Chapter 7 - Maddie
The moment Dice leaves with Blade, the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
Reaper's expression, neutral while Dice was present, darkens considerably.
Ghost takes a seat beside him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
Ace and Viper remain at the table, while Wilder positions himself near the door—blocking my exit, I realize.
No more pretense of hospitality. Now comes the real interrogation.
"Let me be perfectly clear, Ms. Brooks," Reaper begins, his voice deceptively calm. "The only reason you're sitting here instead of being handed over to whatever enemy you've made is because Dice vouches for you. And because, for reasons I cannot fathom, he seems to care about your wellbeing."
I hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I understand."
"I don't think you do." He leans forward. "You brought violence to my town. To my club's doorstep. Three men are dead, my prospect is implicated, and we have unknown hostiles with resources and information they shouldn't have watching our movements."
"I didn't plan for any of this," I say, maintaining my composure even as my insides twist with guilt. "I was set up."
"That much is obvious." Ghost's voice is dry. "The question is by whom, and why."
"I've been trying to figure that out myself."
Reaper's fist comes down on the table, making everyone jump. "Try harder."
The mask of civility has dropped completely now. This is the man James warned me about, the one who earned the name Reaper through blood and iron.
"Think," he continues. "Someone went to considerable trouble to get to you. Someone with resources, planning capabilities, and knowledge about your personal connections. This isn't random. This isn't coincidence. This is targeted."
I take a deep breath. He's right, of course. I need to set aside my pride, my instinct to handle this alone, and really think.
"I've made enemies," I admit. "In my line of work, it's inevitable."
"Your line of work being theft," Ace clarifies, his tone clinical rather than judgmental.
"Among other things." I see no point in pretense now. "But most of those jobs were one and done. Clean exits, professional courtesy. No reason for this level of retaliation."
"Somebody obviously disagrees," Ghost observes.
I close my eyes briefly, trying to organize my thoughts. Who would go to these lengths? Who has the resources? Who has a grudge personal enough to target James as well as me?
And then it hits me—a memory from nearly three years ago. Dublin. Rain-slicked streets. A job that was supposed to be simple.
"Tiernan Walsh," I say, opening my eyes. "It has to be him."
The name clearly means nothing to them.
"Irish businessman," I explain. "Legitimate front, but his real money comes from moving luxury goods on the black market.
Three years ago, James and I hit his private collection.
We took two watches. Supposedly prototypes with some kind of embedded technology.
Sold them to a private buyer in Amsterdam. "
"The same kind of watch you were after tonight?" Ghost asks sharply.
I nod, the pieces falling into place. "Similar design, at least from the outside. I didn't make the connection until now."
"And this Walsh character," Reaper says. "He's the vindictive type?"
"Extremely." I suppress a shudder. "There were rumors about what happened to the last person who crossed him. Nothing confirmed, but... ugly stories."
"Why wait three years for revenge?" Wilder asks from his position by the door.
"I've been careful. Changed identities, moved constantly. But lately..." I hesitate, reluctant to admit my mistake.
"You got comfortable," Ghost finishes for me. "Started using your real name again. Contacting old associates."
"James was getting out," I say defensively. "I needed to use my real identity to visit him, to arrange things for his release."
"And Walsh's people have probably been watching the prison," Reaper concludes. "Waiting for you to surface."
It makes sense. Painfully, embarrassingly perfect sense. I let my guard down because I wanted to be there for James, and in doing so, I practically painted a target on my back.
"If it is Walsh," I say slowly, "then this isn't over. He's not the type to quit just because one attempt failed."
"Tell us more about him," Reaper demands. "Everything you know."
I spend the next hour laying out Walsh's operation.
His legitimate businesses in Dublin, London, and New York; his network of associates; his reputation for brutal efficiency.
The club members listen intently, occasionally interjecting with questions that reveal surprising knowledge of international criminal networks.
"An Irish organization making moves in Pine Haven," Reaper says finally, exchanging a glance with Ghost. "This is a problem."
"More than you know," Ghost adds. "If they've been watching the prison, watching Dice..."
"Then they know about us," Reaper finishes. "Our routines, our security, possibly our business operations."
