Chapter 5
Church started at nine sharp.
Trauma stood at the head of the table, every brother in attendance, the weight of their attention settling over him like body armor. Legion sat at the president's chair with Ghost on his right, the rest of the officers arranged according to rank.
"Kyle Lawson," Trauma began. "Thirty-eight years old. Five years in Central Prison for assault and armed robbery. Released three months ago. He's been stalking his ex-wife, Amy Lawson, who owns a diner on the east side."
"The all-night place?" Cargo asked. "Serves the best pie in Fayetteville?"
"That's the one."
"I know it. Half the guys from Liberty eat there."
"Which is why we're talking about it." Trauma pulled up the photos Forge had compiled. "Kyle's running a crew of fourteen men—all prison contacts, all violent records. They're handling enforcement work across Fayetteville. Assault, intimidation, debt collection. Whatever pays."
"Who's in charge?" Legion's voice was calm, assessing.
"Trent Maynard. Former bouncer, four years for aggravated assault. He's Kyle's primary muscle." Trauma pointed to Trent's mugshot. "He threatened Amy yesterday. Told her Kyle wants a sit-down this weekend. Said they'd bring her by force if she didn't cooperate."
Murmurs around the table. Brothers exchanged looks.
"What's Kyle want?" Ghost asked.
"The diner. He thinks she owes him for keeping it running while he was inside. The divorce settlement gave her sole ownership, but Kyle doesn't care about paperwork."
"He care about restraining orders?" Static asked.
"He's violated it three times in two weeks. Police won't act until something worse happens."
"Something worse meaning what?" Forge's voice was flat. "Another hospital visit?"
"Or worse."
Silence fell over the table. Every man in that room had seen what happened when the system failed people. They'd spent their military careers watching bureaucracy get good men killed.
"Recon." Legion turned to the Warlord. "What do you have?"
Recon stood, spreading a map across the table. "Three safehouses we've identified. First is a rental on Slocomb Road—crew uses it for staging and storage. Second is an apartment complex on Bragg Boulevard where four of the crew are bunking. Third is Trent Maynard's residence."
He tapped the map. "Maynard's place is the primary staging point. Vehicles come and go at all hours. The crew runs operations from there."
"Defenses?"
"Minimal. These are street criminals, not operators. No perimeter security, no cameras, no tactical awareness. They think badges are the only threat."
"They haven't met us yet," Cargo muttered.
"What's the ask?" Legion looked at Trauma. "What do you want from the club?"
Trauma met his president's eyes. "Protection detail on the diner. Rotating coverage until the threat's neutralized. If Kyle's crew comes for her, we respond."
"And if they don't come?"
"Then we go to them."
More silence. Legion's fingers drummed against the table—his tell when he was weighing options.
"Vote," he said finally. "All in favor of extending club protection to Amy Lawson and her diner."
Every hand went up.
"Opposed?"
Nothing.
"Motion carries." Legion stood. "Trauma, you're point on this. Cargo rides with you for the installation. Static and Forge take first watch tonight. Recon keeps eyes on the safehouses."
"And if the crew escalates?" Ghost asked.
Legion's expression hardened. "Then we show them what happens when they threaten someone under our protection."
The diner was busy when they arrived.
Lunch rush in full swing—soldiers from Liberty filling the booths, nurses from Cape Fear Valley grabbing coffee between shifts, the usual Saturday crowd that kept Amy's register ringing. Trauma parked his bike at the edge of the lot, Cargo pulling up beside him.
"She know we're coming?" Cargo asked.
"No."
"She going to like it?"
"Probably not."
Cargo grinned. "This should be fun."
They pulled the camera equipment from the saddlebags—four units, weatherproof, wireless connection to the compound's monitoring system. Forge had sourced them from the club's security contacts, military-grade hardware that could pick out details at two hundred yards.
Trauma started on the north corner while Cargo took the south. The work was familiar—mount the bracket, secure the camera, angle it for maximum coverage. He'd done similar installations a hundred times during his years in Special Forces.
