Chapter Twenty
SIN
The Chapel door closes behind Elizabeth with a soft click that sounds too loud in the sudden quiet. The air still vibrates with the weight of what we’ve just told her—the truth about Marcus Delaney, about Rourke, about the corruption that runs through this city like poison through veins.
I watch her walk away through the small window in the door, her shoulders squared but her steps uncertain, like she’s carrying something too heavy and doesn’t know where to set it down.
The urge to follow her claws at my chest, but I force myself to stay put.
She needs space to process. Hell, after dropping a bomb like that, she deserves it.
Turning back to face my brothers, I find Nitro already pacing, his boots heavy against the hardwood floor.
The rhythm is familiar… three steps, pivot, three steps back.
He only moves like that when his mind is racing faster than his mouth can keep up.
The guy is far too stressed for a man his age.
He is going to end up with a heart attack or stroke if he doesn’t stop with all this worrying he does.
“You sure about this, Pres?” He stops mid-stride, his eyes boring into mine. “Telling her everything? Who knows what she’s gonna print?”
My hand slides into my pocket, fingers finding the worn edges of my poker chip. I pull it out, let it catch the dim Chapel light as I flick it between my knuckles. The motion grounds me, keeps my thoughts ordered when everything else wants to spiral.
“She needed to know what happened with Marcus,” I say, my voice steady even as doubt tries to creep in at the edges. “That we’re not the bad guys. And we need her on our side if we’re going to take down Rourke.”
The chip moves from knuckle to knuckle, red and white stripes blurring together. I’ve made harder calls than this. Riskier plays. But something about Elizabeth makes every decision feel like I’m betting more than I should.
Ghost shifts in his seat at the table, his fingers drumming a quiet pattern against the felt.
When I meet his eyes, there’s understanding there, a silent conversation that happens in the space between heartbeats.
He knows what I’m thinking because he’s thinking it too.
We’ve been brothers long enough that words aren’t always necessary.
But he speaks anyway, his voice low and careful. “The question is… what’s she going to do with the information?”
That’s the question, isn’t it?
The one that’s been gnawing at my gut since I made the call to trust her. Elizabeth Hale is a wildcard. Smart enough to be dangerous. Driven enough to be reckless. And after what we just told her about Marcus Delaney’s death, she’s armed with enough truth to either save us or bury us.
“She’ll do the right thing,” I say, but even I hear the uncertainty threading through my words.
Nitro snorts, resuming his pacing. “The right thing according to who? Us? The cops? That corrupt fuck Rourke?” He drags a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves.
“I get that you’ve got a thing for her, Pres.
Hell, we all see it. But trusting her with this?
With what really happened to Marcus? Damn, that’s playing with fire. ”
“We’re always playing with fire,” I snap, the chip stilling in my palm. “That’s the life we choose. The question isn’t whether it’s risky. Every-fucking-thing we do is risky. The question is whether the risk is worth the potential gain.”
Ghost leans forward, elbows on the table. “And is she? Worth the risk?”
The chip starts moving again, faster now. “She’s the key to bringing down Rourke. She’s got credibility and connections with media outlets. If she decides to go public with what we just told her, she becomes our greatest asset.”
“And if she decides to twist it?” Nitro challenges. “Make us look like we’re covering our asses? Or worse. What if she goes straight to the cops with it?”
“Then we deal with it.” My voice goes hard, the president in me taking over.
“Like we deal with everything else. But I don’t think she will.
She came here looking for a story about us.
We just gave her a story about corruption that goes deeper than this club.
Now she knows the real enemy isn’t wearing a cut, it’s wearing a badge. ”
The silence that follows is thick, weighted with unspoken doubts and half-formed plans. But I see the moment they accept it, the way Ghost’s shoulders relax a fraction, the way Nitro’s pacing slows.
“All right,” Ghost says finally. “So, what’s next?”
“Next, we remind the brothers why they follow me.” I pocket the chip and straighten, feeling the mantle of leadership settle heavy across my shoulders. “Call Church. Full attendance. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
***
Twenty minutes later, the Chapel is packed.
Bear’s massive frame fills his usual spot, and Koa’s sharp eyes miss nothing from across the table.
Deek is trying to look serious, but there’s that ever-present glint of mischief lurking underneath.
Mace sits stone-faced, probably still feeling the bullet graze he took during the Alliance attack.
Axel has his arm in a sling, but he’s here, refusing to miss Church despite the fresh wound.
Flint is back in action after his injuries from Operation Darkfire.
Fucker took quite the hit when we helped Los Angeles take out their enemies in an abandoned gold mine.
Warden and Hash are standing at the back of the room, chuckling about some shit, as Nitro and Ghost sit at the head of the table with me.
They’re all here because I called. Because that’s how this works. That’s the weight of the patch, the responsibility of the gavel.
I stand at the head of the table, hands braced against the worn felt, and look at each of them in turn. These men are my family. My blood in every way that matters. And right now, they’re hungry for revenge.
“Brothers,” I start, my voice carrying the authority of the room as they quieten down.
“We all know why we’re here. The Hidden Hand Alliance disrespected us.
They attacked our home, our sanctuary. They put bullets in our brothers and fire on our walls.
” A rumble of agreement moves through the room.
Mace’s jaw clenches, his good hand curling into a fist on the table.
Koa’s fingers tap against his thigh in a rhythm that speaks of barely contained violence.
“They think they can roll up on our territory and walk away,” Nitro adds, his voice tight with fury. “They think we’re weak. That we’ll just take it and move on.”
