Chapter Twenty-Two
Cole
Wrecker stood with his arms folded over his chest, jaw tight, posture solid. The kind of solid that only happened when he was two seconds away from doing something he couldn’t take back.
Mac sat in the chair near the desk, one leg crossed over the other, looking calm on the outside. But I knew her now. I’d seen her fight for her kid in a way that matched any ol’ lady I’d ever known in club life. She might not have worn a cut or carried a prospect patch, but she had bite.
And she wasn’t blind.
The air in the office was thick.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I didn’t pull it out yet, but my body tightened automatically, like my blood recognized the vibration before my brain did.
Half an hour ago, Mason had called.
We got him. We’re on our way.
They were headed to the Social Club right now.
The second that call came through, the entire clubhouse shifted. Guys who had been pretending to play pool or scroll through their phones suddenly stood up straighter.
We were waiting.
Waiting was the hardest part.
“Shut them off,” Wrecker said with his arms folded over his chest.
“No,” Mac said.
Wrecker’s eyes narrowed. His voice dropped into a growl that wasn’t for show. “Just for half an hour.”
Mac shook her head. “You guys signed a contract agreeing that the cameras stay on,” she argued.
“Yeah,” Wrecker snapped, “we signed that before some idiot jumped your daughter. We need them off for half an hour to take care of business.”
Mac looked at Star with concern, and Star shifted in my arms like she felt the weight of it in her bones, too.
“Come on, Mac,” I called, keeping my voice lighter than I felt. “We’re just going to have a chat with this guy. We don’t need it to be on camera. It’s going to be boring.”
Mac leveled her gaze on me.
Yeah. She wasn’t buying a damn word.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, “I think that ‘conversation’ is going to be anything but boring.”
Wrecker rubbed a hand over his face, exhaled through his nose, then tried again, like he was negotiating a business deal instead of trying to keep his club off reality TV footage while we handled a guy who’d put hands on Star.
“Twenty minutes,” Wrecker bargained. “Even if we’re not done, you turn them back on.”
Mac sighed deeply. “I get you’re doing this for Star, but I literally can’t shut the cameras off, Wrecker. They can only do that back at the studio.”
Wrecker stared at her for a long beat. The room went quiet except for the distant sound of voices from the clubhouse.
Then Wrecker’s mouth twitched.
Not a smile.
A decision.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll just go with plan B, then.”
Star’s head lifted from my chest, and she raised her hand like she was in class. “Uh, and what would be plan B?”
Wrecker smirked and nodded at me. We had all hoped it wasn’t going to come to plan B, but we had no choice.
“Hold on,” Mac called, sitting up straighter. “I, too, would like to know what plan B is.”
Wrecker ignored her, already moving toward the office door. “We need to go now.”
I nodded automatically.
Star turned in my arms to look up at me, her eyes wide and searching. “Do I want to know what plan B is?”
I pressed a kiss to her lips. “You’ll find out eventually,” I murmured. I looked at Mac. “You both will.”
Star’s brow furrowed. “Is plan B going to get you in trouble?”
I chuckled under my breath, because if we were measuring trouble on a scale, the Fallen Lords lived in it. “I guess we’re going to find out, babe.” I brushed my thumb across her cheek. “Stay in the clubhouse, okay? Freak and Brinks will be here.”
She nodded, but her fingers caught my shirt like she didn’t want to let me go. “Okay. Just… be careful, okay?” she whispered.
I leaned down again, kissed her forehead this time. “Always.”
That was a lie and the truth all at once.
Mac’s gaze darted to me. “You’re not telling me what plan B is?”
Wrecker opened the office door and glanced back over his shoulder. “Nope.”
Mac let out a breath that sounded like she wanted to swear but was torn about being upset since this was all for Star. “Jesus.”
Star groaned and covered her face with her hands. “This is the worst.”
Wrecker’s voice softened just a fraction when he looked at her. “It’s going to be fine, kid.”
Star lowered her hands. “That’s what everyone says right before it’s not fine.”
