Chapter 3
The chapel smelled like coffee and gun oil.
Tourniquet took his seat at the scarred wooden table, the weight of his brothers' attention settling on him like a physical thing.
Permafrost sat at the head, cold blue eyes giving nothing away.
Tundra to his right, arms crossed, mountain warfare stillness.
Ice leaned back in his chair, already pulling up maps on his tablet.
Ironside's massive frame filled the doorway, blocking light from the hall.
"Talk," Permafrost said.
Tourniquet laid it out clean. No filler, no editorializing—just the threat as he understood it.
"Mitchell Greer. Forty-eight, runs a construction and development company out of Virginia.
On paper, he's legitimate. Buys commercial properties, renovates, flips for profit.
" He pulled out the folder Paige had given him, spreading the documents across the table.
"In practice, he's been burning out tenants who won't sell.
Two confirmed arsons in the last three years.
Fire marshals ruled both electrical. Both owners had refused his buyout offers in the weeks before. "
Tundra picked up one of the news articles, scanning the grainy photo of a gutted warehouse. "And nobody's connected the dots?"
"He's got a county commissioner on his side and a reputation for bringing investment to dying Range towns.
Local law doesn't want to look too hard.
" Tourniquet tapped the timeline Paige had built.
"The woman who owns the flower shop—Paige Kirkland—she's been tracking his pattern for months.
Two deployments in Helmand, transportation specialist. She knows how to gather intel. "
"A veteran." Permafrost's voice was flat, but something shifted in his expression. Interest, maybe. Or approval.
"Silver Star. Drove convoys through active combat zones.
" Tourniquet kept his voice level, professional, but something in his chest tightened when he said her name.
"She's not some scared civilian hoping we'll make her problem disappear.
She's been fighting this alone because nobody else would step up. "
Ice looked up from his tablet. "Where's her shop?"
"Main Street, Ely. Between the hardware store and a laundromat. Greer's been assembling parcels along that block—six properties in a line. Hers is the last piece."
"Show me."
Tourniquet moved to stand behind Ice, pointing at the map on the screen.
"Here. Her building, her neighbor's hardware store, the laundromat on the corner.
Greer's already acquired these four." He traced the line of properties.
"He needs the full corridor for whatever development he's planning. She's the holdout."
"And he's escalating." Permafrost's statement, not a question.
"Fast. His crew hit her shop three days ago—crowbarred her front window. Yesterday they walked in while I was there, told her the buyout offer expires at midnight tonight. The foreman made it clear that after midnight, the methods change."
"Who's the foreman?"
"Danny Shale. Mid-thirties, site foreman build.
He's been at every intimidation visit. Her read is that he's Greer's blunt instrument—handles the property damage, the direct threats.
" Tourniquet pulled out the police report Paige had obtained.
"But when pressure doesn't work, Greer brings in outside muscle.
Duluth professionals. Eighteen months ago, they put an owner's wife in the hospital. Broken arm, no witnesses, no charges."
Ironside spoke from the doorway, his Swedish accent thickening the words. "This Greer. He burns buildings with people still in them?"
"The two confirmed arsons were empty when they went up. But Paige lives above her shop." Tourniquet heard the edge in his own voice and didn't bother softening it. "If he decides to make an example of her, she's sleeping thirty feet from his target."
Silence around the table.
Permafrost leaned forward, fingers steepled. "You said she's been tracking him for months. She have anything solid? Proof that connects him to the fires?"
"Circumstantial. Enough to see the pattern, not enough for cops who don't want to see it." Tourniquet met his president's eyes. "But she's got detailed records on his crew movements, his acquisition timeline, his pressure tactics. She knows his operation better than he probably realizes."
"Smart woman."
"Stubborn woman." The words came out before Tourniquet could stop them. "She's not going to run. I told her she could take the buyout, start over somewhere else. She looked at me like I'd suggested she surrender a position under fire."
Tundra's mouth curved slightly. "Sounds like someone."
Tourniquet ignored him.
Permafrost was quiet for a long moment, studying the documents spread across the table. When he spoke, his voice had the weight of a decision already made.
"Greer's burning buildings in towns we consider ours.
Ely, Virginia, Biwabik—that's Range territory.
Our territory." He looked around the table, meeting each brother's eyes.
