Chapter 7 Carver
Riding away from the hospital is harder than it should be.
I’m not fooling anyone by saying it wasn’t hard because I didn’t want to leave Raven.
Something about the woman calls to me, and I have no idea why.
Maybe it was seeing her lying helpless and injured in the hospital bed, but I know that’s not it.
Raven was injured, but she wasn’t helpless.
No, Raven had kept her wits about her. She was strong enough to lie.
She knew what had happened to her. She knew who attacked her, but she refused to say who. Why?
Back at the clubhouse, I shower and change before heading downstairs for breakfast. Tamara sees me and gestures that she’s getting me a plate, so I take a seat next to Byte, who is halfway through his own meal.
“How’s Raven?” Byte asks.
“You know Raven?”
He shakes his head. “Never met her. But I know she works as Athena’s receptionist and office manager. Shield had me searching for her attacker.”
“Any luck?”
He shrugs. “Identified the car that was leaving the parking lot around the time of her attack. It belongs to the gym owner. Tony Martin. Shield said Martin claimed his car was stolen. He did report it missing a couple of hours after the attack.”
“Convenient,” I mutter.
Byte smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Shield called and said the guy has an alibi for the time. Apparently, he was hanging out with a group of friends when someone attacked Raven.”
“Oh. I guess that clears him. Does Shield think she came across a car thief, and he attacked her to keep her quiet?”
“Maybe. We couldn’t get a good look at who was driving the car when he pulled out of the parking lot. Maestro is running through other footage to see if he can get a better angle on the guy. Shield is going over to Raven’s parents’ house to see if he can jog her memory.”
I nod, but don’t share my suspicion that Raven doesn’t need her memory jogged. She remembers just fine. I also remember her calling out the name Tony when she was in the throes of her nightmare.
“How confident is Shield in Martin’s alibi?” I ask Byte.
Byte raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of coffee. “Why do you ask?”
I debate what to say as Tamara places a plate piled high with pancakes and another with hashbrowns, sausage, and bacon.
“Thanks, Tamara, this looks amazing,” I say, stalling for time. “Did you make this or Jenna?”
“Neither; we have a new Kutte Bunny. Her name is Jinx.”
“Oh? I haven’t met her yet,” I say. “What’s she like?”
“Shy,” Byte says. “She’s gorgeous, but she’s quiet and a little skittish.”
I make a face. “She’s shy and skittish and chose to hang out with bikers?”
He chuckles. “I ran her background. She grew up in clubhouses. She was a biker princess, which explains why she’s more comfortable around us.
Her dad was a member of a club in South Dakota.
He died when she was a teenager in a motorcycle accident.
Her mother chose to leave the club and move to San Diego. ”
Taking a bite of the pancakes, I groan. “I’m glad she came here. These are amazing.”
“Wait until you see her,” Byte says with a wink. “She’s fucking hot.”
This time yesterday, I’d be in the kitchen scoping out the new Bunny, but not today. Today, my mind is preoccupied with a certain black-haired beauty with luminous green eyes.
“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t want to miss out on these pancakes. But what about Shield? What does he think of Martin’s alibi?”
Byte studies me. “Why do you ask? Because Shield asked me to do a run on Martin. He thinks he’s lying.”
This piques my interest. “Really? Did he say why?”
“Something Min said about him. Min said Martin used to hit on her, and he was pushy about it. She says he’s a predator.
Shield agrees. Plus, when Shield did a background check on Martin, he discovered that a woman had filed charges against him.
She claimed he broke her arm and hit her.
Even gave her a black eye. One of his friends told the investigating officer that she tripped and hurt herself.
He claimed to have seen it happen and that she filed the complaint because Martin dumped her. ”
“Another alibi from a friend?” I muse. “Same friend?”
Byte shrugs. “No, it’s a different guy. But yeah, that’s what I was thinking. That’s why I’m running background checks on the man who gave Martin an alibi for last night.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
After breakfast, I hop on my bike and roll up to the gate.
As I wait for Cole to open it, I notice the club coming to life behind me.
Several members step outside and move to their bikes.
They’re all headed out to work. We have several legitimate businesses that generate the bulk of our revenue.
