33. Chase
33
CHASE
“Two hours max,” the installer says, measuring our shattered front windows. His crew works efficiently, having done this before for other MC businesses. “Bulletproof glass, same tint as before.”
I watch them clear the remaining shards while Rick handles paperwork in his office. Death’s Head’s message came through loud and clear—they want our attention. Fine. They’ve got it.
The gallery feels eerily quiet without the usual morning buzz. Appointments have been pushed back until afternoon, giving us time to handle MC business properly. Every member knows what Death’s Head’s attack means. It’s a direct challenge to our territory.
“Need eyes on their new warehouse,” Clay says, joining me. He spreads surveillance photos across my station. “Intel says they’re moving product through there, using the territory dispute as cover.”
“Teller authorized recon?”
“Full sweep. Their pattern’s changed—new routes, new faces at their compound.” He taps another photo showing unfamiliar bikes. “They’ve got financial backing now. Upgrading equipment, expanding operations.”
“Moving up from penny-ante shit to real distribution.” I study the images. Death’s Head was always the smaller club, content with scraps until now. “What changed?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” Clay checks his phone as more messages come in. “Got three teams tracking their movements. They’re pushing into other territories too, not just ours.”
The door chimes. Evie walks in, stopping short at the sight of the workers. Her eyes catch on the bulletproof specs before I can hide them. Before she can ask, I wave her toward the office.
“Just upgrades,” I tell her. No need for her to worry about this part of the business.
She raises an eyebrow but heads to her desk, starting the day’s work like nothing’s wrong. Like our gallery wasn’t shot up yesterday. Like she hasn’t noticed the increased MC presence around town.
“Chase—” Zane’s voice carries from our secure room. “I got something.”
The back office has been transformed into a command center, and surveillance feeds are lighting multiple screens.
Zane points to footage from our warehouse cameras. “Death’s Head prospects casing our storage last night. It’s the third time this week.”
“Getting wise.” I watch them circle the building. Amateur hour—not even trying to hide. “Or stupid.”
“They’re mapping our holdings.” Rick joins us, tension in his jaw. “Building intel for something bigger.”
“Then let’s respond.” I’ve had enough of their games. “Hit that warehouse Clay mentioned. Show them why you don’t fuck with Black Wolves.”
“Not yet.” Rick shows us a message from Teller. “President wants to handle this clean first. Called a meeting.”
“Since when do we negotiate with prospects who shoot up our businesses?”
“Since they’ve got new backing. Some big Sacramento hotshot is bankrolling their expansion.” He scrolls through more intel. “Teller wants to know who’s pulling strings before we start a war.”
The installers finish as our first clients arrive, and around noon, Teller arrives. He grunts in approval as he examines the new windows and notes the extra reinforcement we added.
“Meeting’s set,” he tells us in my private studio. “Their president wants to talk territory.”
“Talk?” Zane scoffs from his position by the door. “After what they pulled?”
“They claim the shooting was unauthorized. Eager prospects getting ahead of themselves.”
“Bullshit.” I clean my machine. “They’re testing us to see how we react.”
“Probably.” Teller’s expression hardens. “So we test back. Find out what’s really driving this push into our town.”
The afternoon crawls by. More brothers arrive under the pretense of business. Weapons are cached strategically. Exit routes confirmed. Wolf Pike prepares while appearing to do nothing.
We close early, citing installation work. As Evie leaves with the girls, I catch Rick watching them with that protective look he gets. The one that says he’d burn the world to keep them safe.
“They’re covered,” I tell him. “Clay’s got people on them.”
He nods.
The ride to neutral ground takes twenty minutes. An abandoned warehouse outside town limits—typical MC theater. Our formation stays tight, and brothers spread out to cover approaches.
Death’s Head’s president, Marcus, waits with his officers, trying to project power. Five bikes are outside, and probably more are hidden nearby.
“Cozy place,” Teller comments, taking his seat. My brothers and I flank him while Clay’s crew secures the perimeter. Years of these meetings have taught us the dance.
“Had to find neutral territory.” Marcus attempts a smile. “After recent…misunderstandings.”
“Misunderstandings.” Teller’s voice stays calm but carries authority earned through years of leading the Black Wolves. “That what we’re calling shots fired now?”
“Regrettable incident.”
“Cut the shit.” I can’t help myself. “What do you really want?”
Marcus studies me, dropping the friendly act. His cheap suit and slicked hair can’t hide what he is—a small-time thug playing at power.
“Simple. Wolf Pike’s growing. Time to discuss proper territory division.”
“Nothing to discuss.” Teller leans back, completely at ease. “Boundaries were set years ago.”
“Things change. The town’s prospering under your protection. Seems selfish not to share the wealth.”
“Share?” Rick laughs. “You mean to take. Like you’re taking other clubs’ territory up north.”
Something flashes in Marcus’s eyes—surprise that we know about his other moves.
“Progress requires expansion.”
“Progress requires respect.” Teller stands, his presence filling the space. “You want war? Keep pushing. But remember—we’re not some small charter you can intimidate. Wolf Pike is ours.”
“Everything has a price.” Marcus rises too, trying to match Teller’s authority and failing. “Territory. Businesses. Even people, sometimes.”
The threat hangs clear. My hand tightens on my knife, but Teller’s slight headshake holds me back. Not yet.
“Choose carefully.” Teller’s voice could freeze hell. “Cross that line, there’s no going back.”
“Twenty-four hours.” Marcus heads for the door, his men falling in behind him. “Think about our offer. Would hate to see more…misunderstandings.”
After they leave, Teller turns to us. “Double patrols. Watch every business, every family. They’re planning something bigger than territory grabs.”
“What’s their angle?” Rick asks. “Why push so hard now?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” Teller checks his phone as reports come in. “Clay’s team is tracking their movements. Let’s see what rats they lead us to.”
We ride home in formation, alert for tails. Brothers peel off to assigned positions, strengthening our hold on Wolf Pike. At the gallery, I study our new windows—stronger now, ready for whatever comes.
Let Death’s Head play their games. Let them think they can threaten what’s ours. They’ll learn why the Black Wolves rule Wolf Pike. And why you don’t fuck with family.