Wrecker’s smirk returned. “Yeah, well. That’s why you’re staying here with your mom and the girls.”
I paused in the doorway and looked back at Star one more time.
She gave me a small nod.
Like she was letting me go.
My chest tightened, and I turned away before she could see it.
Dad was standing near the bar, arms crossed, talking low with Pipe.
Arlo leaned against the wall, phone in hand, but his eyes kept lifting toward the door like he was waiting for a signal.
Oliver sat on the edge of a table, bouncing one knee.
Jude was pacing, slow and controlled, like if he stopped moving he might start breaking things.
Kingston stood near the pool table with Basil and Junior, all of them quiet and watching.
Freak and Brinks were posted where they could see both the hallway to the office and the main doors, like they’d been ordered to anchor the clubhouse.
And they had.
The second Wrecker stepped out of his office, the energy changed.
Not louder.
Sharper.
Wrecker didn’t have to raise his voice. He didn’t have to shout instructions. He was the kind of president who made people move with a look.
He jerked his head toward the door.
That was it.
Chairs scraped. Boots hit the floor. Guys stood up like they’d been waiting for the exact second permission was granted.
Outside, the sun was bright and beat down on our bikes.
Wrecker headed straight for his bike. Dad and Pipe moved with him like a unit.
I swung a leg over my bike, feeling the familiar weight settle beneath me. The engine rumbled to life and vibrated up through the seat, into my bones.
One by one, the bikes started.
A chorus of low thunder.
We had a crew going to the Social Club, and it wasn’t subtle.
Wrecker.
Me.
Dad.
Pipe.
Arlo.
Oliver.
Jude.
Kingston.
Basil.
Junior.
Boink.
We rolled out together with engines roaring and tires crunching on gravel as we hit the road. The formation wasn’t rigid like a military convoy. Nobody drifted. Nobody lagged.
We moved like we belonged on the road, the same way we belonged in the clubhouse—like the world adjusted around us.
I glanced in my mirror as we pulled away and caught a glimpse of the clubhouse shrinking behind us.
For a split second, I thought about Star. About how she’d looked up at me like she was trying to hold me in place with her eyes.
I shoved the thought down.
Not because it didn’t matter, but because it mattered too much.
When the Social Club came into view, we rolled into the lot, parked in a line one after another, and killed our engines.
Wrecker swung off his bike first. He didn’t look around like he was nervous. He looked around like he was taking inventory.
Dad and Pipe dismounted behind him. Pipe’s expression was unreadable, and Dad’s jaw was already set.
Arlo cracked his neck. Jude flexed his hands like he was warming up. Oliver adjusted his cut. Kingston scanned the lot like he expected someone to pop out from behind a bush.
Boink walked up behind us, hands in his pockets, grin still in place.
Wrecker’s gaze landed on him. “Don’t act so excited,” he grunted.
“It’s been years since we’ve done anything like this. It is exciting.” Boink bounced on the balls of his feet.
Wrecker shook his head but didn’t disagree.
Sure, this was dangerous, and we didn’t know how it was going to go, but adrenaline pumped through all of us.
Wrecker nodded once, satisfied.
“Call Tig. Cut the power,” he said to Freak. “They should be here in five minutes.”
I felt my lips twitch.
Plan B.
This was it.
Mac refused to shut the cameras off, so we were going to physically shut them off. Not the cameras themselves. No messing with equipment, no obvious sabotage that would get questions asked. We weren’t idiots.
We were just… creative.
The Social Club had cameras Mac refused to turn off.
But cameras didn’t do much when they didn’t have power.
We had a friend who worked for the city who owed Wrecker more than a favor and less than his soul. A guy who could make a “scheduled power interruption” happen for a short window without anyone asking why.
Half an hour.
That was all we needed.
Freak ended the call and looked back at us. “Done,” he said simply.
And just like that, the plan settled into place like it had always belonged there.
I glanced toward the building, then toward the road again.
Five minutes.
Maybe less.
The Fallen Lords had business to take care of.