We still have some illegal operations, but those aren’t where we focus most of our time these days.
When Dante hooked up with Tally, he pushed our club away from the grey area.
He didn’t want to risk any of us spending time behind bars.
We have several businesses; mine is Demon Dawgs Construction.
I’d been working with wood since I was a kid. My old man made sure of that. Said a man ought to know how to build something that lasts. Back then it was tables and cabinets. Never figured it would turn into this.
Now I’ve got five crews running jobs all over the city. Five. It still feels unreal some days, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling proud.
I shift gears and head toward the subdivision behind the clubhouse, more out of habit than necessity.
Two of my crews are out there today. That place used to be empty land—now it’s turning into something solid.
We’re building our own subdivision. Homes for the club members so they can grow their families and build memories.
Dante and Tally’s place was the first one we finished—a Mediterranean oasis fit for our king and queen and the prince or princess growing inside her.
We finished Chaos and Evie’s house next.
The style was different, but the intent was the same.
Dante and Chaos are best friends; their children will grow up the same.
Now we’re working on Scar and Caitlin’s place, along with Kingsley and Grimm’s.
I pull up slow along the curb, letting my eyes sweep over the progress. Framing’s up on one, the exterior nearly done on the other. My guys move like a well-oiled machine—someone hauling lumber, another measuring, a nail gun popping off in steady rhythm.
That sound… yeah, that’s something I never get tired of.
My boots hit the pavement as I cut the engine. One of the guys nods at me, so I nod back. I do a quick walkthrough just to confirm my expectations.
“Looks good,” I tell them.
They straighten a little at that. Not because of my kutte, but because of their pride.
That matters.
I don’t hover. I don’t micromanage. I hired good people and trained them right. Now I trust them to do their jobs.
After a few more minutes, I’m back on my bike and heading out again.
Next stop’s across town.
The strip mall.
The closer I get, the more the landscape changes. Less polished, more worn down. This part of town hasn’t seen much love in a while, which is exactly why we bought the property. It was an opportunity for change.
The old strip mall had been sitting there for years after the fire. Boarded up, half-collapsed in places, the kind of eyesore that drags everything around it down with it. But not any longer.
I turn onto the lot and pull in slow, dust kicking up behind me. The smell hits first—burnt wood, old smoke, mixed with fresh sawdust and diesel. It’s a strange combination, like the past and the future colliding.
My crew’s already at work.
Part of the structure is gone now, reduced to piles of debris stacked off to one side. A backhoe moves with deliberate precision, tearing into what’s left of a charred wall. Guys in hard hats and safety vests move around it, clearing, sorting, hauling.
I kill the engine, scanning everything in one sweep. It’s habit. Always checking, always calculating.
This job’s different from the houses.
Those are about building something personal.
This? This is about expansion. About planting a flag and saying, "We’re here, we’re investing, we’re not going anywhere."
New businesses will go up here. Shops, maybe a café, maybe something else the club can run. Something that brings people in and keeps the money flowing. Dante’s always looking for ways to bring in more money. I’m here to help him achieve that goal.
I walk further into the site, boots crunching over gravel and broken concrete. One of my foremen spots me and heads over, already pulling off his gloves. He doesn’t look happy.
“Progress?” I ask.
He gestures toward the back. “We’ll have the rest of it down by the end of the day. Foundation looks salvageable in parts, but we’ll know more once we clear everything.”
I nod, eyes tracking the movement of the machinery again. Progress is good. That’s what I expect from my crews. Five crews working multiple sites and building something we can all be proud of.
I glance around one more time, taking it all in—the noise, the motion, the steady push forward.
Yeah.
My old man would’ve understood this. He might even have been proud of it. Proud of me.
“So what’s wrong?” I ask him. I hired Jackson when he was sixteen, and he’s always been my best worker. He rose quickly. I not only gave him his own crew, but he also gets the most difficult jobs. I’ve known him the longest, so he can’t hide anything from me. He’s upset about something.
“They hit us again,” he grumbles. “They didn’t take much, just a few tools that the guys didn’t lock up.”
“Well, shit,” I grumble. “Did we catch anything on video?”
“That was my next call.”