Chapter Twenty-Two
Twister
Tempi was still barefoot, curled up on the worn leather couch in my office with her knees tucked under her. She had her phone in one hand and a half-empty mug of coffee in the other. Her hair was messy, her hoodie mine, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl onto that couch with her and shut the rest of the world out.
But that wasn’t how things worked, not when you wore a patch.
“I gotta call church, doll,”
I said, and adjusted my cut over my shoulders.
“We need to regroup. Gramps and Wheels think they found something.”
She lifted her gaze to mine and offered a small smile.
“I’ll be okay. You’re in the same building.”
“You sure you don’t want to hang in here?”
I asked, tipping my chin toward the door.
“Cord can just stay by the door. He’s got a big mouth, but he’s reliable.”
She stood up and stretched, with the hoodie riding up enough to show a sliver of skin.
“Nah, I’ll hang out by the bar. I’ve got WiFi, snacks, and soda. What more could a girl want?”
I smirked. “Me?”
She rolled her eyes and leaned up to kiss me.
“You’re a given.”
“Cord’ll keep an eye out,”
I told her as I opened the door.
“He’s posted by the door.”
“I’ll be fine,”
she promised.
I walked her out to the main bar and glanced at Cord.
“She doesn’t leave your line of sight. Got it?”
Cord nodded.
“Got it, Prez.”
I brushed a kiss over her hair.
“Yell if anything feels off.”
Tempi gave me a thumbs-up, already moved behind the bar like it was hers.
I headed to the back where the clubroom sat, our Church. Doors closed. Phones off. Just business.
Inside, Swift, Wheels, Hodge, Magnum, Sully, and the rest of the brothers were already seated around the long table.
“Talk,”
I said and dropped into my chair.
Gramps leaned forward and tapped a folder in front of him.
“We found a name. Maybe. Old political money. Think… legacy donations, silent land investments, dark money PACs. Name’s Hollis Kettler.”
“Kettler?”
I repeated.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Swift shrugged.
“Word was he got out of politics, moved to Oregon, and went quiet. But he still owns property all over Wisconsin. Some of those properties? Show up in the paper trail tied to fake businesses we think are connected to The Ledger.”
Swift sat forward.
“And guess who funded some of those businesses early on?”
“Kettler,”
I muttered.
“Son of a bitch.”
“It’s just a theory,”
Sully added.
“But if it’s true, this dude has money, connections, and a reason to want people like us out of Madison.”
“Why?”
I asked.
“What threat are we to him?”
Wheels shrugged.
“Gentrification. Investment. People don’t like clubs; they bring heat, headlines, and noise. Maybe we’re just inconvenient.”
“Or maybe it’s more than that,”
Swift muttered.
Before I could ask what he meant, a scream ripped through the building.
Tempi.
I was out of my chair before anyone else moved. “Move!”
I barked, already sprinting toward the bar.
We burst out of the hallway just in time to see Cord hauling ass through the open front door. Glass crunched under our boots. The front window was shattered, jagged edges of broken glass still hanging from the frame.
Tempi was behind the bar, sitting on the floor, holding her arm.
“Fuck!”
I dropped to my knees beside her.
“Tempi. Doll. Talk to me.”
“I’m okay,”
she whispered, though tears welled in her eyes.
“It was just glass. I think.”
“Chewy, Nugget, Hodge, Magnum, GO!”
I roared.
“Cord’s already after the guy. Don’t come back without him.”
They didn’t even nod, just sprinted out the door like bloodhounds on a trail.
Sully held up another brick wrapped in a scrap of paper.
“We’ve got a note.”
“Read it,”
I said, eyes still on Tempi’s arm.
Sully unwrapped it, grimaced, and read aloud: “This is your last chance. Leave or it all burns.”
Tempi flinched. I gritted my teeth.
“Bathroom,”
I said, scooping her up.
“We’ve got a med kit in there.”
“I can walk,”
she said softly.
“I know you can.”
I kicked the door open and set her gently on the counter.
“But I need to take care of you.”
I grabbed the giant first aid box from under the sink. She eyed it warily.
“That’s not a kit,”
she muttered.
“That’s a trauma unit.”
I smirked.
“You’d be surprised how often we need it.”
She hissed when I cleaned the cut on her arm. It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding good. A piece of glass had nicked her just above the elbow. I kept one hand on her knee as I worked, just to keep her grounded. To keep me grounded.
“You’re shaking,”
I murmured.
“So are you,”
she whispered.
I wrapped the cut with gauze and medical tape, then stood between her legs and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her head rested against my chest.
“I’m okay,”
she whispered.
“I’m not.”
She looked up. “Twister…”
I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“No one gets to hurt you, doll. No one.”
“But it wasn’t personal.”
“Yes, it was. You’re mine. That makes it personal.”
Her lips trembled.
“What now?”
“Now,”
I said, jaw tight, “we hunt. And we burn down whoever’s behind this before they get the chance to touch you again.”
She nodded. I saw the trust in her eyes. The fear, too, but more than that, the fire.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
And neither was I.