Chapter 16 #2
“When you put on a patch that says president,” Kane continued, stepping closer, “you become responsible for every person wearing the same colors. Good or bad, their actions fall on you. You want the title, you carry the weight. If you can’t control your men, you’re weak.
If you knew and let it happen, you’re stupid. Neither one impresses me.”
Bomber tried to hold his ground when Kane closed the distance, but his body betrayed him.
His shoulders tightened, his chin lifted too high, and this time, one foot shifted back an inch before he caught himself.
The Diesel Serpents’ president was realizing too late that reputation wasn’t a story men told around race lots to sound important.
Sometimes it walked onto your territory and made you answer for your club.
Edge ambled up beside Kane like he’d gotten bored waiting, his boot nudging one of the bloody patches toward his president.
The injured man groaned, rolling half onto his side, and Bomber flinched before masking the reactions with a glare.
Edge’s smile widened, and whatever color had returned to Bomber’s face drained out again as he put together exactly who Edge was.
His reputation carried as much weight as his brothers, except unlike Kane, Edge could be unpredictable.
And that was just as terrifying as Kane’s deadly control.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a dilemma,” Edge drawled.
Kane nodded. “We already punished the motherfuckers who dared go after someone belonging to a Redline King and tried to cheat at one of my tracks. But since you’re responsible for them…”
Edge hummed thoughtfully, and a big knife appeared in his hand with a flash of steel.
He flipped it through his fingers like a pen, the blade catching the early sunlight with every rotation.
Bomber’s eyes locked on it despite himself.
Smart men watched Edge’s hands. Smarter men made sure they were never close enough for it to matter.
“I feel like it sends the wrong message if we leave him untouched,” Edge pointed out, almost conversationally. “Few broken bones, maybe. Something carved into the skin so he remembers not to fuck with the Redline Kings in the future. Educational, really.”
Bomber backed up a step. “Now hold on. That’s not necessary. I said it won’t happen again.”
“No,” Edge replied. “You said your men went rogue. Different.”
“They did.” Bomber looked at Kane again, desperation leaking through. “They’ll be dealt with. I swear, I’ll handle them. We won’t come near your territory again, won’t touch the women, won’t look at your tracks. This doesn’t need to go further.”
“You’re right,” Kane agreed.
Bomber blinked like he hadn’t expected it.
Kane lifted one hand, and Edge stopped flipping the knife, though he didn’t put the blade away. Kane’s gaze settled on Bomber with the kind of cold finality that had ended men long before they hit the ground.
“The Redline Kings could end your whole fucking club for this betrayal. For the threat to Saylor. For using Sutton to betray us. For sending someone after my brother’s work. For sabotaging one of my tracks. But I’m not doing that today.”
Bomber swallowed. “Okay. Thank—”
“Don’t thank me,” Kane snarled, cutting him off.
“You haven’t earned mercy.” Kane stepped closer, and this time Bomber didn’t even pretend not to shrink back.
“You will honor the deal your men made with Century. Sutton and Saylor Everett are off limits. You will wipe Sutton’s debt and whatever offense your club claims she committed.
You will pull every asset, racer, bookie, runner, hanger-on, and bootlicking little prospect out of Redline Kings territory immediately.
You will not race at our tracks, sniff around our crews, follow our runs, or even fucking speak our names unless you’re telling someone how badly you fucked up. ”
Bomber nodded too fast. “Done.”
Kane’s expression didn’t change. “Good. Because if you do, there will be no warning. There will be retaliation so immediate and complete that whatever is left of your club will wish we’d been less creative.”
Edge used his boot to nudge one of the broken men again, just enough to make him groan. “And these boys? They’ll look pretty compared to what we’ll do to the rest of you.” His smile sharpened, knife glinting in his hand. “Assuming there’s enough left to identify.”
Nobody inside the clubhouse spoke. Nobody on the porch moved.
Bomber looked at the men at his feet, then back at Kane, and I saw rage flicker under the fear. Good. Men like him remembered humiliation better than lectures, and he was getting a mouthful of both.
“We agree,” he agreed finally, his voice tight.
I stepped forward then, unable to stay quiet any longer. “And if I hear anyone associated with your club even breathed near Saylor again, I won’t wait for Kane. I’ll come alone first. Then my brothers will come after to clean up what’s left.”
Bomber’s gaze moved to me, and he swallowed hard before nodding. “Understood.”
“Good,” I growled. “Try real hard to remember.”
Kane turned without another word, dismissing Bomber, his club, and any illusion they’d had that they could push into our territory and survive untouched.
We followed, leaving the Diesel Serpents standing on their porch with four broken men, a public humiliation they’d never fully be able to explain, and enough fear to make staying away sound real fucking smart.
The sun was fully up as we mounted our bikes and headed home.
The Diesel Serpents had been handled. Sutton was no longer a bargaining chip.
Saylor was protected by the club and claimed by me so completely I could feel it under my skin.
Now I just had to get home to the woman I loved and make damn sure she understood I’d been hers from the second she looked up at me and made my whole fucking world shift.