Chapter 5 Tell #2
I walked toward the garage, keeping my pace easy, my posture relaxed. Nothing to see. Just the club's enforcer, checking on his territory.
Irish looked up as I entered, grease smeared across his forehead, his expression open and unsuspecting. "Tank. Good timing. This gentleman's got a Softail that's making a noise he doesn't like. I was just telling him we're backed up, but—"
"I don't mind waiting." Cross's voice was smooth, cultured, carrying just a hint of an accent I couldn't place.
Something eastern, maybe, worn down by years of moving around.
He turned to face me, and that smile widened, showing teeth that were too perfect.
"You must be Tank. I've heard good things. "
I didn't take his extended hand.
"I don't think I caught your name."
The hand dropped, but the smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew more amused, like I'd passed some kind of test. “I just moved down from Montana. Someone recommended your garage for Harley work."
"Someone."
"Friend of a friend. You know how it goes." He glanced around the space, taking in the bikes, the tools, the members working in the bays. His gaze passed over Ghost without stopping, lingered briefly on Blade, moved on. Taking inventory. Cataloguing assets and weaknesses.
"Nice operation you've got here. Family business?"
"Something like that."
"I can appreciate that. Loyalty's hard to find these days.
" Cross pulled out his wallet—leather, expensive, worn soft with use—and extracted a business card.
The paper was heavy, cream-colored, with nothing but a number embossed in simple black.
"Here's my number. Give me a call when you've got an opening. No rush. I'm a patient man."
He set the card on the counter and turned toward the exit.
He didn't look at Tyler.
The Sportster was visible through the bay doors, Tyler still sitting on it, his helmet in his hands, his face pale as bone.
Cross walked past him without a glance, without a pause, without any acknowledgment that he existed.
His stride didn't change. His breathing didn't change.
He moved like Tyler was invisible—like Tyler was nothing, beneath notice, already forgotten.
He mounted his Softail, kicked the engine to life, and rode out of the lot at an easy cruise.
The sound of his bike faded into the distance.
Irish let out a breath. "That was weird. Polite guy, but something about him made my skin crawl. And why the hell didn’t he give you his name when you asked—”
"That was Cross."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Church convened within the hour.
Hawk's fury filled the chapel like smoke, thick and choking, visible in every rigid line of his body. He stood at the head of the table with his hands braced on the wood, knuckles white, and listened while I described what had happened.
"He walked into our garage." Hawk's voice came out low, dangerous. "In the middle of the day. Talked to our people. Left his fucking business card."
"He wanted us to know he could." Blade's tone was flat, analytical. "That's the message. He has access. Anytime he wants."
"How did he get past the gate?"
"He rode in like a customer. Prospects didn't have any reason to stop him—we don't ID everyone who pulls into the lot." Irish shook his head, frustration and guilt warring in his expression. "I didn't know who he was until Tank said. He just seemed like a guy with a bike problem."
"That's the point." Axel's voice was quiet, steady. "He's not going to announce himself. He's going to blend in, seem harmless, until suddenly he's not."
"Where's Tyler?"
The question cut through the room. Hawk's gaze swept the table, found the empty seat at the far end.
"His room. I told him to stay there until we figured out our next move."
Hawk's eyes narrowed. "You told him?"
"He was in no shape to be in this meeting. Cross got to him—not physically, but the non-acknowledgment was deliberate. A power move. Tyler knew exactly what it meant, and it hit him hard."
"What did it mean?" Ghost leaned forward, brow furrowed.
"It meant Cross doesn't need to look at Tyler to know exactly where he is." Blade's voice was cold. "It meant he's not threatened, not worried, not in any hurry. He's got all the time in the world, and he's enjoying this."
The room absorbed that, the implications settling like sediment.
"So what do we do?" Irish's fingers drummed against the table, restless energy looking for an outlet. "We can't just let him walk in and out whenever he feels like it."
"We increase security at the gate. ID checks for anyone we don't recognize.
" Hawk straightened, some of the fury banking into something colder, more controlled.
"We run his plates, pull whatever background we can find.
And we make it clear to the Wolves that there are lines they don't want to cross. "
"How do we make that clear without starting a war?" Axel's question hung in the air.
"Carefully." Hawk looked around the table. "For now, we watch and wait. Cross is probing, testing our defenses. We don't give him the reaction he wants. But the next time he or any Wolf sets foot on our property uninvited, we make sure they understand the consequences."
The meeting broke up with assignments distributed—security rotations, background checks, surveillance schedules. I took my tasks and headed for the door, my mind already churning through logistics and contingencies.
Axel caught my arm as I passed.
"You put yourself between Tyler and the garage." His voice was low, private. "Before you even knew it was Cross."