"We let a contractor think he can torch businesses and terrorize owners without consequences, we're telling everyone on the Range that the Savages don't protect what's theirs. "
"We're taking this on?" Ice asked.
"We're shutting it down." Permafrost turned to Tourniquet. "You brought this in. You take point. Protection detail on the woman until we understand the full scope of Greer's operation. I want names, numbers, locations. Who's his crew, who's his Duluth muscle, where does he stage his people."
"Understood."
"And Tourniquet." Permafrost's gaze sharpened. "This woman. She's a veteran, she's got backbone, and she's already in your head. I can see it from here."
Tourniquet's jaw tightened. "She's an asset. Intel source and potential tactical support."
"She's a complication." Permafrost's voice wasn't unkind, but it was direct.
"You want to protect her, fine. That's the job.
But don't let protecting her become the only thing you see.
We're not just defending a flower shop—we're stopping a pattern.
Greer's already destroyed two businesses.
He's working on a third. If we don't end this, there'll be a fourth. A fifth."
"I know."
"Do you?" Permafrost held his gaze for a beat longer than comfortable. "Because the way you said her name tells me you're already more invested than tactical."
The silence stretched.
Tourniquet didn't deny it. Couldn't, really. He'd known Paige Kirkland for less than twenty-four hours, and already her face was occupying space in his head that should have been reserved for threat assessment and tactical planning.
The way she'd squared up to Shale's crew. The steel in her voice when she'd said she wasn't letting some contractor take what she'd built. The recognition in her eyes when she'd looked at him and seen the same war.
"She's one of us," he said finally. "Not the patch—the other thing. The thing that doesn't go away when you come home."
Permafrost nodded slowly. "Then keep her alive. But keep your head clear while you do it."
"Understood."
Tundra pushed back from the table. "What's the timeline?"
"Greer's deadline was midnight last night. She didn't sign." Tourniquet checked his watch. "That was six hours ago. If his pattern holds, he's already planning his next move."
"Then we're already behind." Ice was pulling up satellite imagery of Ely's main street. "I'll map the approach routes to her building, identify staging areas Greer's crew might use. If they're planning something bigger than a broken window, they'll need logistics."
Ironside cracked his knuckles. "And when we find where they're staging?"
"Then we explain why that's a bad idea," Permafrost said. "Savages style."
The meeting broke up with the efficiency of men who'd done this before. Ice stayed bent over his tablet, already building operational maps. Tundra headed for the armory. Ironside disappeared toward the garage.
Permafrost caught Tourniquet's arm as he moved toward the door.
"One more thing."
Tourniquet waited.
"You said she's got backbone. That she drove convoys through Helmand and didn't break." Permafrost's voice was low, for his ears only. "Women like that—they don't need saving. They need someone who'll stand beside them while they save themselves."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I've seen you with wounded brothers. You take over. You triage, you treat, you fix." Permafrost's grip tightened slightly. "This woman isn't wounded. She's fighting. There's a difference."
Tourniquet met his president's eyes. "I know the difference."
"Make sure you remember it."
Then Permafrost released him and walked away, leaving Tourniquet alone in the chapel with the smell of coffee and gun oil and the weight of something he couldn't quite name settling in his chest.
He pulled out his phone and dialed.
She answered on the second ring. "Tourniquet."
Just his road name. No hello, no small talk. Like a soldier confirming a contact.
"Church is done. I'm heading your way." He grabbed his cut from the back of the chair. "Pack for a few days. After last night, your shop isn't safe."
"Greer's people came by at two AM." Her voice was calm. Too calm. "Sat in a truck across the street for an hour, then left."
His blood went cold.
"You didn't call."
"They didn't approach. I wasn't going to wake you up for surveillance." A pause. "I handled it."
"You handled it." He was already moving, boots hitting the compound floor with force he didn't bother controlling. "Alone. In a building they're planning to burn."
"I grew up in Helmand, Tourniquet. I know what a probe looks like."
He bit back the response that wanted to come out—something about stubborn women and unnecessary risks—and focused on the only thing that mattered.
"I'm fifteen minutes out. Be ready to move."
"I'll be here."
She hung up.
Tourniquet shoved the phone in his pocket and grabbed his helmet, the engine of his bike already calling to him from the garage.
Permafrost was right. She was already in his head.
And Greer's people had spent an hour outside her building last night while she'd faced them alone.
That wasn't going to happen again.