The implications aren't lost on me. By bringing Walsh's attention to Pine Haven, I've potentially compromised the Outlaw Order's entire operation.
"I should leave," I say, the guilt finally breaking through my composure. "Get out of town, draw them away from here."
"You’re not going anywhere. Too late for that," Reaper says bluntly.
"So, what's the play?" Ace asks. "We can't exactly take on an international organization."
"We don't have to," Reaper responds. "We just need to make Pine Haven too costly a battlefield. Show them we're not worth the trouble."
"And how do we do that?" I ask.
"First, we secure you and Dice. Then James, when he's released.
" Reaper stands, signaling the end of the discussion.
"Ghost, reach out to our contacts in Nevada and Oregon, see what they know about Walsh's American operations.
Ace, analyze that watch, figure out what makes it so valuable.
Viper, double the security at all our properties. "
They nod, accepting their assignments without question.
"And me?" I ask, not expecting to be included in their plans.
"You stay put," Reaper says. "Under guard, where you can't cause any more trouble."
It stings, but I can't argue with his logic. I've done enough damage.
"Wilder will take you upstairs," Ghost tells me. "The apartment is secure. Stay there until we tell you otherwise."
"What about Dice?" I ask.
"You’ll be staying together," Wilder answers. "He’s probably pacing a hole in the floor by now."
I stand, preparing to follow him out.
"Ms. Brooks," Reaper calls, stopping me. "One more thing."
I turn back, expecting more accusations or threats.
Instead, his expression has softened marginally. "Dice is reckless. Impulsive. The kind of man who leaps without looking. But he's loyal to a fault, and he clearly cares about you."
"I know," I say quietly.
"Then understand this: if you're playing him, if you're using his feelings to manipulate him, there is nowhere on this earth you can hide from me."
The threat is delivered so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment to register its weight. When it does, I feel a chill run down my spine.
"I'm not playing him," I say, surprised by how much I mean it.
Reaper studies me for a long moment, then nods once, apparently satisfied. "Good. Because while I may be pissed that you've brought this trouble to our door, I protect what's mine. And like it or not, you fall under that umbrella now."
It's as close to acceptance as I'm going to get, and frankly, it's more than I deserve. I nod once in acknowledgment and follow Wilder out of the chapel.
He leads me through the clubhouse and up a narrow staircase to the second floor. The apartment door is solid steel, with multiple locks and what looks like a reinforced frame. Whatever else they may be, the Outlaw Order takes security seriously.
Wilder knocks twice, then unlocks the door with a key from his pocket. "She's all yours, prospect," he calls as he pushes it open. "Try not to let her talk you into any more felonies tonight."
Dice appears in the doorway, looking considerably cleaner than when I last saw him but still bearing the marks of our earlier adventure. His split lip and bruised jaw make my stomach twist.
Wilder departs with a knowing smirk, leaving us alone in the doorway.
"You okay?" Dice asks immediately. "What did Reaper say?"
"That he's furious, that I've endangered his club, and that he's going to help us anyway because you vouched for me." I step past him into the apartment, suddenly exhausted. "The usual warm welcome."
The apartment is small but surprisingly comfortable, with a modest living area, kitchenette, and two doors that presumably lead to bedrooms. Everything is neat, functional, and distinctly masculine.
"I figured out who's behind this," I say, collapsing onto the couch. "Tiernan Walsh."
"Who?" Dice sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body but not so close that we're touching.
"Irish businessman. James and I stole from him three years ago." I explain the connection, the watches, and Walsh's reputation for brutal retribution.
Dice listens intently, his expression growing more troubled with each detail. "And Reaper? What's his take?"
"He's not thrilled about an Irish organization making moves in Pine Haven," I say wryly. "But he's taking it seriously. The whole club is mobilizing—security, intelligence gathering, the works."
"Good." Dice runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I'm beginning to recognize as a sign of stress. "Walsh sounds like bad news."
"The worst." I hesitate, then force myself to say what needs saying. "You were right, Dice. Coming to the clubhouse was the right call. I... I wouldn't have known what to do on my own."
The admission costs me. I've spent years relying only on myself, viewing dependency as weakness. But tonight…
Tonight has shaken me more than I want to admit.