again—no new messages from Ophelia, which meant all was still quiet at home.
The constant vigilance was exhausting but necessary, a new rhythm to my life that had become as natural as breathing in just a few days.
"You checking in with her?" Torque asked, noticing the gesture.
"Every hour," I confirmed. "Socket's on watch now. Screwball relieved him at 4 AM."
Torque nodded approvingly. "Good rotation. Solid brothers." He studied me for a moment before asking, "How many on your side now?"
"Six, counting you," I replied. "Ace, Fury, Loch, Socket, Pierce. Meeting with Pretty Boy tomorrow to bring in Hades Abyss support."
"Outside help," Torque observed, not criticism but consideration. "Risky play."
"Calculated risk," I corrected, echoing the exchange I'd had with Fury. "This isn't just about protecting Ophelia anymore. It's about reshaping what the club stands for. What it prioritizes."
"And what's that, in your vision?" Torque asked, lighting another cigarette. The flame briefly illuminated the seriousness in his eyes, the weight of the question.
"Family protection above territory disputes. Smart business over reckless pride. Adapting to new threats instead of fighting yesterday's battles." I laid it out plainly, watching his reaction. "A club that makes us stronger, not one that forces us to choose between brotherhood and those we love."
Torque absorbed my words in silence, taking a long drag that glowed bright in the darkness.
When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a decisive edge.
"Mustang's leadership nearly cost me my wife and unborn child last month.
His outdated ideas about loyalty are driving away good brothers. Something's gotta change."
"I'm working on that change," I replied. "But I need to know where you stand. All the way, or not at all."
"You've got my support," he said without hesitation, his voice low and intense. "All the way. Whatever it takes." He extended his hand, the gesture deliberate and formal in the darkness. "Family comes first. Always has, always will."
As I reached out to clasp his hand, the headlights of a passing car briefly illuminated our faces, casting stark shadows across the abandoned gas station.
The moment felt significant—another piece falling into place, another ally secured in what was rapidly becoming not just a protection detail but a movement within the club.
Our handshake was firm, a pact sealed without further words needed. In the week since I'd opened that motel room door and found Ophelia clutching her son, everything had changed. My priorities. My vision for the club. My willingness to challenge authority I'd once respected without question.
"Keep your family close," Torque advised as he mounted his bike again. "And your eyes open. Mustang's not going to give up power easily."
"I know," I assured him, already thinking of the next steps, the next allies to secure. "But neither am I."
As his taillights disappeared down the dark road, I checked my phone one more time before starting my own engine.
No new messages. My family was safe for now, protected by brothers who understood what truly mattered.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges—Pretty Boy, Hades Abyss, the delicate dance of alliance-building without tipping off Mustang too soon.
But tonight, I'd secured another crucial ally. The foundation grew stronger with each handshake, each commitment. Soon, it would be solid enough to build a new kind of club—one that protected what mattered most, no matter the cost.
I parked three blocks away and approached the garage on foot, an old habit from deals that could go sideways.
The building squatted like a concrete bunker in the industrial district, its peeling paint and rusted roll-up doors disguising its importance as neutral territory between rival clubs.
Smoke curled from a vent pipe on the roof, telling me Pretty Boy had already arrived.
The weight of my gun pressed against my hip, a necessary comfort despite the supposed neutrality of our meeting.
This wasn't just club business anymore—this was about Ophelia, about family.
And when it came to family, even allies couldn't be fully trusted until they proved themselves.
I rapped twice on the side door, the coded knock we'd established years ago when our clubs first formed their uneasy alliance.
The door swung open to reveal a Hades Abyss prospect, barely old enough to drink but already sporting the hard eyes of someone who'd seen too much.
He patted me down with professional efficiency before stepping aside to let me enter.