Chapter Twenty-Four
Cole
Three big construction lights were set up around the bar area, flooding the space in harsh white glare. They cast long shadows across the floor and made every scuff mark, every crack in the concrete stand out. The rest of the building was dark. Just us, the lights, and the door.
We were all sitting at the bar.
Not drinking.
Waiting.
Nobody talked. Nobody checked their phones. Every set of eyes in the room was fixed on the same spot—the metal door at the back.
Boink rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles like he was warming up for a boxing match.
Dad leaned back on his stool, arms crossed, expression relaxed in that dangerous way that meant he was enjoying himself.
Pipe sat two seats down from him, silent and unreadable.
Arlo rested his forearms on the bar, head slightly bowed.
Jude stood instead of sitting, weight shifting subtly from foot to foot.
Wrecker stood behind the bar, hands flat on the counter, watching the door like it owed him money.
I stood too.
I hadn’t been able to sit since we cut the power.
The silence shattered when the door banged open.
Mason and Fox came through first, moving fast but controlled. Then Ender and Thorn followed, dragging a man between them.
He was already screaming.
“Fuck you!” he shouted, thrashing as much as the grip on him would allow. “You fucking pussies! Let me go!”
Ender didn’t say a word. Thorn didn’t either. They hauled him forward like he weighed nothing, boots scraping across the concrete as the guy fought uselessly.
“Showtime,” Boink said and grinned as he pushed off the bar.
They dragged him to the chair we’d set up dead center under the lights.
Ender slammed him down into it.
The guy bucked, tried to stand, but Thorn shoved him back hard enough to rattle his teeth. They tied his hands.
“There you go, Timmy,” Thorn sneered as he cinched the last knot. “I think it’s time you have a little chat.”
Mason, Ender, Fox, and Thorn stepped back, forming a loose line behind Timmy.
“Timmy?” Wrecker asked mildly.
Timmy lifted his head and spat toward him.
Dad chuckled. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Mason stepped forward, his voice casual like he was giving a report. “Asshole’s name is Timmy. We grabbed him after he had his waffles.” He clicked his tongue. “Which he unfortunately lost when I punched him a little too hard in the stomach.”
“Such a shame,” Pipe said dryly.
“Fuck you, assholes,” Timmy spat. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
Wrecker laughed, but there was nothing amused about it.
“No,” he said calmly. “I think you don’t know who you fucked with.
” He stepped closer. “You and your friends came into my club, assaulted one of my waitresses twice, and then when you got your hand slapped because you’re a bunch of bitches, you decided four against one woman seemed right. ”
“That bitch deserved—”
I moved before I thought. “Don’t call her a bitch again,” I said, my voice low and deadly.
Timmy twisted in the chair and spat at me. “Bitch!”
I looked at Wrecker.
He shrugged.
That was all the permission I needed.
I reared back and drove my fist into Timmy’s face.
The impact rocked the chair back hard, but it didn’t tip. Timmy’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his nose as he screamed.
“Goddamn,” Clash said from somewhere behind me, surprised. “Your daddy taught you how to hit.”
Dad applauded once, slow and approving. “Do it again, son. That was impressive.”
I didn’t hesitate.
The second punch landed harder. The chair tipped, and Timmy went down in a heap, still tied, moaning and gagging as he hit the floor.
“Think he’s got more waffles to throw up?” Basil joked.
Timmy rolled onto his side, choking, struggling to breathe.
I stepped toward him.
Wrecker held up a hand. “Let me try to talk to him before you shove his tongue down his throat, yeah?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“Pick him up,” Wrecker said.
Thorn hauled Timmy upright again. Timmy was hunched over now, nose bleeding freely, and chest heaving.
Wrecker crouched in front of him. “You ready to talk now,” he asked calmly, “or do you want my guys taking turns on you?”
“You’re going to regret this,” Timmy rasped. “You don’t know who I am.”
“And who is that?” Wrecker asked.
Timmy lifted his head, bloody teeth bared in a grin. “Northbound.”
Wrecker glanced back at me. “That mean anything to you?”
I shook my head.
“Northbound Reapers,” Timmy sneered. “The club that’s going to destroy you.”
Wrecker tilted his head. “Someone I’ve never heard of is going to destroy me?”
“Yeah,” Timmy spat. “Because you need a lesson on how to keep your women on a leash.”
Wrecker reached into his pocket and pulled out a cowprint handkerchief. He wiped at his cut where Timmy’s spit had hit. “That’s because they’re women,” he said evenly. “Not dogs. Maybe your club needs to learn that.”
Timmy laughed like he’d lost his mind. “You’re all dead once they find out you did this to me.”
Wrecker looked at me. “I think he’s talking about you. I haven’t laid a finger on him.”
I shrugged. “I can handle it.”
Wrecker turned back to Timmy. “What’s your club’s next move?”
“Like I’m gonna tell you,” Timmy sneered. “You’ll know it once their boot’s up your ass.”
Mason winced. “I don’t think any of us are into butt stuff, Timmy. That must be a Northbound Dumbasses thing.”
Timmy lunged for him, chair tipping again as he face-planted.
The room erupted in laughter.
“Lift him up,” Wrecker ordered.
Fox and Thorn hauled him upright again.
“I’m going to give you one chance,” Wrecker said quietly. “One. Tell me where your friends are.”
Timmy spat in his face.
Wrecker wiped it off slowly with the handkerchief. “That was the wrong answer.” He turned to Junior. “Take out the trash.”
Junior stepped forward.
“Wait!” Timmy screamed. “Wait!”
“I’ll help,” I said.
Wrecker grabbed my arm. “No.”
“I want to—”
“Cole,” Dad said firmly. “Listen to your president.”
Junior told Fox to undo the cuff.
The second Timmy was free, he tried to bolt.
Junior laid him out in one clean motion.
Lights out.
He nodded to Mason. “Help me.”
They dragged Timmy out.
“Why can’t I help?” I demanded.
“Because you don’t need his blood on your hands,” Wrecker said. “You’re too young for that.”
Dad put an arm around my shoulders. “This is the right way, son.”
Mason came back alone.
“Is it done?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nah. Junior left with him.”
Something twisted in my gut.
But then Mason said quietly, “Once you get blood on your hands, you never wash it off. Leave it to Junior.”
And I understood.
The power came back on thirty seconds later. We all looked up at the cameras that started blinking again.
“One down,” Clash said. “Still three out there.”
“And possibly Northbound,” I added.
Wrecker shrugged. “We keep looking for the friends, and I reach out to Northbound. Could be a chance that dumbass was talking out of his ass.”
“And what if he was telling the truth?” I asked.
Wrecker tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. “We handle it.”
We mounted up not long after.
I rode back to the clubhouse with a cigarette between my fingers and my mind on one thing.
Star.