The difference was, those installations hadn't involved a woman he couldn't stop thinking about.
He was halfway through the second camera when Amy appeared at the diner's back door.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Trauma looked down from the ladder. She stood with her arms crossed, apron tied around her waist, that same stubborn set to her jaw he'd seen every time he tried to help her.
"Installing cameras."
"On my building?"
"On your building."
"I didn't ask for cameras."
"You didn't ask for a stalker either. You got one anyway."
Her eyes flashed. "This is my property. You can't just—"
"Club voted this morning." He finished securing the camera and climbed down the ladder. "Your diner's under protection. Rotating coverage starting tonight."
"I don't want your protection."
"Too bad."
She stared at him, that fire in her eyes mixing with something else. Fear, maybe. Or exhaustion. The weight of fighting alone for too long.
"Who gave you the right to decide what I need?"
"Nobody." He stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. "I took it."
"You took it."
"Someone's got to keep you safe. You won't do it yourself."
"I've been keeping myself safe for thirty-one years."
"Yeah? How's that working out?"
The words hit harder than he'd intended. He saw the flinch, the flash of pain she tried to hide.
"That's not fair," she said quietly.
"No. It's not." He didn't back away. "Life's not fair. Kyle's not fair. The system that keeps letting him walk free isn't fair. But you've got a choice—accept help from people who can actually do something, or keep fighting alone until he wins."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know you work doubles six days a week.
I know you haven't taken a vacation since your aunt died.
I know you repaint your door at six in the morning so your customers don't see what your ex-husband wrote on it.
" He held her gaze. "I know you're scared and you're pretending you're not, and I know that takes more strength than most people have. "
Her breath caught.
"The cameras stay," he said. "The coverage starts tonight. You can accept it or argue about it, but either way, my brothers are going to be watching this parking lot. And if Kyle's crew shows up, we're going to be here."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you say no and I ignore you."
Something flickered across her face—surprise, maybe, or the beginning of something that looked almost like relief.
"You're an asshole," she said.
"Been told."
"I don't need a hero."
"Good thing I'm not offering to be one." He turned back to the ladder. "I'm offering to be a bigger problem than Kyle. That's all."
She stood there for a long moment, watching him work. He could feel her gaze on his back, could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she calculated her options.
"Fine," she said finally. "The cameras can stay."
"Wasn't asking permission."
"I noticed." She started to turn away, then stopped. "The man you came with. He's climbing my drainpipe."
Trauma glanced over. Cargo had abandoned the ladder and was scaling the building's corner like it was a training obstacle, camera mount clenched between his teeth.
"That's Cargo. He gets creative."
"He's going to break my drainpipe."
"I'll fix it if he does."
Amy shook her head, but something had shifted in her expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
"You're all crazy," she said.
"Probably."
"And you're going to do this whether I want you to or not."
"Definitely."
She stared at him for another beat. Then she turned and walked back inside, the door swinging shut behind her.
Trauma watched her go.
"She seems nice," Cargo called from somewhere near the roofline.
"Focus on the camera."
"I am focused. I can focus and observe at the same time." Cargo's grin was visible even from twenty feet away. "Eight months of pining, and that's your move? 'I'll fix your drainpipe'?"
"Shut up, Cargo."
"I'm just saying, brother. You could try being charming."
"I'm not charming."
"Obviously." Cargo finished mounting his camera and started the descent. "Good thing you're persistent. She's going to need persistent."
Trauma finished the last camera installation without responding.
But as he packed up the equipment and prepared to brief Static and Forge on the overnight rotation, he couldn't shake the image of Amy standing in that doorway.
Arms crossed. Jaw set. Fighting him even though she knew she needed help.
She was stubborn. Proud. Infuriating.
And starting tonight, she was under his protection.
Kyle Lawson wanted to claim her.
He was about to learn that someone else had gotten there first.