“So, we hit them back,” Deek says, leaning forward with that wild energy he gets before violence. “We hit them hard. Show them what happens when you fuck with Vegas Defiance.”
More voices join in, a chorus of anger and bloodlust. They want retaliation. They want the Alliance to bleed for what they did. And part of me, the part that’s all sin, fury, and fire, wants the same thing.
But the president in me knows better.
I let them vent.
Let them get it out.
Leadership isn’t just about making the hard calls. It’s about letting your brothers feel heard, letting them know their anger matters even when you can’t give them what they want.
After a few minutes, I straighten, drawing their attention back. “I hear you. Every single one of you. And you’re right to be pissed. But we’ve got eyes on us now.”
“Because of your journalist?” Warden asks, his voice rough with pain and suspicion.
“Because of a lot of shit,” I counter. “Elizabeth’s presence. The police investigation into the shootout. The attention from the casino incident. We’re under a microscope, brothers. Every move we make is being watched, cataloged, and judged. We can’t afford to draw more heat right now.”
“So, we just let them get away with attacking us?” Flint’s voice rises, frustration bleeding into every word. “We’re supposed to just sit here with our thumbs up our asses while the Alliance celebrates?”
“Didn’t say that.” My voice cuts through the building tension like a blade. “But we’re going to be smart about this. We wait. We watch. We plan. And when the time is right, we’ll hit them so hard they won’t know what the fuck happened.”
I pull out my poker chip, let it move through my fingers as I choose my next words carefully.
“Brothers, you will have your revenge. And fuck me, it will be sweet. But patience wins wars. Recklessness gets people killed, and I didn’t build this club to watch my brothers die because we couldn’t keep our shit together long enough to play the long game. ”
The chip flicks faster, a physical manifestation of the restless energy in the room.
“Don’t be fooled,” I continue, meeting each man’s eyes in turn.
“We will get our vengeance. My plan to bring the Hidden Hand Alliance and Rourke down has been relentless, and I’m not stopping now. Not when we’re this close.”
Bear speaks for the first time, his deep voice cutting through the tension, “What do you need from us, Pres?”
This.
This is why I chose Bear as our wise one when it comes to counsel. He doesn’t just question, he trusts. And when the time comes to act, he’ll be first through the door.
“Surveillance,” I say, shifting gears into strategy mode. “Ghost, I need you to monitor all Hidden Hand Alliance communications and movements. Every phone call, every text, every fucking hidden Snapchat, they send their hookers. If they so much as sneeze, I want to know about it.”
Ghost nods, his fingers already moving like he’s typing on an invisible keyboard. “On it. I’ll set up monitoring protocols tonight.”
“Koa, work with Ghost. Identify their weak points. Where they operate, who they deal with, what leverage we can use. Everyone’s got pressure points… we just need to find theirs.”
“Consider it done,” Koa says, his sergeant-at-arms instincts already cataloging targets.
“The rest of you, business as usual. We maintain appearances. No one gives the heat or anyone else a reason to look at us sideways. We’re model-fucking-citizens until the time comes to be something else…
” I pause, letting that sink in. “And here’s the play…
taking down Rourke will cripple the Alliance.
He’s their protection, their inside man.
Without him, they’re just another gang with delusions of grandeur.
We cut the head off the snake, and the body dies. ”
“What about the journalist?” Mace asks, his voice gravelly. “She know about the plan?”
“She knows what she needs to,” I say carefully. “And she’s got her own reasons to want the truth exposed. We just handed her the story of a lifetime, police corruption, trafficking, murder. That makes her motivated to see this through, whether she realizes it yet or not.”
Nitro doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.
Small victories.
“All right,” I say, bringing my gavel down on the table with finality. “We’ve got our marching orders. Ghost, start your surveillance. Everyone else, stay sharp. We’re playing the long game here, brothers. Trust the process. Trust me.”
“Aye,” they chorus, the sound echoing off the Chapel walls.
I watch them file out, each man carrying his piece of the plan. The weight of leadership never really lifts, it just shifts from one shoulder to the other.
An hour later, the clubhouse has returned to its normal rhythm.
The tension from Church has dispersed, replaced by the usual chaos of brotherhood.
Bear is discussing security rotations with Axel, despite the man’s wounded arm.
Koa and Will are bent over a map, planning a run out to the McClane gold operation.
Deek is stationed at the bar, telling some story that has the prospects laughing their asses off.
This is what I fight for.
Not the gold, not the reputation, not even the revenge.
This sense of family, of belonging.
Of men who’d die for each other without question.
My poker chip moves between my fingers as I scan the room, looking for Elizabeth.
My stomach clenches as I catch her by the back door leading to the roof.
She emerges from wherever she’s been, her hair slightly mussed, her eyes still carrying that shell-shocked look of someone whose world just got rewritten.
But there’s something stronger underneath now. Understanding. Maybe even purpose.
Our eyes meet across the crowded room, and something electric passes between us. The same thing that’s been building since she first walked through our doors. Except now, something has shifted. The story she came here for has evolved into something bigger, darker, and more dangerous.
I don’t think.
I just move.
She doesn’t wait for me to close the distance. She turns and heads through the back door, out toward the roof access. I follow, my boots heavy on the metal stairs, the desert night air hitting my face as I emerge onto the flat roof.
Elizabeth stands at the edge, looking out over the compound. The security lights cast long shadows, painting everything in shades of blue and black. She doesn’t turn around when she hears me approach, but her shoulders tense in awareness.
“We should talk,” I say, stopping a few feet behind her.