I stopped. Looked at him.
"I saw it from the bay." Axel's expression was unreadable. "The way you moved. Like you were protecting him."
"I was assessing the threat."
"You were shielding him. There's a difference."
He let go of my arm and walked away before I could respond.
I found Tyler in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall.
The door was open—he'd left it that way, or hadn't bothered to close it, or maybe didn't have the energy for something as simple as reaching for a handle. The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, and in the half-light he looked like something carved from grief.
He didn't look up when I knocked on the doorframe. Didn't react when I stepped inside. He just sat there, hands clasped between his knees, his whole body radiating a stillness that felt less like calm and more like collapse.
"Church is over. Hawk's increasing security. ID checks at the gate, surveillance on the Wolves, the whole nine yards."
Tyler nodded, a small motion that barely qualified as acknowledgment.
"You okay?"
Silence.
I stepped further into the room, taking in the sparse furnishings—bed, dresser, nightstand, nothing on the walls. It looked like a place someone slept, not a place someone lived. No different from my own room, really.
"Tyler."
"He didn't look at me." Tyler's voice was hollow, stripped of emotion. "He stood three feet away, and he didn't look at me. Like I wasn't even there. Like I didn't exist."
"That was the point. He was trying to get in your head."
"It worked." A brittle laugh escaped him. "It worked, Tank. He knows exactly how to—" He stopped, shook his head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters."
"Why?" Tyler finally looked up, and his eyes were dark, haunted. "Why does it matter to you? I'm not your problem. I'm not your anything. I'm just some guy who showed up three months ago, and you've done nothing but—" He cut himself off, jaw tight.
"Nothing but what?"
"Nothing but be there." The words came out raw, almost angry. "Every morning in the garage. Every riding lesson. Standing up for me in church, putting yourself between me and—" He gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the lot where Cross had been. "Why? What do you want from me?"
"I don't want anything from you."
"Then why do you keep showing up?"
The question hung between us. I didn't have an answer—didn't have words for the pull I felt, the weight in my chest when I saw him struggling, the instinct that kept putting me in his orbit.
So I said the only thing that was true: "Because you shouldn't have to face this alone."
Tyler stared at me. Something shifted in his expression—the anger fading, replaced by something more vulnerable, more uncertain.
"Tank..." He stood, took a step toward me, stopped. "There's something I should tell you."
The air between us changed. Thickened. I could feel it—the weight of whatever he was carrying, pressing against the walls he'd built.
"Okay. Tell me."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His hands curled into fists at his sides, then slowly released.
"I can't." The words came out barely above a whisper. "Not yet. I'm not—" He shook his head, turned away. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
"Tyler."
"Please." He moved toward the window, putting distance between us. "Just... not tonight. I can't do this tonight."
I should have pushed. Should have demanded answers. That was what a smart man would have done.
Instead: "Okay."
Tyler turned, surprise flickering across his face. "Okay?"
"When you're ready to talk, I'll be here. Until then..." I moved toward the door, stopped at the threshold. "Get some sleep. You look like death."
"Tank."
I waited.
"Thank you." His voice was rough. "For not pushing. For just—" He stopped, swallowed. "Thank you."
I nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind me.
The night had gone full dark by the time I finished my security rounds.
I'd walked the perimeter twice, checking sight lines and blind spots, verifying camera angles, testing the new gate protocols with the prospects on duty. Cross wouldn't find it as easy to stroll into our territory next time. Small comfort, but something.
The clubhouse was quiet now, most people either asleep or keeping to their rooms. A light burned in Hawk's office—he was still awake, still planning, still carrying the weight of command the way he always had. Axel and Kai's room was dark.
Tyler's light was off.
I stood in the hallway for longer than I should have, staring at his door, thinking about the look on his face when Cross had walked past without acknowledging him. The devastation he'd tried to hide. The thing he'd almost told me and then swallowed back down.
He was carrying something. Something heavy, something dangerous, something he thought he had to bear alone.
Maybe Tyler needed to learn the same lesson I'd learned—that brotherhood meant letting people carry your weight, whether you thought you deserved it or not.
But that wasn't something I could force. He'd tell me when he was ready, or he wouldn't. All I could do was be there when he decided.
I went back to my room, stripped off my clothes, and lay in the dark staring at the ceiling.
Sleep came eventually. But it wasn't restful, and when I woke before dawn, the first thing I thought about was whether Tyler had slept at all.
I was in the garage before sunrise, coffee in hand, waiting.
He showed up right on time, dark circles under his eyes, something fragile in his expression that he was trying to hide.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
We went out to the bikes, and I didn't ask about the thing he couldn't tell me, and he didn't offer, and somehow that was enough.
For now.