Chapter Ten
Jackson Reed stood in the dim light of the Bastard Kings chapel, his arms folded across his chest and his jaw set like stone.
Around the table, the brothers sat with their shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on their boots or tracing the wood grain of the table, avoiding his gaze.
No one offered a casual nod; the usual easy murmurs had died the moment he stepped inside.
Someone had tampered with his bike. Someone close enough to know the combination on the garage lock and quiet enough to move without raising questions.
Ryder Lawson leaned against the far wall, silent but watchful, his eyes moving over each man in turn.
They had already checked every bike in the lot twice.
They had pulled apart fuel lines, inspected brakes, and questioned prospects until their voices grew hoarse.
Nothing had turned up until Ryder noticed the faint scratch marks on the valve stem of Jackson's rear tire.
Someone had let the pressure drop just enough to make the ride dangerous without triggering obvious suspicion.
That kind of detail took time and access.
Jackson's voice stayed low when he finally spoke.
"We're going through every prospect's movements from the last two weeks.
Start with the ones who worked the garage after dark.
" His tone left no room for argument. The brothers nodded, and the room cleared except for Ryder and the newest prospect, a wiry kid everyone called Ratty Pete.
Pete shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting toward the door like a cornered animal. Jackson did not raise his voice. He simply stepped closer until the prospect had nowhere to retreat. "Tell me about the money you took from Whitaker."
The silence stretched long enough for Pete's breathing to grow shallow.
Then the words came out in a rush. He had been feeding the Vipers information about routes and schedules, small details that had let them slip past club patrols.
The payments had arrived in cash, dropped off at a dead drop behind the old hardware store.
Pete swore he never gave them anything that would get a brother killed.
Jackson's expression never changed, but the air around him grew colder.
Ryder moved to the chapel door and locked it without a word.
Jackson kept his gaze fixed on Pete. "Strip the colors.
" The prospect's shook as two patched brothers pulled off his prospect cut.
The leather hit the chair back between them, and the prospect patch stared up at the ceiling like an accusation.
Jackson bent, gathered the garment from the back of the chair, and folded it with deliberate care before handing it to Ryder.
"You aren't leaving this clubhouse," Jackson said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that made Pete flinch. "Not until this is settled. You're going downstairs. If you lie to me about this server, the boys in the basement will be the least of your worries. Now, where is it?"
Pete's voice cracked, but the words spilled out.
The server sat inside a private hunting lodge ten miles outside Silverlake, hidden behind heavy security and surrounded by woods.
Jackson listened without interruption, storing every detail.
When the prospect finished, Jackson leaned in close, his shadow swallowing the trembling man.
"We're going to deal with Whitaker and the Vipers first. When we're done with them, I'm coming back down to that cellar.
And whatever is left of your life will belong to the Bastard Kings. "
Jackson nodded to Ryder. "Put him in the holding cell.
Put a prospect on the door with a shotgun.
If he so much as scratches at the wood, end him.
" Ryder grabbed Pete by the collar of his shirt, dragging him toward the heavy iron door that led to the basement stairs.
The rest of the club would keep watch. Jackson stayed behind, his hands braced on the back of a chair as the weight of betrayal settled deeper into his chest.
Larkin Jones watched from the shadowed corner near the bar entrance, her notebook forgotten in her jacket pocket.
She had slipped in quietly after the meeting began, drawn by the tension in Jackson's voice when he called her earlier.
The scene she witnessed left her stomach tight.
She had known the man she was falling in love with carried darkness, but watching him strip a man of his identity without raising his voice made the reality sharper.
Instead of pulling away, she felt something settle inside her.
This was the side of him that kept her safe.
This cold precision protected her and the people she cared about.
Jackson turned and spotted her. His shoulders eased by a fraction, though the hardness in his eyes remained. He crossed the room and stopped close enough that she could smell the faint scent of motor oil and leather on his clothes. "You shouldn't have seen that."
"I needed to," she answered. Her voice stayed steady. "I needed to understand what protecting this family really costs."
He studied her face for several seconds. "And?"
"And I'm still here." She reached up and touched the side of his neck, her fingers resting against the pulse point just below his jaw. "That server location changes everything. We can end this."
Jackson covered her hand with his own, pressing it closer for a moment.
The chapel felt emptier now that the others had gone, but the tension between them hummed with something warmer than suspicion.
He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deliberate, tasting the determination on her lips.
When he pulled back, his voice dropped lower.
"We ride at first light. Ryder will cover the garage while we handle the lodge. "
She nodded, then pulled him toward the small office off the main room.
The door clicked shut behind them. Larkin turned the lock and pressed her back against the wood.
Jackson followed, his hands sliding under her jacket to grip her waist. The need between them had grown sharper with every new threat, and tonight the darkness outside the walls only made the pull stronger.
He lifted her onto the edge of the desk, his mouth finding the curve of her throat.
She arched into him, fingers working at his belt while his hands pushed her shirt higher.
Their breathing filled the small space. Jackson took his time despite the urgency in his eyes, dragging his teeth along her collarbone before soothing the spot with his tongue.
Larkin gasped and tugged him closer, legs wrapping around his hips.
"You saw what I am tonight," he said against her skin. His voice carried a rough edge that sent heat spiraling through her. "You still want this?"
"I want all of it," she answered. Her hands slid under his shirt, nails scraping lightly over the hard muscle of his back. "The cold, the careful, the part that protects what's his. I want the man who will break rules to keep me breathing."
Jackson growled low in his throat and took her mouth again, the kiss turning fierce.
He freed her from her jeans and his own, then entered her with one steady thrust that stole the air from her lungs.
She clung to his shoulders, meeting every movement with her own.
The desk creaked beneath them. Outside the office door, the bar stayed quiet, the rest of the club giving them space.
Inside, the only sounds were skin meeting skin and the quiet, desperate sounds she made when he angled his hips just right.
He held her gaze the entire time, refusing to let her look away.
The heat of his skin against hers was a steady anchor, his hands gripping her hips with a heavy, unyielding weight that grounded her.
She met the slow, deliberate rhythm of his body, her fingers tightening on the rough leather of his vest, absorbing the solid thump of his heartbeat against her chest. When release came, it rolled through her in waves that left her trembling.
Jackson followed moments later, his forehead pressed to hers as he breathed her name like a vow.
They stayed locked together until their breathing slowed.
Jackson eased back first, helping her straighten her clothes before fixing his own.
His hand lingered at the small of her back, a silent promise that the night had not changed what they were building.
Larkin touched his face, thumb tracing the line of his beard.
"Tomorrow we finish this," she said.
"Together," he answered.
They left the office and walked through the quiet bar toward the exit.
Ryder waited near the door, his expression unreadable but steady.
He gave Jackson a short nod, confirming the traitor was locked tight in the cellar with a guard posted.
Jackson returned the gesture, then led Larkin outside into the cool night air.
The weight of the betrayal still pressed on his shoulders, yet the woman beside him made the load bearable.
They had the server location. They had each other.
The final piece waited at the hunting lodge, and they would face it side by side.